My grandpa’s aunt Isabel was married to a man named Fred, who made this shrimping net. Maybe five or so years ago, my grandpa sent a package to my dad with the net and some drawings of Fred’s. For some reason, I really remember wanting to put the net on my ceiling. The drawings were mostly cartoons. When my dad was young, Fred had him help arrange a fake driving school that involved beforehand payment. My dad said Fred had him help because he looked reliable and could hold the sign. Partway through writing this, I’m realizing I confused this story about the driving school with my dad’s Uncle Nicky. I’m on the phone with my dad right now and he’s laughing about Fred going on 36-hour benders and making fifty pies in a day. He made every part of the net by hand, starting with string. Shrimping nets, crab pots, he had a coastal-something accent. My dad couldn’t understand him. Fred was in the Army Corps of Engineers, but he sold the nets and pots on the side, and the shrimp and crab on the side. His father was a lighthouse keeper. The net was never cast, just given to my grandpa as a reminder—I was going to say earlier that when we opened the box, it smelled fishy. I guess an object that is so distant has an extended space for exaggerating, like earlier with Nicky. A net admits to its mechanics and to what it takes. The mesh is specific enough to draw out certain things and leave others behind; it is selective because of how particular its absences are. 

– Isabel Farren

Relationship:  Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more