A Remembrance
of
Ezra Grover Carter
Written by his second son
Mark Johnson Carter
Page 1 of 3

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I have written this so my children and grandchildren would have some idea of what my father was like. I have always felt bad that he never lived long enough to see any of you.

Every spring when the Pussy Willows bud out and start to bloom, I think of Dad. He used to say there is no use going fishing until the Pussy Willows bloom. How Grover, my brother, and I waited for that special time. About the first Saturday after the snow had gone, and the fields were starting to green up we would tie the long bamboo cane poles to the side of the car and drive down to Logan River. We would walk about a half mile over thru the meadows to a big bend in the river. We caught suckers and carp until we got all we could carry. Then we took them up to Grandpa Johnson's. He always made a fuss over us and said carp and suckers are just as good as trout when you haven't got trout.

Being there with Dad, listening to the Meadow Larks and Red-winged Blackbirds singing, the fish biting good, was as near heaven as two little boys could get.

In my mind Dad was quite a large man-six foot tall, broad-shouldered and trim. As I was growing up he always looked the same to me. He never seemed to age. His head was bald, and he wore a grey felt hat with two-inch brim turned down in front. When it was new, he wore it to college, and when it got worn it became his fishing hat with a couple of flies stuck in the hat band and a fishing leader coiled up inside. He always dressed in a suit while teaching at the college and was very neat and particular about his appearance. He had sparkling white teeth and never had a cavity or a filling. At home and off work he wore semi-dress pants and suspenders. Sometimes when it was chilly he wore a long-sleeved wool sweater buttoned down the front. He always wore ankle-length black-laced shoes. I can never remember seeing him in a sports coat or anything other than I have described. I almost forgot the hip boots for fishing and a tan canvas hunting coat with pockets in the back to carry game.

Dad was quite and reserved. His sense of humor was unique. He loved to tell stories that had a humorist twist. I seldom saw him laugh out loud but would smile when something pleased him. As an expert fisherman he was often asked how the fishing was in a particular spot. His answer was, "It ought to be good."

I never saw him lose his temper or really get angry with any of us kids. The only spanking I can remember he gave my brother, Grover, for beating up on me. He controlled his family with a look. One look from Dad straightened me out but quick if I was doing something wrong. He never scolded or threatened.