kdown
March 27th, 2007, 02:48 PM
:Banane36: :Banane36: These Fish Stories are collected and adapted for telling by Bluegrass Storyteller, Chuck Larkin.
Permission to use, revise and tell the stories from this manuscript is granted to the storytelling public.
Jean Shilling's Catfish Farm
A few years ago I was in Maysville, Kentucky for a
couple of days. While I was there, I had the opportunity to
visit a commercial catfish farm. Maysville is southeast of
Cincinnati up river on the Ohio river. This story about the
Jean and Lee Shilling’s catfish farm probably should not
be in a collection of tall tales such as this. Why, because
except for a faulty memory I’ll try to be accurate as I can
about what I truthfully saw. Some friends in the area drove me further east along the Ohio river until we came to a small side creek. Up the creek less then a mile was the catfish farm. The catfish farmer had developed several ponds around a spring that
originally fed into the creek. The water overflow still enters
the creek. One advantage to the operation is that the spring
fed ponds also stayed about the same temperature year
round. Jean built herself a small pond with some high school
young ladies in their 4H club. Jean and the youngsters
feed the fish a small food ball she makes from a mixture
of ground corn meal, protein and iron. She uses ground up
raisins and chicken livers soaked in codfish oil for the iron.
The fish are growing faster then usual from the diet and last
week the group did their first harvest. The young women
and Jean have three cables strung across the pond that
serve as electric magnets. When Jean turns on the electric
power the electric magnetic cables produce enough mag-
netism to attract and draw in the iron deposited in the flesh
of the fish from the diet of raisins, chicken livers and cod
liver oil. The youngsters move their boat along the cable
and with thick rubber gloves pull off the catfish Jean wants
to keep. When she turns off the electric cables, the rest
swim away. Building the pond was a brilliant concept. In building
the pond Jean and the students planted several fast grow-
ing bushes in a solid circle. Next they planted two side by
side rows of bushes to and from the creek. Jean waited
until one of the massive blackbird migrations came into
the area. One afternoon the group went out and sprayed
a mixture of mostly pine sap and molasses on all of the
bushes. Next they sprayed some kernels of yellow corn
on the bushes for bait. Just before dark about a thousand
black birds flew in and started to feed. Sun went down so
they roosted there for the night. Over night the action of
the sap and other ingredients hardened up like glue much
thicker then the normal stickiness of molasses. The birds
could not fly. Just as the sun came up, right at the crack
of dawn the students who had slept over all night sneaked
out and around the bushes full of birds. They all started the
most incredible racket you could imagine. Scared the birds
so bad they all pumped their wings simultaneously, lifted
up and the bushes stuck to their feet with about a hundred
cubic yards of dirt clinging to the roots of the bushes. The
pond was dug including the two feeder ditches to move the
water in and out of the pond. I said, “Jean what about the
black birds.” Jean said, “No problem, we drove the birds
over the garden toward the tree line. By the time they reach
the tree line that fresh, rich top soil had shaken off the roots
and had spread well out over the garden.” Jean added that
it was a group plan for the birds to rest over by the woods
and when the sun was up the molasses softened up and
turned them lose. After all they did eat well for their work.
They also spread some corn over by the trees for their
breakfast. I said, “Jean it’s to bad you never met my Grandma
Dorothy. She trained some squirrels to help harvest.”
The next thing I knew everybody wanted to hear about
my Grandma Dorothy. When you are not prepared where
do you start? I told them that the story had nothing to do
with fishing but they insisted so I promised to tell the story
later. AND THAT’S A TRUE STORY
Permission to use, revise and tell the stories from this manuscript is granted to the storytelling public.
Jean Shilling's Catfish Farm
A few years ago I was in Maysville, Kentucky for a
couple of days. While I was there, I had the opportunity to
visit a commercial catfish farm. Maysville is southeast of
Cincinnati up river on the Ohio river. This story about the
Jean and Lee Shilling’s catfish farm probably should not
be in a collection of tall tales such as this. Why, because
except for a faulty memory I’ll try to be accurate as I can
about what I truthfully saw. Some friends in the area drove me further east along the Ohio river until we came to a small side creek. Up the creek less then a mile was the catfish farm. The catfish farmer had developed several ponds around a spring that
originally fed into the creek. The water overflow still enters
the creek. One advantage to the operation is that the spring
fed ponds also stayed about the same temperature year
round. Jean built herself a small pond with some high school
young ladies in their 4H club. Jean and the youngsters
feed the fish a small food ball she makes from a mixture
of ground corn meal, protein and iron. She uses ground up
raisins and chicken livers soaked in codfish oil for the iron.
The fish are growing faster then usual from the diet and last
week the group did their first harvest. The young women
and Jean have three cables strung across the pond that
serve as electric magnets. When Jean turns on the electric
power the electric magnetic cables produce enough mag-
netism to attract and draw in the iron deposited in the flesh
of the fish from the diet of raisins, chicken livers and cod
liver oil. The youngsters move their boat along the cable
and with thick rubber gloves pull off the catfish Jean wants
to keep. When she turns off the electric cables, the rest
swim away. Building the pond was a brilliant concept. In building
the pond Jean and the students planted several fast grow-
ing bushes in a solid circle. Next they planted two side by
side rows of bushes to and from the creek. Jean waited
until one of the massive blackbird migrations came into
the area. One afternoon the group went out and sprayed
a mixture of mostly pine sap and molasses on all of the
bushes. Next they sprayed some kernels of yellow corn
on the bushes for bait. Just before dark about a thousand
black birds flew in and started to feed. Sun went down so
they roosted there for the night. Over night the action of
the sap and other ingredients hardened up like glue much
thicker then the normal stickiness of molasses. The birds
could not fly. Just as the sun came up, right at the crack
of dawn the students who had slept over all night sneaked
out and around the bushes full of birds. They all started the
most incredible racket you could imagine. Scared the birds
so bad they all pumped their wings simultaneously, lifted
up and the bushes stuck to their feet with about a hundred
cubic yards of dirt clinging to the roots of the bushes. The
pond was dug including the two feeder ditches to move the
water in and out of the pond. I said, “Jean what about the
black birds.” Jean said, “No problem, we drove the birds
over the garden toward the tree line. By the time they reach
the tree line that fresh, rich top soil had shaken off the roots
and had spread well out over the garden.” Jean added that
it was a group plan for the birds to rest over by the woods
and when the sun was up the molasses softened up and
turned them lose. After all they did eat well for their work.
They also spread some corn over by the trees for their
breakfast. I said, “Jean it’s to bad you never met my Grandma
Dorothy. She trained some squirrels to help harvest.”
The next thing I knew everybody wanted to hear about
my Grandma Dorothy. When you are not prepared where
do you start? I told them that the story had nothing to do
with fishing but they insisted so I promised to tell the story
later. AND THAT’S A TRUE STORY