A cousin of mine wrote these poems about the annual Roos fishing trip in Alexandria, Minnesota.
Alex
Every year at summer’s end when the leaves do hint at turning
The Roos men gather with rods in tow to fee a year-long yearning
We’ll wave good-bye to our wives and hug our sons and daughters
And head straight north to a well-known place between familiar waters
One’s called Le Homme Dieu, the other Carlos, and both hold great potential
They’ll be fished hard in any weather, including rains torrential
We’ll tell our stories and spin some yarns of fishing and cards and such
Countless have become the memories of this tradition started by Dutch
But before our boats can be manned there’s shopping to our liking
Beer by the case and loads of snacks—enough for Ole the Viking!
One more stop for our fishing crew before we leave the shore
The annual trip to Christopherson’s, our choice bait and tackle store
We’ll swarm the place from front to back like a pack of hungry skeeters
And fill our hands with spinners and spoons and hooks and line and leaders
With permits bought and reels at the ready, there remains one consensus wish
To head for the boats, and let loose the ‘ol battle cry of “GO LAKE, GO FISH!”
Our lures will fly and our poles will bend in the glorious lake chain setting
Unmistakable strikes and occasional lunkers are what we’re hoping and betting
Whether the fishing’s good or there’s hardly a bite, you’ll find smiles on our faces
‘Cause there’s always beer and poker and beer…we may need three more cases!
And when we’ve had our fun and it’s time to depart and our arms are sore from casting
We’ll all be mindful of next year’s trip, and of a tradition everlasting!
Lake Therapy
At summer’s end we all prepare for the utmost of our likings
The lakes await, our hunting grounds; our Valhalla to us vikings
We’ll strike at dawn with our first casts no matter what the weather
With hands on hips we laugh at rain and firmly grab our nethers
We’ll fish through sleet and high winds too; it’s all considered fun
We only stop when beer runs low and chips are to be won
We’re teachers, builders and all providers; uncles, grandpas and brothers
This weekend is precisely what we need and the envy of all others
This trip has stood the test of time and can’t be taken lightly
Its healing powers can fix what ails, no matter how unsightly
But what really makes this fishing trip a thing to be upheld
Is no matter what’s transgressed in life; our bonds remain unfelled
So grab a beer and raise it high and join me in this song
To many more years of this fine time and tradition staying strong!
Alex
Every year at summer’s end when the leaves do hint at turning
The Roos men gather with rods in tow to fee a year-long yearning
We’ll wave good-bye to our wives and hug our sons and daughters
And head straight north to a well-known place between familiar waters
One’s called Le Homme Dieu, the other Carlos, and both hold great potential
They’ll be fished hard in any weather, including rains torrential
We’ll tell our stories and spin some yarns of fishing and cards and such
Countless have become the memories of this tradition started by Dutch
But before our boats can be manned there’s shopping to our liking
Beer by the case and loads of snacks—enough for Ole the Viking!
One more stop for our fishing crew before we leave the shore
The annual trip to Christopherson’s, our choice bait and tackle store
We’ll swarm the place from front to back like a pack of hungry skeeters
And fill our hands with spinners and spoons and hooks and line and leaders
With permits bought and reels at the ready, there remains one consensus wish
To head for the boats, and let loose the ‘ol battle cry of “GO LAKE, GO FISH!”
Our lures will fly and our poles will bend in the glorious lake chain setting
Unmistakable strikes and occasional lunkers are what we’re hoping and betting
Whether the fishing’s good or there’s hardly a bite, you’ll find smiles on our faces
‘Cause there’s always beer and poker and beer…we may need three more cases!
And when we’ve had our fun and it’s time to depart and our arms are sore from casting
We’ll all be mindful of next year’s trip, and of a tradition everlasting!
Lake Therapy
At summer’s end we all prepare for the utmost of our likings
The lakes await, our hunting grounds; our Valhalla to us vikings
We’ll strike at dawn with our first casts no matter what the weather
With hands on hips we laugh at rain and firmly grab our nethers
We’ll fish through sleet and high winds too; it’s all considered fun
We only stop when beer runs low and chips are to be won
We’re teachers, builders and all providers; uncles, grandpas and brothers
This weekend is precisely what we need and the envy of all others
This trip has stood the test of time and can’t be taken lightly
Its healing powers can fix what ails, no matter how unsightly
But what really makes this fishing trip a thing to be upheld
Is no matter what’s transgressed in life; our bonds remain unfelled
So grab a beer and raise it high and join me in this song
To many more years of this fine time and tradition staying strong!
2 comments:
which cousin?
Ben
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