Dad's Fishing Hat
By John R. Greenwood
Fishing hat, hunting hat, weekend-work-around-the-house hat, there was usually a small partridge feather or trout fly attached to the band. The hat's soft threads were stained with the remnants of Pharaoh Lake and the Cedar River Flow. Bring it close and smell the trout biting, the black-fly bug dope, and the hint of a Stony Creek buck. It was crushable and tailor-fit snug. If you held the hat to your ear you could hear a small outboard motor putt, putt, putting across an Adirondack lake in May. That hat savored miles of hardwood forest, foraging animals, and free floating ducks. It covered the head-of-the-class; my father.