ice fishing tagged posts

By Kassondra Hendricks

My little sister marches through the door into the garage, she wears my father’s black work bibs and they are large on her. The legs billow out at her hips and dangle over her boots so that they are unseen. She looks ridiculous, but then again, who looks beautiful when they ice fish? We trudge to the truck, giggling with amusement about our appearance. The drive to the lake is long and quiet. My father, sister and I squished into the front of the pickup as our gear had overtaken both the bed and back seat of the truck. Music plays, the windows fog up with our breath, and I watch the fields of snow pass by, day dreaming about tip-up flags, monster pike and crappie. Butterflies erupt in my stomach with excitement...