July – September 1997

Dear e-Fisherfolk,

The winds have changed. It gets hot in the morning and the coyotes yip all night at the moon in celebration of the summer season. A sleek and powerful extended cargo van sits outside the Trout house in anticipation of it’s next assignment. It’s a new era for Trout. We glide effortlessly across the wide open spaces of North America. Roads seem smoother, annoyances less significant as our CD player blasts and time melts like butter as the miles fly. Little take-for-granted items the rest of you have enjoyed for years, like air conditioning, are now the standard. Cruise control is truly a blessing as Keith can barely reach the pedals from the comfort of the lush captain’s chair.

Oh, we know it is a bit sad not to be telling the saga of Robert redFord, but he is enjoying a well-deserved rest. He finished his illustrious career with over 531,000 miles. Robert has become more than a truck, more than a legend. With his years of service and experience, Robert has become a poet. He’s not much of a rhyming poet, but he can be deep when he tries. Here’s a recent example of his work.

This afternoon’s an easy chair,
On the lawn, I’m sitting here,
Watching the sun slide slowly to the west.
That glow reminds me of red taillights
Sleek sedans passing in the night
I’ll never catch up unless, of course, they break down.
Speaking of legends, we need to mention that Mr. Bear has had quite an adventure. We were playing a Memorial day concert in Prairie Grove Arkansas at Battlefield Park. Heavy rain and tornadoes threatened to shorten our show. We loaded out in record time. The heavens opened up and washed away all traces of the event, except for Mr. Bear. He sat forlornly and abandoned on a bale of hay until a kindly park ranger found him the next day. The ranger tossed the soaked Mr. Bear in the back of the pickup truck to dry out. When unclaimed after a couple of days, Mr. Bear went to the dogs. Literally! The ranger tossed him into the dog pen. Mr. Bear held his own against the mongrel hordes and when we finally rescued him, he smelled pretty bad and was missing his eye patch. He was in remarkably good shape considering the trauma he had just been through. We gave him his first bath in 10 years and he’s OK!

Troutfully Yours,
Ezra and Keith

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