My Family’s Traditional Fish Fry

Editorial Note

“My Family’s Traditional Fish Fry” is a personal narrative about a spring gathering with no formal beginning or written instructions, underscoring its essence. Contributing to a special issue on Land-Based Teaching and Learning, it illustrates how knowledge lives in practice rather than documentation. The oil is judged by sight, the seasoning by smell, and the timing by colour, forming the recipe itself, passed down through presence and participation.

The fish fried at Cormorant Lake is more than a meal; it is a seasonal marker, a communal ritual, and a site of intergenerational transmission. The author’s observation that it is “not something we plan far in advance or write down – it’s just something we do” captures the core of oral tradition and lived knowledge: its authority comes from being repeatedly experienced, year after year, with the whole family around the fire.

Each year, when spring comes and the water is freshly melted, my family starts the season with fish fries. Not just any fish fry – a gathering. After our first spring fishing trip, we filled and cooked all the fish caught and celebrated around a fire. It has been a family tradition for as long as I can remember, and everybody is welcome. It is not something we plan far in advance or write down. It is just something we do. The fish fry marks a shift – a way of coming together before the season changes and before everyone turns their attention back to the land.

The fish caught and kept is always Walleye, also known as Pickerel-the best-tasting fish, straight from Cormorant Lake. The way it is filleted and prepared has always been the same, and there is no written recipe, no exact measurements. Everything is done with feel and experience. The oil is judged by sight, the seasoning by smell, and the timing by colour. This knowledge is passed down through watching and helping, not through being told what to do. Over time, you learn when the fish is ready to flip and when it is done – without having to ask.

The photograph shows the fish after it has been fried: golden, resting on paper towels, waiting to be shared. To someone else, it might look like a regular meal. For my family, it represents togetherness and preparation. The fish is always made in large batches, not just for one person. While it cooks, people talk about past hunting seasons, give reminders, and share stories about the family members who taught us these traditions.

Starting the year with a fish fry is also about respect. It reminds us that food comes from land and water, and that harvesting requires responsibility. Nothing is wasted. Leftovers are saved or shared, and the effort that went into the meal is acknowledged.

This tradition stays the same every year, even as other things change. The fish fry ground us. It connects us to each other, to the land, and to the knowledge that has been passed down through our family for generations. This is what our ancestors did, and this is what we will continue to do.

Beginning the season this way feels right – it reminds us of where we come from, and what we are preparing for.