Burpee, Carpenter & Hutchins Funeral Home

Oscar made his home off the shores of 100 Acre Island. He was a wiley bass, roughly the size of Moby Dick. His legendary evasive techniques led Dad to L.L. Bean for a state of the art Oscar fishing rod and reel. The equipment was only used by Dad, and the only fish in the pond allowed to bite was Oscar. It hung separate from all other fishing gear in the basement. When Dad fished for Oscar, he fished alone. Many seasons passed with Dad trolling around the island. He knew the bite of Oscar on his line, he knew Oscar's tug, and recognized his splash. Dad spent hours plotting his strategy against Oscar. Many evenings were spent with tales of Oscar sightings, Oscar battles and Oscar no shows. There was even a three week Oscar dry spell, where Dad expressed his fears that Oscar must have died. Not been caught mind you, but died. During a gloaming, I watched as Dad trugged from dock to cellar, nary a wave of his hand or a shouted hello. Dad rinsed off his equipment, only this time, he dismantled the rod, put it in a canvas bag and laid it on a shelf. I do not know what words were spoken between Dad and Oscar the night Dad landed him. That is between a man and his fish.