Ice Fishing
Just over the bridge to Topsham, you can look to the far side of the Androscoggin River and see quite a collection of ice fishing shacks.
I have never gone ice fishing but I suspect there must be something magical about it to inspire such a community to gather. And while I can easily imagine my feet turning to blocks of ice while I waited for the fish to bite, there is something about the metaphor of ice fishing that I find quite appealing.
Maybe it’s the spring time spirit in me longing for an easing of the cold and damp. Maybe it’s the hopeful idealist in me that believes any frozen heart can melt in the right circumstances. Whatever it is, the ice fishing shacks remind me of the indomitable human spirit. People may endure their wounds and erect their icy barriers. But on the other side of their frozen defenses, the heart survives — may even thrive — and swims in the waters of life.
The question is: How do we cut holes in the ice? What bait would entice our hearts to come to the surface?