As I watch my daughter and her family walk out the door to begin a wonderful family vacation with their one year old, I am thinking about family and what got me started in fly fishing, art and those other past times, that make up my life.
I remember my parents loading us up in the station wagon and heading up the Poudre Canyon to camp, hike and fish the weekends away. We were just tiny of course, but non-the-less, they were always memorable trips.
Four little girls all tucked in the back seat, (no car seats, probably no seat belts either) we were happy to be going someplace wild and free. I do not recall much of the parental conversations, as the windows would always be completely down and the wind blowing in our little faces, the radio was on and always a country song blasting as we raced up the canyon road.
My dad was always smoking arm resting on the window and fishing rods with line dangling around us, and my mom would be singing along to the push button radio. Sisters all trying not too hard to bug each other, (yeah- right), or may be TO bug each other. To us, one mile would have been a long trip with the constant question, “Are we there yet?”, always coming out of some ones mouth. Once we arrived, dad would unload the car, then grab his gear and head off for fishing in the river. We would watch mom set up camp, a wonder woman in our eyes as she did it all on her own with our little hands trying to help of course, or to her chagrin. Occasionally we would get to go and watch dad fish, but no talking was the warning- or you’ll scare the fish and no dinner, which was extremely hard for little girls to do. Evening dinner of fresh caught rainbow trout and roasting marshmallows was all we REALLY cared about tho. We went so often that it was no big deal to camp and sleep in the big canvas tent mom would set up, or we would sleep on a mattress in the back of the station wagon. We loved it.
Many years later, I would think about those times as I was growing up and would wonder where dad was off to fish after he and mother were divorced. I used to dream of exotic places and big fish that he was probably catching. I knew my mom fished, when she had time and could around her jobs and other many things going on in her life. She, is who introduced us all to drawing, painting, and many other arts and crafts, as we grew up. I am so grateful that I continued to draw and paint over the years. Many years and a family of my own later, my father resurfaced and introduced me to fly fishing. It was everything I thought (or dreamed) it was supposed to be. 
I am very glad now all these years later that he made the call. My parents have been very good to teach us new things and let us explore life in our own way and our own time, and have been very, supportive along the way. I am very thankful for that.
A rt, I taught myself, reading all the books, I could get my hands on, while I was raising my own kids. Painting every night for many years, after the family went to bed, for long hours while it was quiet. Now I paint every day, when the sun is up. Occasionally, just because, when I will get in the mood, I will stay up and paint late at night with wild abandon – the music turned up loud, drink a few beers and just paint. It sets me free, much like fishing does for me.
I am glad I have a son who loves to fish, he is teaching his boys a thing or two about fishing as well, they now are always glad to go with him. 
My grand daughter who loves to camp as often as she can drag her parents used to go camp with me as a toddler, and still brags that she caught a bigger fish than I did over on the Naches River, a tributary of the Yakima River in central Washington – and yes on a fly. What fun we had! I have a grandson, now a year old, and hope someday we can fish together and that at least once, he will get to fly fish with his great grandfather along the Poudre River. What a treat for all of us that will be.
Good food, family, fly fishing, and art, all bring together my inspirations for my art. The mental file cabinet is just an endless slide show I draw from.
The lawn awaits and so does a new piece of art I am working on this week in the studio. Better stop day dreaming and go back to work, then maybe by next weekend I can go fish.
Take care and see you along the river of colors on my pallet soon! 
Anderson
