Letters to My Granddaughter, No. 59
[March 9, 2024] The bayou water was like glass, not a ripple, nothing moving except our aluminum flat-bottom jon boat as it slowly glided along with its silent electric motor. It was also dark out, black as ink. I held the flashlight. Dad navigated the boat. Earlier that day, Dad said matter-of-factly, “Hey Douglas, let’s go gigging.” I… Read More »