About that boat we were in…

Contrary to what my mother wrote on the photo I posted on Monday, we didn’t build that boat. Heck, we were just little kids. It was my father’s snapping turtle box. He used to go hunting snapping turtles in the swamps near Salem, New Jersey. He would bring back that box full of snappers, which, by the way, pound for pound, are the nastiest critters on the face of the planet. He would always bring me back a little box turtle as well. I don’t know what he did with the snappers. He probably turned them loose in the Delaware River near where he worked in Marcus Hook, Pennsylvania. Only once did he kill one to try cooking it. He chopped the head off, and the damn thing was still trying to bite you the next day. Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the crick at the bottom of the hill where we played.

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