"After you eat I want you to catch me a mess of catfish. Silas and his boys are comin' over to help Pa fix the barn roof. They'll be plenty hungry come supper time." Thoughts of Ma's famous batter fried catfish made Tully's mouth water despite his big breakfast. Ma wouldn't reveal her secret ingredient, but Tully knew it was a good slug of Pa's special "company" 'shine added to the batter.
"Sure thing, Ma," said Tully. He bolted the rest of his breakfast and grabbed his fishing gear. As he rushed out the door his Ma handed him a fat packet of sandwiches for lunch. "Thanks, Ma," he said and whistled for his coonhound.
Tully didn't have to be told twice to visit his Fishin' hole. He found it a few years back on one of his many rambles through the woods. It was hard to get to, and as far as he could tell no one else knew about it. it was his own personal paradise.
The sun was shining brightly on this fine late spring morning and it was turning warm, but a soft breeze cooled Tully's face as he pushed his way through the thick underbrush. Pulling aside a last curtain of wild grapevines he was there. Casting his line into the water he settled back against his favorite tupelo tree. Honeybees were busy in the tupelo blossoms, making a drowsy hum, giving Tully visions of thick slabs of Ma's cornbread dripping with home churned butter and tupelo Honey.
Down stream a great blue heron stalked the shallows, each spindly leg placed with such care that hardly a ripple disturbed the placid surface of the water. Suddenly the great bill lanced into the water and came up with a wriggling fish. Tully shook his head in awe. If he could fish like that they'd have Ma's catfish morning, noon and night. Just then the red and white bobber twitched violently. Tully set the hook and reeled in a fat bullhead. "That's one fish you won't get, Mr. Heron!"
Leaning back to await the next bite, Tully pulled a well-worn copy of National Geographic from his tackle box and lost himself in visions of Egyptian pyramids and Pharaoh's treasure. Ever since Miss Peters showed pictures of King Tut's tomb to her seventh grade class, he'd been fascinated by ancient Egypt. Knowing his interest the school librarian had let him check out a reference book by Professor John Moffitt, who was a member of the group who opened the tomb. The technical stuff was pretty dull, but Tully was thrilled by the accounts of finding and opening the tomb. How exciting it must have been to be among the first to see treasure buried for thousands of years. He hoped one day he could go to Egypt and see it for himself.
In the distance he could hear his hound baying. He's probably treed some critter. Squirrel or 'possum most likely. Tut wasn't a very good coonhound. He'd tangled with an angry mama coon when he was a pup and figured once was enough. Pa wanted to shoot him, but Tully begged to keep him and nurse him back to health. Pa made Tully promise not to neglect his chores or make more work for Ma, then helped him stitch up the pup's wounds with needle and thread from Ma's sewing basket. He cared for the pup through his long recovery, even carrying him out several times a day to do his "business". Now they were constant companions. Tully knew Tut would find him when he got tired of harassing the wildlife. They'd spent many happy hours side by side on the stream bank.
As Tully sat daydreaming a magnificent white tail buck stepped lightly into the clearing. Tully held his breath as the buck, chestnut hide gleaming in the dappled sunlight, came cautiously down to the water's edge. After drinking it's fill it turned to Tully, nudged him and said "shake it Tully, it's your turn to fix breakfast."
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, private Tully Pettigrew surveyed the sandy camp. It sure had been good to be home again, even if it was only a dream.