Ich Un De Betsy Wetzel Gaena Fisha

Ich un de Betsy Wetzel, sell oldt maidel woo ich dere derfun fartzaeled hob de ledsht woch, sin der onner dawg gonga fisha un mere hen en shtarn-hawgelsy tzeit g’hot.

Won du in dime laeva net mit da weipsleit gonga bisht fisha don waisht du evva gor nix derfun, un we wennicher os du derfun waisht we besser os du ob bisht.

Well, mere sin doh nunner on de Schwoger grick woo se olls g’sawt hen de sucker lia uff’m rick.

Mer hen uns en shaener blocka ous ga-gooked om sucker luch un ich hob der Betsy g’sawt se sull’s essa safe aweck shtella ous em wake. Derno hen mer unser lina reddy g’mauched don wore’s der Betsy bong g’west far en worrem draw do un ich hob my gardt onna g’laiked un era ainer draw g’henked.

Se hut era line nei g’schmissa un ich hob usht my korrick draw binna wella don - woopsh, rised se rous un hocked era line about fooftze foos nuff in en wasser pitch.

Wile yaders usht ae line un ae ongel hut g’hot hov ich evva nuff uff der bawm groddla missa un era ongel loos maucha.

Uff em runner wake hut en shtartsa my hussa g’fonga un gli hov ich de kold looft uff minera bloosa howd g’shpeered.

Runner hov ich net wella de wile os se oona om bawm shtaid un druvva bliva fongt ken suckers.

Endlich hov ich ga-broveered der bawm runner kups-feddersht so we en squarl un ich wore net weit cooma bis my hinnery glowa holdt farlora hen un ich bin flotch fonna on era uff der budda g’folla.

Se hot marderlich ga-grisha un ich hob ga-glawbed se daid widder ains fun era kotza-gichtera greega.

Se hut awver net un gli hut se widder era line drin g’hot.

Ivver awennich sawgt se:

“Gottlieb, ich hob en bise.”

“Woo?”

“On minera ongel. Woo daidsht denka, du ux?”

“Now wardt a bissel bis es widder tzupped un derno schnarr.”

Woopsh, rised se un rous coomed en ole shier wedder era fees.

“Haryesses! En shlong!” sawgt se. “Shpring, Gootlieb!”

Se hut net g’wardt far mich un is g’schloga far de naixt fense.

Es luch woo se dorruch hut wella wore eider tsu glae odder se tsu grose un se us shtecka blivva - der kup nunner un de fees so gaega da tzaea uhr nei.

Ich hob ousa um en sex-ocker feldt room shpringa missa bis ich uff der rechta side by hob kenna far era loos helfa.

We ich se tsurick g’holdt hob g’hot don hut de ole sich loos ga-draid g’hot un wore widder ins wasser g’schlipt.

De Betsy hut g’sawt se wut se hets fisha net g’larnt un hut era gardt uff de bank g’schmissa.

Se hut g’sawt se wet mere now helfa my tackling reddy greega.

Es wore now shunt naixt middawg un ich hob ga-tzaeled de lina nei do un derno reddy maucha far essa, don uff ae mohl hut ebbes awfonga glebbera hinnich uns un we ich room ga-gooked hob don coomed ma nuchber si oldte lose hinnich em bawm rous mit unseram ess-karab ivver der hols henka.

Ich hob se fonga wella usht far der karab wile ich g’wist hob os es essa anyhow fardt is, awver won du in dime laeva ga-broveered husht en oldte lose fonga don waisht os der oldt shinner inera is.

Ich hob se endlich in en wauga shup ga-drivva.

Se is ins hinner eck nei ga-backed unich en tswae-giles wauga un we ich tsu era groddla hob wella hut se “Hu-hu” g’mauched un is rous g’shtart.

Ich hob se ob heada wella un bin mit em kup wedder de longwid g’shprunga os my sidener hoot tzomma ga-dubbled is we en ‘cordeon.

Ich hob se net greeked bis noach da tswae uhr un derno hov ich se tzomma g’schloga mit ma shilshite.

We ich tsurick cooma bin wore ich base, farshunna, farrissa un hoongerich, un mere hen ous-g’mauched hame gae un es ivver maucha uff en onerer dawg.

Awver dere will ich now usht amohl grawd aweck ebbes nunner fartzaela, un des is dos won ich nuch amohl g’fonga waer mit da weipsleit gae fisha don mawksht du mich nunner do os en farflompts oldts kolb os net wase wos are will un is net tsu-fridda bis es ebber findt far ene.

Me and

Betsy Wetzel go fishing

Me and Betsy Wetzel, that old maid who I told you about last week, went fishing the other day and we had a devilish time.

If you never went fishing with women in your life, then you don’t know anything about it, and the least you know about it the better off you are.

Well, we went down to her brother-in-law’s creek where she often said the suckers lay on the edge of the creek.

We found a nice log at the sucker hole and I told Betsy she should put the eats in a safe place away from the creek.

Then we got our lines ready and Betsy was afraid to put the worm on the line so I laid my fishing pole and hung one of hers.

She threw her line in and I had just wanted to tie my cork to the line - whoops, she pulled her line out and hooked it about 50 feet up in a sycamore tree.

While each one of us has one fish hook and one fishing line, I had to crawl up the tree to get her fish hook loose.

When I started to come down, my pants got caught and soon I felt the cold wind on my pants leg.

I did not want to come down while she stood under the tree and stayed there but could not catch any suckers.

Finally I tried to come down the tree head first like a squirrel and I was not down too far when I lost my handhold and I fell on her at the bottom.

She screamed like she was getting murdered and I thought she would get another short convulsion.

She didn’t get one though and soon she had her line in the creek.

After a while she said: “Gottlieb, I have a bite.”

“Where?” I asked.

“On my fish hook. Where did you think, you ox?”

“Now wait a little until it moves again and then jerk the line,” I said.

Whoops, she pulled it out and out comes an eel on her feet.

“Lordy! A snake!” she said. “Run Gottlieb!”

She didn’t wait for me and ran straight to the next fence.

The hole she wanted to go through was either too small or she was too bit and she stayed stuck - her head was down toward her feet around 10 o’clock.

I had to run out of the six-acre field until I got on the right side of her to help her get loose.

While I held her back, the old eel turned itself loose and slipped once again in the water.

Betsy said she wishes she had not learned how to fish and threw her fishing line on the band.

She said she would now help me get my tackling ready.

It was now almost midday and I put the lines in and got ready to eat, but just then something began to rattle behind us and when I looked around I saw my neighbor’s old mule behind the tree with our eats basket hanging over its neck.

I wanted to catch it just for the basket because I knew that the eats were gone, but if you in your life tried to catch an old mule then you know that the old deuce is in it.

I finally drove it into the wagon shed.

It backed into the corner under a two-horse wagon and when I crawled to it, it went “hu-hu” and started out.

I headed it off and ran, hit my head against the connecting pole of the wagon that my hat doubled up like an accordion.

I did not catch it until 2 p.m. and then I hit it together with the single tree of the wagon.

When I got back, I was angry, bruised, upset, and hungry, and we decided to go home and do it over another day.

But I just want to tell you, and this is if I go with a women again fishing, then you may describe me as an awful old foolish person who does not know what he wants and is not satisfied until he finds one.

***

From “Boonastiel” Pennsylvania Dutch by T.H. Harter, published 1904. Translated by Mary Bittner Henry.