I dreamed about going fishing up at the Dam in Trion last night. The water was running fast over the top of the dam, and there were dozens of people in the water pulling in bass, and crappie. My Dad and Uncle Pink were there, and they were laughing and joking with each other as they pulled one after another big crappie in, and strung them up. I can’t remember who the other people standing out in the water fishing were. Nobody was standing on the shore. Everyone had their waders on, or their pants legs rolled up and they were standing anywhere from knee deep to waist deep in the cold Chattooga river.
That particular place, that old dam….has almost a mystical or magical hold on me. Anytime I have ever gone there, as a kid and even up to the year we moved from Trion….I have felt almost a reverence when I have stood at that spot. I have felt the spirits of the Cherokee who once fished the eels and sturgeon out of these waters, and have even felt the touch of those prehistoric people who proceeded them in this area. Those people whose mark you can see over at Russell Cave in Alabama. Thousands of years worth of people walked the banks of that old river. Perhaps their souls are still there.
Who knows, perhaps the dream I had last night was a glimpse of the afterlife. God knows, I certainly wouldn’t mind it. If I woke up after I pass away and I can roll up my breeches legs on my pants and wade out into that cold water in between Daddy and Uncle Pink, and start casting that old yeller’ lead head out into the foamy water and starting reeling those crappie in, I think I’d just shout hallelujah.