Salmon Again

My family had a ... relationship ... with salmon when I was growing up. My dad was from the Northwest and loved salmon from the Columbia River (not far away), and his younger brother John would go to Westport, Wash., on the Pacific Coast, every summer, live in a camper, and go out salmon fishing every day while he was on vacation from his lifelong job at John Deere in Walla Walla.

One summer we joined them in Westport. I didn't get to go out with them (I was still a kid--I guess that was the reason); instead, I played with my brothers and with our cousins, Billy and Patty, Uncle John and Aunt Juanita's kids.

(Oh, and another great memory: seeing Native Americans salmon fishing at The Dalles, on the Columbia River, before The Dalles Dam, 1957, pretty much ended the Old Ways of doing it.)

I'm not sure how Aunt Juanita liked the week-at-Westport thing (or was it two weeks?). In a camper all day. Etc. But she was/is a saint, so I would guess that "seldom is heard a discouraging word" in that camper.

Uncle John would store some of the salmon he'd caught in his freezer back in Walla Walla--and he would have some canned. And some of that each year he would send to us--in Oklahoma and, later, in Hiram. Mom would sometimes make salads with it, but Dad preferred "salmon burgers"--and, I have to confess, I sided with Dad on that one.

Mom soon developed a lifelong passion for salmon. One of her favorite things about the stages-of-care place where she spent her last years (in Lenox, Mass.) was that it served salmon once a week in the dining hall. Mom would not miss salmon night. It would be, for her, like missing church.

(Mom's other passion? Chocolate. My older brother once gave her a large chunk of chocolate--shaped like a salmon.)

Dad used to fish a lot--and so we ate lots of trout and bass and other critters he caught. But as the years have gone on, I've become more and more like my mom, salmon-wise. Other fish are okay; salmon is ambrosia.

Joyce has caught the bug, as well. And for the past couple of decades we've had salmon once a week--usually for Tuesday suppers.

In the spring we like the wild-caught that's available here and there (ain't cheap--but I don't care!). In the winter we buy the Full Circle brand (available at the local Acme)--frozen, wild-caught. Delicious.

I open the bag the night before, remove the two hard-frozen pieces, put them in a plastic bag in the fridge, grill them on Tuesday--on the outdoor grill in good weather, indoors in bad. A lemon slice. Some Paul Prudhomme salmon seasoning.

Along with the fish, we usually "do" mixed rice (or basmati) and a veggie. Homemade sourdough bread.

After a Tuesday salmon meal I could happily die. And I am not kidding.

Another great memory: Taking a Yukon River cruise near Dawson City with my 14-yr-old son in August 1986, seeing the salmon-catching devices along the river.

By the way, "Klondike" (a smaller river that joins the Yukon in Dawson City) meant "hammer water"--the place where Native Americans would hammer their fishnets along the shore and catch the salmon that composed a staple of their diet--and of their sled dogs' diet.

Anyway, tonight is Salmon Night at the Dyers'. And every bite will remind me of Uncle John and Aunt Juanita, of Patty and Billy, of Westport, of The Dalles, of Dad, of Mom, of those great salmon-burgers, of Joyce (uncharacteristically silent as she swiftly downs the fish), of so many things in my boyhood, in my family, that I will not forget until I must.