Of Times Past

We were walking about the Village this morning and ran across a father-son team coming out of the Coronet on the corner of Main and Front.  They were walking right in front of us and waiting, as we overheard, for the pharmacy to open.  A few feet further we happily found out that it wasn't someone needing pills but indeed it was that Colonial carries lightweight fishing poles (we know because we have granddaughters and have been there before - SE corner of the store - eye height), perfect for sitting on a dock and dangling something over the edge.

Chances are, in middle of March, somewhere between slim and none that this quest will come up with a fish but that really isn't the point and for the dad in that little combo, it wasn't of any importance at all.
He may have had a grandfather like Mr. Lupton in the photo, sitting on roughly the same intended dock space but a hundred years earlier.  Mr. Lupton perhaps was catching something or maybe he just like to sit and fish, come what may.

That is the beauty of old photographs with people in them that you know nothing about.  We could make up a story about Mr. Lupton waiting patiently, pole at his side, for school to finish for the day and his grandson would stop on over and they would talk some while pretending to fish.  Maybe Mr. Lupton was about to catch the whopper and bring it to a family dinner.  A good case could be made that Mr. Lupton just wanted a time to look at the line in the water, waiting for that jiggle and tug, line tight and singing.

The father-son made its way to Colonial Drugs and down the street to the side door and disappeared. In our mind's eye, they certainly would reemerge, poles in hand, and down to the dock - farthest point from land - all the while looking down for a set of eyes looking back up, the later waiting for the future Mr. Lupton.