We pulled into the shade of a batch of buttonwillows, far out on the flats of Grenada Lake, checked the treetops carefully for snakes, then tied off to eat lunch.

I washed my hands in lake water using a bar of Lava soap I kept in my tackle box, then sat in the small boat’s bottom with my back against one gunwale and my feet hanging over the other. The Old Men filled padded seats at the bow and stern, but their spots weren’t nearly as comfortable as mine.

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Kevin Tate is a freelance writer. Email kevinmtate@gmail.com.

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