Dream - March 12, 2007

Underwater men – an earlier dream recalled.

We were in Brandon, Nebraska, my son’s namesake. We went to the Brandon pond (“Grandpa’s pond”) to see if we could fish. We found the water was very high because of all the moisture, in fact even the road to the south was underwater. An old man was there fishing, I did not know him, but he knew the pond and had fished there so often he almost knew all the fish by name, since it is not a very large pond. I don’t know how he could fish because the cattails were so thick around the edges you couldn’t even bring your line in without catching them.

This old man was patiently and earnestly trying to catch the one elusive fish in the pond “Catfish Hunter”. (That isn’t the actual name used in the dream – I can’t remember what it was, so I am using this name a la “Grumpier Old men”) As we talked, the man saw his line move and he motioned me to silence, “It’s him, I know it is.” He patiently watched the line go out and then violently set the hook. The rod bent over double and suddenly jumped out the pond into the road (without seeing the fish). We followed the line to a great bid tractor submerged in the road. Suddenly the tractor sprang into life and raced up and down the road like a cartoon: hooting and sending water all over us and everything else, with a wild eyed catfish at the wheel. The old man hooted and hollered and waved his rod around, hoping his line could hold.

Eventually his line broke and the tractor stopped. A huge, hulking catfish stepped out that looked strangely enough like a man. He walked proudly over the bit of land to the pond. He had a brightly lit cigar hanging out of his mouth, and at his side a smaller squattier cat fish with a sawed off shotgun.

I stood, paralyzed with fear. By this time it was night, and seeing the strange figure by the light of the old man’s lantern and the cab light of the tractor was an eery sight.

The massive catfish sneered respectfully to the old man with a slight bow and said,

“Is that what you were waiting for, old man?” Then he peered queeringly at me and lunged back into the pond.

Frightened, I returned back to the house in Brandon to sleep. Somehow, I later learned that several of the fish from the pond would go out joy-riding in the tractor at night. Since I couldn’t sleep, I went out to watch them. A whole group of bass (that looked a lot like men-bass) were out. The ringleader noticed me and called out, “Look, it’s the guy that Old Man Catfish was talking about!” He called me over and asked, “Are you a Grandson of the Stewart?”

“Yes, I am Ryan, son of Richard, son of Ronnie.”

They men-fish talked excitedly amongst each other and looked at me reverently, and the ringleader replied,

“Yes, of course it is you, my lord. Some of us have seen you grow up, you know. Although I’d say most of these chaps are newcomers.”

“Did you know that I have a son?” I asked.

“A son! A Stewart!” the fish all exclaimed and they began to dance and slap their fins upon the ground. “We must go and tell the others!” And off they went toward the pond. As they left, one shouted, “What’s his name?”

“Brandon!” I yelled back.

He smiled and pointed his fin to the letters etched in the side of the tall grain elevator, B-R-A-N-D-O-N. “Of course!” he exclaimed, and jumped in the water and disappeared.

(I learned later that the fish in the pond revered the Stewarts as their Lord Protectors because Ronald Stewart had created a home for them so many years ago. Not all the fish believed in the tale, some had become skeptical of the Stewart name)

-Dreamineer