Many years ago my Dad and uncle would take me and a cousin fishing quite often in the summer time. I remember one trip where my cousin and I spent many hours out behind the barn near an old manure pile digging worms. We had a couple of coffee cans full, we were ready for fishing. We arrived at the river about five pm, set up camp, and set about 50 drop lines along the bank tied to the willow branches. We came back and had supper, and sat around for a while listening to my Dad and Uncle tell tales. About 10pm Dad said he and my uncle were going to run the lines. They didn't want to take us because it was dark and they were afraid we might fall in. Dad told me as they were leaving that he wanted a fresh pot of coffee when they returned. In those days we took the water directly from the river, so I grabbed the old porcelain lined coffee pot, dipped it about three-quarters full and hung it over the fire. When the water started boiling I added the coffee. My cousin and I sat there, mad as heck because we couldn't go with them. After a while he said I dare you to put a worm in the coffee, I did, then I dared him. This went on until we could hear them pulling onto the bank, we had added about half the worms to the coffee. After putting the fish in a live box, they came up for a cup, Dad bragged on that coffee for years, said it was the best he ever had. When I was near forty years old I told him what we had done that night, he didn't believe me, but at least I got it off my chest.
