Here is a little nostalgic poem by Arthur Reynolds and published in Fur News for April 1920. It's a bit dated (references to Prohibition) but I think it still evokes what the author intended.
WHERE THE SUNFISH USTER BITE.
by Arthur L. Reynolds (York Co., Pa.)
I b'lieve I'd like to tell a bit o' my boyhood fishin' days,
When the country warn't thickly settled an' folks had their own ways,
Fer it might be interestin' like to look back on days o' yore,
Times warn't 'tall like now, boys, 'specially since the war.
There war no Sahara periods, fer men drank the real ol' stuff;
Our national anthem warn't "How dry we are," an' money warn't everybody's bluff.
But I didn't start ter tell yo' 'bout the present, an' what's wrong an' right,
I just wanter ter say a bit about the place where the sunfish uster bite.
On the banks o' the Conewago war the good ol' sunfish place;
'Twas thar the sunnies bit so well we boys uster fish fer race.
Why man they bit so gosh ding fast yo' could scassly bait er hook,
The little cork bobber kept dancin' erbout and yo' couldn't help but look;
An' when ther "sunnies" war bitin' right, yer cork would do the trick,
Yo' knew you were sure to ketch 'em fer sunfish allers stick.
I'll tell yo' boys, it sure war sport, fer they bit with pep an' might.
An' we took many a string o' the beauties home,
Where the sunfish uster bite.
An' when I meditate an' think of it all, lookin' on things as they uster be,
Thinking where all my ol' companions air, and when our hearts from care war free,
I'd give my whole blame huntin' kit, fancy fishin' tackle, an' "flivver,"
If we war all jist kids agin on the banks o' the dear ol' river.
I can't fergit my ol' boyhood pards, an' ther grand ol' swimmin' hole;
The water soaked ol' flat boat we maneuvered with er pole;
'Twar thar I first heard crickets chirp, an' the bull frogs roared all night,
Is it any wonder I wish I war back where the sunfish uster bite.
-- Dr. Todd
