The Fish, the Sand Flies, and the Chevy Van

The Fish, the Sand Flies, and the Chevy Van

By Kateb Shunnar

We didn’t own a boat. Couldn’t afford one. But what we did have was Paw Paw Wallace’s old red Chevrolet van. That van wasn’t just transportation it was a character. It rattled, wheezed, and groaned like it was coughing up its last prayer every time you turned the key. Paw Paw swore by it. “Ain’t nothing wrong with her,” he’d say, patting the dashboard. “She just got personality.”

Granny , on the other hand, wasn’t so kind. Every time we pulled up somewhere in that van, she’d sigh and say, “Lord, deliver me from this raggedy embarrassment before the neighbors think I married down.” Paw Paw never flinched. He’d just grin, tilt his hat, and say, “Woman, this van’s got more miles in her than Noah’s Ark. Still floating though, ain’t it?”

And so, in that wheezy red van, the three of us rumbled down to Venice, Louisiana, for a day of fishing.

Granny had packed enough food for a church picnic fried chicken wrapped in foil, biscuits in an old towel, a jar of sweet tea that used to be a pickle jar, and three cans of bug spray. Trouble is that the bug spray didn’t work. Not a squirt, not a mist, not a puff. Either it expired in 1975 ,or the sand flies of Venice were born immune.

The moment we stepped out, those sand flies came at me like I was the grand opening buffet at a Vegas casino. Paw Paw leaned against the van, calm as a preacher on Sunday morning, spitting sunflower seeds into the dirt. Granny smoothed her skirt, folded her arms, and sat like a queen overseeing her kingdom. Not one bug touched either of them.

But me? I was under full-scale attack. Slapping my ankles, smacking my arms, twitching like I’d been struck by lightning.

“Boy,” Granny said, shaking her head, “you look like you’re auditioning for Soul Train. Sit down before you scare the fish away.”

“Granny, they’re eating me alive!” I yelled, hopping from one foot to the other.

She raised one eyebrow. “They ain’t even touched me or your Paw Paw. Guess you just the dessert special today.”

Paw Paw chuckled without looking up. “Fish don’t like desperate people. Sit still.”

Now, Granny didn’t waste opportunities for zingers. She leaned in with that sly grin and said, “Paw Paw, maybe the bugs just know he tender meat. You and me too seasoned. We taste like old leather.”

Paw Paw spit another seed and said, “Leather lasts longer.”

They both cackled like a comedy duo while I flailed and slapped myself into exhaustion. I was ready to crawl back into the van when suddenly YANK! My rod bent down hard, like something from the deep had decided I looked worth challenging.

And that’s when the suspense hit. My foot slipped in the mud. My back hit a tree root. Sand flew everywhere. I almost toppled headfirst into the water, spinning like a tornado while the sand flies celebrated my impending demise. Paw Paw yelled, “Don’t you drown yourself! You are letting that fish win without even trying!”

Granny hollered, “Keep your balance, boy! If you fall in, you’re swimming home with no clothes and no dignity!”

I barely held on, swinging the rod like a lifeline while the fish danced and pulled like it had a vendetta. Every slap of water, every tug, made me flinch harder. And the sand flies? They feasted like the world was ending.

Finally, with one last desperate heave, I hauled it out  a huge, shining fish, big as my forearm, wriggling, flopping, and blinding me in the sunlight.

“Look at that!” I shouted. “I did it!”

And then SMACK! The thing slapped me clean across the face, knocked my cap sideways, and flopped straight back into the water like it had a meeting to get to.

Silence. Just the plop of water as it disappeared.

Paw Paw spit his seed, tilted his hat, and said dryly, “Well… least you caught somethin’. Not many folks can say they got kissed by their dinner.”

Granny folded her arms and said, “All that fuss and you let it slip. That fish swam off laughing at you. Lord, give this boy some grip.” Then she leaned back, sipped her sweet tea, and added with a smirk, “Next time, just let me do it. I don’t have time to lose fish or reputation.”

They both laughed so hard I thought they’d fall off their chairs. And me? I just stood there, covered in bug bites, pride in tatters, smelling like fish slime.

But here’s the thing I realized later: life is full of moments just like that. You fight, you strain, you think you’ve got something in your hands a dream, a chance, a blessing and then it slips right through your grip. It hurts. It embarrasses you. Folks might even laugh.

But Granny always had a way of flipping wisdom into her sass. She told me that evening, “If it slipped away, it wasn’t for you. God don’t let what’s yours swim off. What’s meant for you don’t need chasing  it’ll come to your line and stay put.”

Paw Paw added, “Sometimes the lesson’s worth more than the fish. Fish feeds you once. Wisdom feeds you forever.”

That day, I didn’t bring home fish. I brought home bites, bruises, and Granny’s sass. I brought home Paw Paw’s dry humor. But I also brought home something bigger: patience, humility, laughter, and the reminder that even when life bites, slaps, and rattles you around like a Chevy van on a bumpy road, the Creator is in every moment. He’s in the laughter, the struggle, the surprises, and even the sand flies.

The spiritual lesson? Faith is like fishing. You cast your line, wait with patience, trust in God’s timing, and don’t panic when things slip away. Some catches are meant for your net, some aren’t. But showing up, doing your best, and keeping your heart open  that’s where blessings really come from.

By the time we drove home, van squeaking like it was laughing with us, I realized I hadn’t failed at all. The fish may have gotten away, but God had given me a day full of lessons, love, and laughter  far better than any fish could ever provide.

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