A Picture of China

By the side of a lake, I watched the old style. The willow tree weeping into the water. The gentle clap of the waves on the shore. The early spring lavender bursting to life along the banks.

A man holds the long-cut bamboo, waiting for the fish. One can tell the age of the method by the unrefined nature of his craft. A simple string and hook attached to the end of the pole. No reel. No spinners. No tricky casting. Just reach the long twig over the water and drop in wherever the fish might be. It looks old. Must be from many generations past. Passed on from grandfather to grandson over hundreds of years. A peaceful and gracious style. A soothing and organic approach.

The sound of music seemed misplaced in the setting, but when it came, it wasn’t grating. The Chinese melody floated along through the misty, cool air. It wasn’t live music and it lacked the punch of a stereo. It just wandered into the foreground. I tuned in.

But in a splashing flurry it shot out of mind. I snapped my head to check out the happenings and caught a view of a fish writhing on the end of the line; flopping in a last ditch effort to shake the tackle. The angler quickly handled the bamboo and masterfully landed the fish in a couple of moments. Not a monster catch, but enough to keep me interested (and the fisherman) interested.

Yet in the instant that he seemed to secure the line (fish swinging back and forth), he cooly reached into his pocket. The move was unmistakable. As surely as he brought in the fish, he pulled out a cell phone and clicked on. The music stopped.

With one hand on the 10-foot bamboo rod and the other holding the cell phone, I clicked a picture in my mind. Antiquity and modernity in frame.