Bluegills

My grandfather died in february, right after his birthday. He was old and tired and did not love life anymore, or even like it much, so after being in the hospital for a while, with no chance of parole, he refused to allow them to do any more surgeries, or transfusions or such, told grandma he loved her and left the world.
I mourned him, though I didn't know him as well as I would have liked. He was a gruff fellow, who spoke his mind, but laughed and had fun. Had some great jokes and he loved children. After retiring he worked as a bag boy at Krogers for many years, "just to make the kids laugh and their mamma's blush" he told me once.
And he made the best cole-slaw I have ever tasted. And ate tomatoes fresh from his garden with salt and cream.
My grandfolks were fairly well too do, granddad was an engineer after he got out of the service. They had a beautiful home on several acres, with a forest behind them, a little creek, and a strawberry patch the likes of which I have never seen before or since.
Here in Montana we went and picked wild strawberries and were happy, untill we saw Grandpa's. Big ones, like in the store, and there were so many! And no bears! They had blueberries, and raspberries and marionberries and it was near paradise for a child. Peach and apple trees out on the farm.
Anyway, one of my first ever fishing experiences was at Grandpa's. The little creek that ran through the woods emptied in to his pond. It was a decent sized pond, with a little dock for his little boat. And he stocked it with bluegills. And we caught them and he showed us how to scale them and eat them.
One of the beautiful moments from my childhood, that I wish I could have appreciated more before I learned how fleeting those moments are.