Now that the summer solstice has transpired and summer is once again upon us, my thoughts turn to the carefree July days of my youth growing up in the Wyoming Valley, nestled among the Poconos. Since the Susquehanna winds through “the valley,” this poem naturally caught my eye.
Ironically, as you learn from the poem, the author had never actually fished the river, nor had he ever desired to, for that matter. Coincidentally, I cannot lay claim to the venture either. The Susquehanna River, at least at it winds through our valley was—and I believe still is—quite polluted due to anthracite mine subsidence and raw sewage disposal from decades long ago. Only those with a particular penchant for the delicacy that is carp would bother fishing this particular body of water; however, I do have fond memories of fishing Harvey’s Lake and many bobbling brooks of the Poconos for trout, bass and perch.