The Transformation of a Fisherman: Part 1

At first I did not know why my grandmother had led me to the garden to dig up worms.  A chock full o'nuts coffee can sat in the moist garden soil by her side.  I remember scraping my knuckles on the stones as we dug, then following my Gram while pulling dirt from under my nails.  For some reason, it always seemed as if the most big worms were always near the string beans, and the little ones in the compost.  Gram led me to the water's edge and I watched water rings disappear slowly in the pond.  It was a plastic red and white bobber with something holding a slimy night crawler beneath it.  She handed me what seemed like a stick and told me to hold it and watch.  I wasn't sure what I was watching for, maybe the geese, a bullfrog, I knew what those things were.  Then I heard some excitement, "Matt you've got one, reel it in!"  Then I felt it in my hands, the same excitement.  Something got me.  The bobber was darting around, left and right, under and up, it was pulling and so was I.  I cranked and cranked until the bobber was stuck at the end of my stick, and my Gram pulled it in.  She said it was a bluegill, she showed me the colors, its gills, and took the hook out.  She let me touch it and then said it's time to let it go.  Gram placed the bluegill back in the water and it sped away fast.  It was incredible.