Feeding Frenzy

Dear You,

Several years ago my brother David invited me to join him to fish the Niagara River. Long ago I gave up fishing, but I went for the companionship and brought a camera. We climbed down the gorge and clambered among the rocks -- David and his son Justin attaching lures and casting into the river, me snapping picture after picture, my brother and nephew pulling fish after fish from the water. David explained that the fish were heading upstream to spawn and die -- they weren't at all hungry, but they instinctively bit at anything that looked like food.

Yesterday I thought of all that as I watched people go in and out of garage, yard, and estate sales on the streets near my Florida house. Around here, most people have reached the age when getting rid of stuff is more likely than acquiring more . . . yet, they marched in the houses and -- arms loaded with bargains -- marched back out, to their golf carts (a primary mode of transport here) and minivans (much desired for their ability to haul visiting grandchildren to Disney World).

Who can resist what looks like food, even when there is no real hunger and when the lure is just plastic and feathers? Even on this trip upstream toward the inevitable end of our journeys, we still snap at any old lure that is cast in our way.