By BETH HENDERSON
Lifestyles Editor
Most mornings, when there's fish to be caught, Retha Mitchell Reynolds rises at 4 a.m.
By the first sign of light, she's in her tiny aluminum boat - cooler packed with a modest lunch of potted meat and Vienna sausages - to begin her daily canvassing of Mossy Lake in search of crappie.
"I've been known to sleep until five," the 70-year-old reluctantly admits. "But I'm living the good life."
Today's a crisis, though. No potted meat, and no Vienna sausages. But that won't stop Reynolds from her daily fishing trip.
"I need to go to the grocery," Reynolds said, "But I hate to leave the lake."
Today, she'll have to settle for a ham sandwich on week-old bread and a very ripe banana.
At the modest three-room cabin she bought on the lake in southwestern Leflore County in 1996, Reynolds regularly welcomes guests with open arms. She'll greet a stranger or a friendly face with the same amount of enthusiasm, and she'll invite them in.
There's a Bible on the table, a cross and a dove of peace in each of the two windows and a prayer on the wall. The curtains that frame the two windows overlooking the screened-in back porch are made simply from sheets purchased at Wal-Mart and feature patterns of various types of fish. Polka Dot and Hobo, the resident dogs, are just as happy to greet visitors.
While Hobo, a mixed stray who wandered up about a week ago, waits patiently outside for a bit of attention, Polka Dot faithfully follows Reynolds from room to room. She's so dear to Reynolds that a bank account was opened on her behalf not long ago to ensure that she would be taken care of when Reynolds passed on.
The white, wooden side door greets everyone with a sign boasting the spot to be the "Crappie Cleaning Capitol of the World." Artistically displayed underneath the sign are several worn and dulled knife blades that Reynolds has used over the years to clean fish. And, she's a whiz at it.
As she stands in the den/dining area over a well-used deep freezer, using its lid as a makeshift table of sorts, Reynolds carefully places her cutting board on the freezer and begins to assemble her famous two-bladed electric knife.
She then reaches into a once-discarded, plastic discount-store bag and begins to pull out the catch of the day - crappie.
Sometimes big, sometimes small, but all crappie. Always crappie. Reynolds has her own criteria for the tasty fish.
"A good crappie is 3-4 pounds," Reynolds said. "There are whoppers, throwbacks, keepers and slabs. What's a slab? I really don't know. I do a lot of guesstimatin.'"
When Reynolds begins to filet the crappie, her concentration deepens and the magic begins. In just a few minutes, she has perfectly filleted the entire bag of fish and is washing up her knife and cutting board in the kitchen sink.
"I've caught and filleted 4,215 crappie since I've been here," Reynolds said. "And that doesn't count the fish I've cleaned and filleted for other people."
The "other people" Reynolds refers to are her "cabin family" - area residents and friends who drop by on a regular basis either by land or water and those who come to fish or get advice from Reynolds. Once or twice a year, a big fish fry is the highlight of the Reynolds residence.
One wood-paneled wall of the cabin features an array of pictures, fishing lures, a mounted crappie and memorabilia of good times and great friends. Neatly displayed along with picture frames and bulletin boards are a variety of caps, each nested with the photograph of the person who left it behind as a gift to Reynolds for her hospitality.
Reynolds was born and raised in Kilmichael. She was a psychiatric nurse for 22 years at the Mississippi State Hospital at Whitfield, and her permanent residence is in Pearl.
But, Reynolds spends more time on Mossy Lake than she does in Pearl. She's not even sure when she arrives or when she leaves.
"I come as soon as I can, and I leave when I have to," Reynolds said with a smile as she sits on the screened-in back porch overlooking the lake.
On the windowsill sits a homemade barometer, made out of a green bottle - slightly filled with water - and a couple of other simple items.
"When the water's up in the bottle, that means the fish are biting and the weather's good," Reynolds said. "I fish every day. But I don't fish when the wind is high and when the weatherman says 'Caution on area lakes.'"
When Reynolds is not fishing, she's got plenty to do to keep her busy.
She quilts by hand, and each of the two beds in the cabin displays her handiwork.
Reynolds doesn't have a lawnmower, but she cuts the grass around the cabin with a Weedeater. And she tries to keep the lake clean.
"That's one of my pet peeves, garbage on the lake," Reynolds said. She keeps a garbage bag in her boat, and as she fishes, she picks up trash along the way.
Reynolds also has a pretty sharp eye, and she keeps abreast of the comings and goings on the lake. The dock is just right down from her cabin.
"I look out for folks on the lake, and I keep track of the boats going in and out," Reynolds said.
Once, Reynolds realized that a storm was brewing on the lake, and she knew that all the boats had come in except for one. She called Leflore County Deputy Sheriff Roscoe Gammill, who lives nearby, to report the boat as missing. The man came out of the lake after the storm had passed.
When Reynolds first moved into the cabin, she didn't know a whole lot about jig fishing, but the neighboring fishermen soon taught her everything she needed to know.
"Pete Hull, he taught me a lot," Reynolds said, who first came to the cabin in 1983 when her brother was one of the owners.
In 1990, Reynolds came into some income tax return money, and she bought her first gasoline motor.
"I named it 'The Blue Goose,'" Reynolds proudly stated. "And I thought I could go everywhere with it. Boy, I learned a lot."
It took some time - and a lot of running out of gas in the middle of the lake - for Reynolds to get acclimated to the new motor, but she soon figured it out.
As for eating crappie, Reynolds said she doesn't consume that much of it.
"I cook the fish when I get hungry for it, but when you handle as much fish as I do, you don't get fish-hungry very often," Reynolds said. "But, frying it is the best way."
Just about every afternoon, when Reynolds comes in off the lake, her cabin begins to buzz with activity.
First, the phone starts ringing. Then, folks begin to casually drop by.
"People are calling and wanting to know if the fish are biting, or they want to know did I catch anything, or what I've been doing," Reynolds said.
When Reynolds finishes cleaning her day's catch, she often walks across the pier that stretches across the lake near her cabin to throw the carcasses off.
"Some people think I have the gar trained here," Reynolds laughed. "I will throw the carcasses off the pier and say to them 'Now, if you don't say thank you, I won't give you anymore.' And those garr will come out of the water with their snouts waving those carcasses around."
While modest living is essential for Reynolds - she likes to keep things very simple - she does have a few must-haves that she keeps on hand in case of emergencies. Two of the most important things are jumper cables and a bicycle pump. She's already worn out one pump helping folks with truck and trailer tires.
It may seem that Reynolds has a lot of time on her hands, but surprisingly, she doesn't watch too much television.
"I watch the news," Reynolds said. "Oh, and I come in off the lake on Sundays at 11 a.m. to watch the church services in Greenville."
Although Reynolds is in better health than many of her counterparts, she knows that one day she, too, will pass on. And, she tries to stay prepared. She's made arrangements for the upkeep of the cabin, and it's her hope that it will continue to be a place for good fishing, good fun and good fellowship for those she leaves behind.
"I'll always be a part of this place, you can be sure," Reynolds said. "When I die, my ashes will go off that bridge into the lake. And I guess then, if the fish are biting - or if they're not biting - folks will want to give me the credit!"
