Friday, February 16, 2018

The magic of fly names

On Friday, the 16th of February, we have regressed toward Winter from the early-Spring temperatures we enjoyed on Valentine's Day. Above freezing conditions return over the weekend, leave for a few days and return the end of next week, perhaps to stay? Unlikely, but something to be hoped for.

Today is also Chinese New Year. It begins the Year of the Dog. We were born in a Year of the Monkey and are, it would seem, a Wood Monkey. We sort of, almost, on a good day, fit this description of the Wood Monkey:
"Always ready to help others; compassionate, with strong self-esteem, but stubborn"
Also today, we made a small breakthrough on a project we've been working on for some time. Several years ago, we managed to drift away from fly fishing. Since we've not been regularly fishing the flies we had collected, we've pretty much lost track of what the various critters living in our fly boxes are called, let alone what they represent.

one of several fly boxes whose occupants need naming
one of several fly boxes whose occupants need naming
Photo by J. Harrington

We all know that there can be a lot of power in naming. (We've had this knowledge reinforced as we've started to reread Ursula Le Guin's fantastic Earthsea series.) Thus, not knowing the real names of most of the flies we hope to fish deprives us, we fear, of some of their power to deceive trout. Today we discovered several online references that we believe will help us relearn those magical names. We'll share them with you in case you ever suffer a similar misfortune.

happiness can often be found in a North Country trout stream
happiness can often be found in a North Country trout stream
Photo by J. Harrington

There's even a poem, by one of our favorite poets, that is more than entirely fitting to go with today's pleasant events and the promise of more to come.


                     Happiness



There’s just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.

And how can you not forgive?
You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.

No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.

It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.
It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basketmaker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.
                     It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.



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Please be kind to each other while you can.

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