Hold your mouth right, Scooter!

The Johnsons held a huge family reunion every year down at Dr. Jim Danner's lakeside retreat at Scarborough's Landing on the Potato Creek branch of Wyboo Swamp which is on, or rather adjacent to, Lake Marion not far from the oddly-skewed crossroads that form Davis Station, SC. I recall the excitement of reaching what was for me the trigger for that feeling that wells up from deep behind your stomach and made your cheeks flush in anticipation that came with the arrival in Davis Station. The crossroads had a rather weather-beaten building that had probably never seen a coat of paint that looked mysterious and foreboding, much like the Ice Plant back home, and you passed it before turning. Hanging a left onto Rickenbacker Road, I really grinned as I knew we were on the home stretch to "Neno and Uncle Jim's" which is what we called My Aunt Lena, and her Husband Dr. Jim Danner. Lena had married Dr. Danner sometime in the late 1960s, and he was quite colorful, and we loved him dearly. They owned a property just a few lots down from the old Scarborough's Landing store and the whole slope in the area between Scarborough's and Camp Bob Cooper was littered with Cypress, Cedar, Fir, Elm and Blackjack Oak, and plenty of Spanish Moss draped the fanned branches of Fir trees and added to the already serene scene a sense of tranquility that was to be disturbed if you gathered moss off the ground to transplant in your trees at home, only to discover Spanish Moss collected from the ground has "Red Bugs", nasty little burrowing critters with an affinity for certain anatomical regions!

The Danner Compound was palatial, by Scarborough Landing standards. It was a 1960s mobile home relic that had been added on to. It sported a fully enclosed porch that ran the length of the relic, and a half-length enclosed rear porch that was built at ground level adorned the backside of the palatial Danner digs. Out back was a screened and covered barbecue pit with a full kitchen and power and down by the water was the boat house that contained a two bay house with twin rail/carriage boat lifts to take the pontoon and ski boats out of the water, a third, smaller rail and carriage for the bass boat that allowed it to be stored out of the water and securely out of the rain under a wing of the boat house, and a nice pier with a floating dock jutting 60 feet into Wyboo. Uncle Jim had labored mightily to turn the property into a lakeside paradise, and he succeeded. He built a wall and fortified his beach with some imported sand and it was quite perfectly suited for all manner of marine leisure, be it swimming, boating, skiing of fishing.

Fishing. We did a lot of fishing and everyone in the family was well versed in the fine art of angling but myself. I would take my trusty little Zebco closed face bait cast reel down to the end of the pier with some worms and go for hours without even a nibble. Hour after hour, I repeated the routine of raise hook clear of water, check for worm, relower into water until my arm and shoulder ached from exertion. Piscatorial wisdom and trawling prowess somehow weren't in my gene package starting approximately April, 1964. Some gifts come naturally, and my fishing ability is polyolefin extrusions of hydrogenated polyethylene! I don't even catch colds.

Aunt Connie saw me struggling and called me over. "Scooter!" she barked, "Come over here and sit down. Got something to show you!" I padded over with my accoutrement du angling and plopped down beside her, pausing to enjoy the ever so slight whiff of Wind Song perfume her omnipresent aroma offered the olfactory. She said "Scooter, I see you struggling to catch a fish. Anyone shown you the secret?" Of course, I had always feigned an interest in fishing as I was a "Go-Along to Get-Along" kind of kid and desired to fit in, as the entire family was absolutely Cuckoo For Cocoa Puffs over the time consuming task of waiting, which seemed an odd way to utilize time as a kid seeing how Winn-Dixie and Harris-Teeter had plenty of fish for sale. I shook my head no in response, and she began...

"Scooter, the worm alone isn't what appeals to the fish. It takes three things to catch him. You have the first part right, which is the worm. There are two more things that will land you a fish. I want you to spit on that worm before you put it in the water. Let's see what happens." I fished a worm out of the dirt in the old Parkay butter container, skewered it on the hook and spit on the worm until it was drenched, then dropped it in the water and watched the red and white bobber signal the arrival of a Bluegill, Crappie or maybe a Bass. As I watched for the slightest twitch, Aunt Connie continued to share the secret. "Spitting on the bait helps, but the real secret is how you hold your mouth. You see, fishing is like Faith. To be a true fisher of men you need the same three things to catch a man with. You need to be Saved, Sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost. When we pull the worm from the dirt, we are offering it as a gift to faith and it represents the salvation we receive when He plucks us from the dirt and assigns each of us a purpose. Sanctification comes when you are washed in the blood and become a true believer, and spitting on your bait is symbolic of the blood of Jesus, washing our sin away and making us new and desirable. Finally, when we hold our mouths right, when our mouths reflect our attitude and sing His praises we are then ready to accept His salvation and offer our lives to Him, and in the case of fishing when the worm is saved, sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost He provides, and puts the fish on your line!"

I spent the rest of the afternoon contorting my face into impossible grimaces, trying to figure out just how I was supposed to hold my mouth and although I never found the correct configuration I was successful in landing a few Bluegill and Aunt Connie would make a huge fuss over every one I hauled in. "You got it, Scooter! Get it, boy!" she exclaimed with every successive panfish hauled in and the satisfaction I felt echoed off the far shore of Wyboo. I never reached her level of piscatorial prowess, but I sure learned a valuable lesson that has come back to visit me. When you are saved, sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost those desiring to seek the light that burns within you will flock to you, and our gracious Lord will provide your every need, for His grace is indeed sufficient. Have a Rice day, y'all!