By 1PM I had the catfish skinned and filleted. Now and then I caught a small catfish and that one I froze separately into a two gallon plastic paint can. I was saving them separately to make a catfish stew. It was really a very thick red soup with lots of cajun spices. We were almost at the point where mom and I were going to have to cook it. We usually reached that tipping point two or three times a year.I had a couple of more weeks at least before I had the catfish we needed for the giant stew. In the mean time I intended to enjoy the nicer weather. I went back up the river for a quick limb hook check and re-bait for the night ahead. After that I just watched TV and banged around the internet.I got an email from a KG Enterprises Inc. It was a sales solicitation for a sleeping bag. It was the kind of thing that went to my junk mail directly. Gabby and I agreed to the code after her last email to me. Since she didn’t have cops looking for her, it should be enough code without setting. Lunch; a lobster salad and a bottle of Schloss Johannisberg. Dinner; orange and mustard marinated chicken. Gemma rose at 5.00am and carried her cup of Assam to the Greenhouse. Watering was checked, and the sprinkler given ten minutes play over the vegetable garden. Other items for the day were placed where they might later be needed. After these preparations had been completed she sat by the brook, where her father had widened and deepened it. He had built up the stone so the water tumbled into, and out of, a pool thirty feet across and six feet deep at its centre. Gemma sat in silence for five minutes; letting the sounds of the water, the birds and the trees, submerge her into her surroundings. She read aloud from the Carmina Gadelica, ancient prayers and chants from the Western Isles, and then, because it was to be a day of the senses, she read the Song of Solomon. It was now 6.30 and Gemma was luxuriating in the shower. She played the shower all over herself along, with the tablet.
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