(A Vintage Petrol Lighter Story Volume 10: Wetting A Line is a work of fiction presented by DependableFlame.com)
Ancestors
This had always been one of Elston’s favorite places in the entire world. He hadn’t been here in years and there were good reasons for that but he missed it nonetheless. This was the place of his ancestors and he could see,
feel and hear them in the crevice of every rock and waving of the tree limbs as he watched the sun rise and eventually set in splintered arrays of light.
He spent summer mornings here with his father and uncle exploring coves with spinner baits and sometimes his brother would join them. Those mornings were cool and calm on the slick, glass-like water and harbingers of the restful playground those days would become.
Elston’s father was demanding at times though he was not a hard man, he only desired discipline and a Godly life for the young men who had been blessed enough to grow up in his care. And that is certainly the way Elston felt about him now; he wasn’t perfect but damn, he got so much right and he loved them with all his heart.
Young men can learn in a multitude of ways, trained by a variety of methods, none more effective than allowing them to explore and make mistakes on their own. Elston’s father was a master of allowing leeway, so far as he could, for the boys to discover what they would in the watchful, protective gaze of their father who was always ready to answer their questions honestly and to brush them off and set them back on their way when things went wrong.
This morning Elston was alone though and the old aluminum boat seemed cavernously large as he struggled to get the Mepps spinner tied on the end of his line while attempting to steer the boat along the densely wooded shoreline without ending up in the brush.
All the action transported him back in time and he could see his uncle steering the boat with the foot pedal of the electric trolling motor he’d clipped to the battery that morning before the sun was even up. Deftly tying his bait on with one hand as he bent forward with the full flavored Parliament cigarette stuck between his lips and protruding to accept the light of the Storm King lighter that Elston’s father held out for him as he rolled his own pack back up into the sleeve of his t-shirt.
Coming To Terms
Elston had never imagined that he’d actually be here again. It was always borrowed, a perk of having a grandfather who had splendid ideas when it came to accomplishments and possessions but lacking in regard to the
personal relationships that make such things meaningful. The bank took the place sometime in the mid-1980s and the playground that the family had enjoyed without their patriarch became someone else’s entirely.
Elston’s folks were working class people who couldn’t afford every opportunity they wished for their children but did remarkably well with the little they had and despite their meager means provided some fantastic exploits to accentuate their upbringing. The loss of the cabin on the lake had been a big blow to summer’s expectations but only meant they were in a different location, sometimes with another uncle or more of the larger family as a whole but always on another adventure.
The last time he’d seen the place before it had fortuitously become his, he had walked the grounds with his grandfather some time in his early teens not too long before the bank foreclosed. It had seemed hollow and empty as they walked through bunk rooms previously littered with signs of life and occupation; discarded swim garments slung over headboards, fishing rods in the corners and inflatable rings and mattresses strewn around the room.
Out back under the cover of the second floor balcony where they had fried so much crispy cornmeal battered fish and long, fat cut potatoes, Elston had watched countless times as his dad had struck his Zippo lighter to life before leaning down, turning the gas on the side of the burner and igniting it to heat up in preparation of cooking the fish but now there sat an old VW Bug that must have been abandoned judging by the painted over fraudulent tag sticker on its license plate.
Progeny
Elston had all three kids running around the fishing tackle section at Wal-Mart looking for the perfect lure for this trip. He doubted that they’d catch
too many fish but was certain they would have a good time and make a lot of memories.
He recalled a similar trip to TG&Y with his father and brother when he was a young boy. That was a lifetime ago but Elston had learned invaluable lessons about his father then that colored every corner of his own life here and now.
He remembered them picking out lures and spinners that suited each of them even though he and his younger brother had no idea what made for good fish bait, just that they relished to be in the outdoors with their father, whether they caught any fish or not was irrelevant. The first morning fishing with his favorite of the lures he’d picked out, Elston had tied it on his line, tossed it no more times than he could count on one hand and then made the worse cast of the line he could’ve imagined as it sank right in the middle of a shrub just a few feet off the bank.
Elston reeled in the line and gave it a gentle tug. The line just stretched but he was unable to coax the lure free of the sunken shrub. One more tug, he thought, and gave it a more solid effort. The line went limp as it broke, leaving the lure buried in the dense underwater snarl of the scrub brush.
“Dad?” Elston called with a bit of meekness in his voice. “I’m sorry, I just lost the green and orange lured I like so much. It’s buried in that bush over there.”
“Oh, well there’s nothing to be sorry about son,” his dad said in a hero’s voice, “we bought them to use and have fun! Lures get lost but aren’t you glad you got to use it?”
(Please leave any comments, questions or suggestions in the comments section of this or any other page at DependableFlame.com. This is a work of fiction and any similarity of the characters or situations herein to those that have happened in real life should be seen as coincidental.)
I loved reading your story. It brought back fond memories of my grandfather who was an avid fisherman and always carried a lighter with him as part of his edc(everyday carry) while outdoors. It’s amazing how these lighters have become more than just a tool, but a cherished item with sentimental value. Thank you for sharing!
You bet Ccezar and I really appreciate you reading the story and leaving such a kind comment. That is one of the things that I love most about refillable petrol lighters is they can be handed down from one generation to another as an heirloom. The can also generally be repaired when they fail which is not the case with most plastic, disposable butane lighters by comparison. EDC is really popular right now and a lighter is one of the more common elements that seem to included among enthusiasts.
One of those ways to revive old memories is connecting to the roots. Your article drove me down memory lane. I can relate to Elstons’ mindset. My father use to be another Elston father. I like yours emphasises on Elston’s father’s protective gaze. My father would allow me to learn and experience it while he closely monitors it. He used the carrot and stick.
Hey Paramete, I am really glad that you enjoyed the story and appreciate very much you leaving such a nice comment. There are certain places and things like a particular meal or activity that evoke such rich thoughts of my upbringing it’s like taking a stroll down memory lane. I am happy to hear of your great experiences with your father growing up much like Elston and the good times and adventures that he had while learning under the tutelage of his father. Please continue to frequent the site and check out these stories and other articles.
You give vivid descriptions in your writing. I could almost feel like I was watching a movie or a ghost viewing Elston in the third person. I admire how resilient his father was during the hard times that they experienced. He was able to pass along something of value that is absolutely priceless. I grew up in a home that experienced divorce by age 5. Seeing a grandfather pass on to his son the value of building relationships and spending time with family shows what really matters at the end of the day. I didn’t get to meet either of my grandfathers on the side of my mother or father. So, I found myself living vicariously through this story.
Thank you Will, I appreciate you taking the time to read the story and glad to read that you found value in the interactions between Elston and his father and how those interactions formed and shaped Elston into the way that he will deal with his own family in the future. I truly am sorry to hear that you experienced the divorce of your parents at such a young age and glad that you could find some joy in Elston’s experiences. I didn’t get to meet my paternal grandfather either and though my Dad told me plenty about him, I still would have liked to meet him myself.