I Hate Spring

“Why is that Dad? I love spring and I thought that you would too. Spring brings back memories of the holidays we had at Kioloa. The place just burst into life and colour in the spring. Good eating at Kioloa, too. Fish, oysters, mushrooms and cream but I mostly remember the great times we had fishing together. Winter is not much good for beach fishing and besides it’s too darn cold for my liking. Getting cold fingers, the occasional wet feet and wet clothes. In the summer and autumn, I was always more interested in surfing. No. I like spring and the times we shared. Don’t you agree?”

“No, I still hate spring. It brings back a memory I’d rather forget but I remember our fishing trips as if they were yesterday. Yes, son, they were good times we had at Kioloa. Remember going up the beach with our stinky to lure the worms? Talk about being followed by the proverbial bad smell! But it sure got the worms excited. We mastered the art of worm catching, didn’t we son? Especially catching them with our fingers. You know, once, I used to catch them with worm pliers. But I used to nip their heads off. Quick little buggers they are. Once their heads were off they were lost. No, catching them with fingers is much more satisfying. If you miss one catching it with your fingers, it is still there for another day. The secret is to get their head well out of the sand using the stinky and, with a gentle slow squeeze, a little bit of sand between its head, your finger and thumb, he’s yours for the taking. Such good bait too. Stays on the hook. Caught a few bream with them didn’t we?”

“And whiting too. You know, Dad, I had such fun catching crabs and octopus at Shelley point when I was young. I would jump from rock to rock spearing crabs between the crevasses. I was never game enough to catch them with my hands like you. I loved catching occies too. They were always good bait for snapper. Tying a piece of rag to the spear and swirling it around in the rock pools to lure them out from holes. Great stuff! I was deadly with that spear. Caught a good lot of bait for you, Dad. Remember me catching poddy mullet in the creek?”

“Yeah, and I also remember you on one occasion with the hook through your ear trying to catch those poddy mullet. You didn’t think that was much fun, did you son, with your screaming and carrying on? Wouldn’t let your Mum near you. Lucky Aunty Maud was able to talk you round. She couldn’t pull the hook back as the barb was well and truly stuck in lobe. But she was able to push the hook through and file the end off. You would have been fashionable today if she didn’t get it out.”

“Remember, the time old Boz ate your bait? I thought that you would kill him but you were rather philosophical about the whole affair.”

“Yeah. That bloody dog! I’d just caught a small trevally and filleted it into bait-size pieces. Right time of evening for a snapper, too. Left them on the rock behind me. Forgot about him. Oh well, there was always another day. I loved that old dog. Followed me everywhere. He had fishing in his blood too. I must admit that I was more than disappointed at the time. And was the air blue! But, I’ve caught a few snapper from that point over the years. Yes, one time I caught two snapper, about twenty pounds each, and I had to haul them two bloody miles over rocks and sand. I can remember your mother’s face when I staggered up to the caravan. It was worth the effort! Had to give a lot of the fish away. They made very good eating. Your Mum made a great batter, and I cooked them in peanut oil. I can taste them now!”

“Mill Pond was a beaut fishing place too, Dad. You used to catch blue groper there. They would have to be my favourite eating fish along with bream and whiting. You were about the only one who could fish that hole.”

“Caught a few groper there in my time and, yes, weren’t they great eating fish! The Mill Pond was a bit dangerous. You could get a few rogue waves wash you in if you weren’t careful. I knew which rock was safe and always fished from there. But remember the time, your mother and I were fishing the Pebbles and she fell into the water? You kids were screaming and bellowing and trying to pull her out of the water. Between the seaweed entwining her body and the slippery rocks, she couldn’t get a foothold. She kept slipping back into the water. All she could think about were the moray eels. And, she was frightened of being washed into the ocean. She couldn’t get out of the water quick enough. I lowered my rod, she grabbed it and I pulled her out of the water only to find a small lobster stuck onto her backside. She wasn’t too happy when I told her to get back in and come out with a decent sized lobster. That made a great story to tell me mates.”

“Great surf swimming for kids at the front beach, eh Dad?”

“Kioloa was a good place for fishing and swimming in those days, son. Very safe for swimming in the surf as the island out front protected it somewhat from the bigger waves. Although, beach fishing out front was not as good as the next beach. Fish like the sand to be churned up a bit by the waves. More food, you see. They also like the water overhead to be white. Protection for them. I liked to fish the tides especially at dusk or dawn. Good peaceful times, line in the water and me dreaming. You know, I didn’t even have to catch a fish to be happy there but if I did, then that was a bonus.”

“Remember the lookout behind the Moore’s farm that we hiked to every year in the spring?”

“Full of leeches, that bush, but the walk was so pretty up through the wattle and the smooth-bark grey gums. Straight and tall. Beautiful forest that forest. Full of tree and rock orchids. You can see why it is now part of the Murramarang National Park. The view from the top wasn’t bad either. Old Boz would get covered in leeches chasing rabbits through the undergrowth and you kids had to pull them off by the dozens. A task no-one really liked. Boz into the bargain. The wattle made your Mother sneeze but it was her fear of snakes that always scared her and she vowed each year never to climb the hill again, but she did.”

“Moore’s farm has such fond food memories for me.”

“Me too, son. The milk was like silk in your mouth and the clotted cream was to die for. They made their own butter too. Now that was the true taste of butter. Not at all like the stuff you get today. Even now, I can taste your mother’s fruit cake, cut into thick slices and covered with a couple of spoonfuls of clotted cream. Now that is a dessert! Just as well we were a lot younger eating the cream like that. And the fruit cake was loaded with butter. Well, we probably worked it off with all the exercise we did roaming around the cow paddocks collecting mushrooms. Weren’t they delicious? And the mushrooms! My mouth is just watering thinking about those mushrooms. Mushroom gravy made the old snag something special! Also, I remember the oysters that we prised off the rocks at Bull Pup. Tasty and fresh. The ones we didn’t eat raw, your mother cooked into a creamy oyster soup. Yes, spring was a great time at Kioloa.”

“Dad, you love spring, so, tell me what’s this hate all about?”

“Well son, it’s like this. I loved spring at Kioloa but I hated spring at home. There are four reasons and I’ll list them for you. You’ll know what I’m talking about as it has probably happened to you as well. Once a year, your mother spring cleaned the house.

Now, firstly, her mood was not a happy one. You can attest well to that, can’t you son? A lot of hard work for her but she felt the need for it. An old tradition.

Secondly, she rearranged the furniture. The chair by the window where I used to read the newspaper after work had been delegated to another place. My bed was not against the wallpaper wall, it was under the window or on some other wall. I was always lost in that bedroom.

Thirdly, she swapped rooms around. I didn’t know whether I was in the lounge room or the dining room or trespassing.

And lastly! And this was what I mostly detested and hated about spring. She asked me to move that big heavy monstrosity of a piano of yours. Heavy as lead it was. I had to ask Jack Anderson from next door to help me move it. He, too, hated that damn piano. Jack and I made a bargain with your mother. She agreed to sign a paper stating that she would never ask us to move that piano again if we didn’t go to the pub for a few drinks after work.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t keep to our side of the bargain so she didn’t keep to hers and we had to move that bloody piano again and again and again. That is why I hate spring.”