Dennis note: Ah…Time for a little humor. This “Rich and I” story was first published in the Columbia Basin Herald in the early 1990s. It is being proofed and polished for inclusion in the upcoming book, “The Adventures of Rich and I.” Enjoy.

Ah, springtime when everything is fresh and new or at least it seems this way. Washington’s Columbia Basin is thought to be a dry and parched wasteland by many people who don’t live there, and especially by people who live on the west side of the state. The western side is also known as the wet side, because of the amount of rain.

I even had one person from the wet side tell me we didn’t have any trees around here. I immediately pointed out we did, in fact, have trees in the Basin.

“See, there’s a tree over there and one over there and another over there,” I said.

This desert oasis known as the Basin takes on a special beauty when spring grasses send tender shoots above ground to turn the countryside from a dried-grass brown and yellow into a carpet of green increasing in intensity each day until the grasses reach maturity. Buds form on Basin tree limbs and spring flowers grow and begin to bloom. The world seems new and clean and fresh to me in spring.

The spring when Rich and I turned 11 was a time for two boys to learn about time. The good, the bad and the ugly sides of time; along with the responsibility and reverse psychology of time, too.

Rich and I lived to fish this year and for several more years after. You see, we were old enough at 11 to jump on our bikes and head to our favorite spot on Moses Lake without adult supervision. We could make up our own minds about when to fish and where to fish.

This was when Dad told Rich and me to enjoy this period of our life because other concerns will soon take more and more of our time. Rich and I spent many hours trying to figure out what could be more important than fishing. The thought of working for a living was not our concern and girls hadn’t entered our lives yet. I mean, girls were OK, if they could fish.

Going fishing equaled freedom and our first taste of freedom was like eating a banana split which tasted so good we couldn’t stop eating. Eating a banana split can make a person sick, but Rich and I never got sick of fishing and the freedom fishing provided.

“Where you boys going?” Mom would ask when we were first allowed to bike to the lake alone.

“Fishin’,” I would say, with a fishing rod and tackle box in my hands. As time passed, Mom realized when Rich and I headed for the door with fishing rods in hand, there was no reason to ask where we were going. She still wanted to try and retain some control over us, so her parting remark changed.

“Be back in two hours,” she would say.

“But Mom, supper is four hours from now,” would be my response.

“OK, three hours of fishing,” she was likely to respond.

“Wow,” Rich said as we peddled away from the house. “Three hours of fishin’ means we don’t have to count the time it takes us to bike to the lake and back.”

Rich and I peddled to the fishing spot that required the most travel time, fished for the approved three hours, and headed home.

“I told you boys three hours of fishing,” Mom said.

“But Mom, that’s what we did,” I said.

“That’s right Mrs. Clay,” Rich said. “We fished for only three hours and I timed it myself to make sure.”

Mom talked to Dad as Rich and I ate a late supper that evening. We couldn’t hear every word they were saying. A few words, however, did drift our way. Words like reverse psychology, responsibility and time management. I was a little nervous after hearing those words, especially when Mom came into the kitchen smiling.

The next day, after mowing the lawn, weeding the flower bed and chasing my younger sister around the backyard with a snake I found near the dogwood tree, Rich arrived. I grabbed my fishing rod and we headed out the door.

“See ya,” Mom said.

“Yea Mom,” I said, “see ya later.”

“How much fishin’ time do we have?” Rich said as we jumped on our

bikes.

I stopped the bike and ran across the front yard to the house.

“Mom, how much fishin’ time do we have?” I asked.

“You can fish as long as you want,” Mom said. “Just remember, supper is served at 6:30 and if you’re late you won’t get any supper.”

I returned to my bike and climbed aboard with a frown on my face.

“How much fishin’ time do we have?” Rich asked again. “Hey, what’s wrong with you anyway?”

“I think I just learned about reverse psychology and responsibility,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it as we’re fishin’,”