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Abstract
Raised in North Carolina close to the coast and down the street from the river, I was outside a lot. The summers were long, which allowed my friends and me ample time to explore the woods in our neighborhood and surrounding areas. We fished often. We would dig up some worms and bicycle down to several different banks or docks and drop a line in. My father always had a motorboat, so on some weekend mornings, we’d wake up super-early, pack some sandwiches and head out for the day. I would spend half the time sorting through Dad’s variety of fishing lures, hooks, swivels, bobbers and weights. His tackle box was packed with shapes and colors, tools and line, only half of which I could figure out a use for. The mystery and ambiguity of these objects kept me fascinated with the thought of their possible uses.