WE DON'T KNOW WHAT WE DON'T KNOW

Ernest Hemingway fishing in Horton's Creek

Dearest eight year old Ernest, let's sit a spell and talk about you, your childhood and the thoughts we have around "what is right" in the world and who we are. As I read your letters I am struck with the tone and tenor of your words. I see that even at the young age of eight, you often choose your words carefully and strike-through words or phrases as you paint the picture that your words reveal.

I see fishing and the out-of-doors as your great escape and opportunity to just be uncomplicatedly you. We all need those safety zones where we can let down our guard and simply be - whoever we are in that moment and however we feel. It seems, from my perspective, that when you spend a great deal of time in your head, when you're creative, and plugged into a life of full immersion, some of the loveliest times are when you step away and let nature take hold of your soul and you choose to rest at the end of a line, dangling in the water - the world be what it may.

Life and the human existence is the grand illusion, isn't it? It can be so impelling, even at the age of eight, as social pressures swirl about, and political currents sweep and eddy. We care, and we love, and we support as best we can at eight years old. Those adults who think we are to be seen and not heard have no idea what we see and hear and are impacted by. Those adults who direct and control don't see how hard we work to interpret things from the limited perspective of a child, and how we try, in our own way, to make an offering to life, to family, to community.

As you sit with your line in the water, peaceful, just being, do you ever wonder why all of that stuff of human existence isn't as simple and uncomplicated? No... that kind of thought we'll leave to the adults. Who wants to drag that into such a sublime moment? It's crazy! It's much more fun to sit and watch the water bugs scuttle across the surface of the lake. It's fun to watch the occasional bubbles perk up from below to the surface... maybe a snapping turtle lies below, or an eel, or that next fish you might catch. That's the stuff of this moment.

It's magical to admire the lacy wings of the dragonfly as it alights on the end of your pole, its lovely purple and green body flashing in the sunlight. It's fun to "riddit" back to the bull frogs hidden among the lily pads, and watch the spider build its lacy web among the reeds swaying gently in the summer breeze. Yes, Ernest, we are so fortunate to have this time, this childhood, these memories. We don't know what we don't know.