Well, heaven’s got ‘em a good one now.
My old friend Fred Harget left us yesterday, and if there’s any justice in the hereafter, Saint Peter’s already handed him a rod and reel and pointed him toward the best fishing hole up yonder. Back in the ‘70s, there wasn’t a man alive who loved casting a line more than Fred. There wasn’t a Saturday you wouldn’t find us racing down to that salt ditch in his uncle’s old Chevy Fleetside, two young bucks with nothing but time and fishing poles. Fred could outfish anybody I ever knew – he had a sixth sense about where those fish were hiding.
I can still hear the sound of our old acoustic guitars playing country tunes as the sun set over the water. Fred had a way of making even the simplest chord progression sound like it belonged on the Grand Ole Opry stage. We played a little country music, told a few tall tales, and laughed like tomorrow wasn’t ever coming.
They say the good Lord has special places for special people, and I figure Fred’s got himself a permanent spot on the celestial riverbank. I bet he’s already charmed the angels into showing him all the honey holes where the fish are always biting and the cooler never runs empty.
Fred was the kind of friend who made the good times better and the hard times easier. And Lord knows, he loved his family something fierce. Missy, Amber, Sarah, those grandbabies—he’d have moved heaven and earth for ‘em. Family was his biggest catch, and he treasured every minute.
So tonight, I’ll tip a glass to Fred—to the songs we played, the fish we (mostly) threw back, and the miles we racked up in that old truck. Rest easy, brother. Save me a spot on the bank up there. Reckon you’ve already found where the big ones bite.
Missy, Amber, Sarah, and all the family—y’all are in my prayers. Thanks for sharing Fred with the rest of us. We were all better for knowing him.
I don’t know when I’ll make it up yonder myself, but I take comfort knowing when I do, Fred will be waiting with an extra rod, that big grin of his, and saying, “Dean, you ain’t gonna believe how big they grow ’em up here!” So, here’s to you, Fred. Thank you for the laughter, the music, and the friendship. I have no doubt that when my time comes, we’ll meet again, and you’ll be ready to show me all the best spots to cast a line in the great beyond. Until then, keep the bait ready and the guitar tuned. We’re gonna miss you, buddy.
Save me a spot on the bank, old friend. And put in a good word with the Man upstairs about my fishing skills – I might need the divine intervention.
Heaven just got a whole lot livelier.
Till we meet again, partner. Tight lines.
