ARTICLE: "Fish Tales: Stickeback, Redfish and Growing Up Well Fed"
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote this article on assignment for the summer/Father’s Day 2022 issue of Eat Drink Mississippi. I am reproducing it here in a slightly different version, as I am including all submitted photos (not just the ones ultimately selected for publication).
UPDATE — June 1, 2022: Read the published story in the June/July issue of Eat Drink Mississippi magazine.
by Michele D. Baker
Summer is coming, and with it, the celebration of fathers everywhere. I lost my dad, Dr. John Baker, a year ago June and this will be my first Father’s Day without him. As I remember his life, I think about how much of it revolved around fish: as the focus of his career, as the object of his much-loved hobby, and as a source of nourishment for his growing family.
Fresh off the farm
My dad John Baker was an All-American farm kid. Born in 1947 in Illinois corn country, he grew up with homegrown vegetables, eggs from his grandmother’s hens and fresh meat from relatives nearby, back when food was slow and “organic” was assumed. Life was slower then; there was time to play board games and corn cob baseball after school and families ate together at the dinner table every evening.
Since his father was out of the picture and there were four children to feed, my dad—the eldest child—helped his mother by running a paper route on his bike, and as a teen, John and his brothers would fish for supper in nearby Kilbuck Creek using bamboo poles instead of rods.
John Baker, sitting next to his baby brother Curt and playing board games (circa 1955).
John Allen Baker’s school yearbook photo, about 1959 or 1960
My mom, Frances Saathoff, as the French maid and my dad, John Baker, as Snidely Whiplash, Stillman Valley High School Play, about 1966
High School sweethearts
Just like in the movies, my parents met in middle school and fell in love. They were a couple throughout high school except when my father briefly broke up with my mom to date another girl. During that time, the annual school play featured my dad as a scheming Snidely Whiplash and my mom, Frances Saathoff, as the French maid, and the script called for the villain to get a pie in the face (an aluminum pan with whipped cream). But my grandmother was mad at John for dumping her little girl, so instead she substituted a deep-dish banana cream pie with extra-thick meringue for the prop pie. (Ker-splat!)
Two years later, my parents were back together, got married after college, and Dad went to work as a cook at the Hillside Restaurant in DeKalb. By his own admission, he made “delicious” mashed potatoes and learned to work the grill like a pro. John’s Christmas present in 1969 was the announcement of a little bundle of joy due the following summer (me!).
First round draft pick
New Year’s Day 1970, and dad was among the first round to be drafted into the Army during the Vietnam war, where he served honorably in Germany as a chaplain’s assistant and sharpshooter. In September, at just six weeks of age, I was old enough to receive a passport, so Mom and I joined him in a small apartment near the military base. My maternal grandparents even came for a visit during Oktoberfest, where dad apparently “introduced” me to that noblest of German arts: the enjoyment of fine ales and beer.
In the Army now. John Baker in 1971 in Stuttgart, Germany holding an infant Michele
Oktoberfest in Munich, 1971. Left to right: Raymond Saathoff, Jr., John Baker (holding Michele), my mom Fran Baker, Evelyn Saathoff and Ray Saathoff, Sr. Apparently, I was allowed a tiny sip.
Dinner is served. About 1974.
Home again, home again
Dad was honorably discharged from the Army, and we returned to the U.S. in 1973. Less than a year later, graduate school seemed like a good idea, and as dad wanted to study freshwater biology, Hattiesburg and the University of Southern Mississippi campus became our next home.
In 1976, we adopted my brother, Kevin (aged 6) from Vietnam, and Mom returned to school to study art. Dad worked several jobs in addition to his classes, including a stint at Pizza Hut. In those days, he was allowed to bring home the leftover dough at the end of each day, which he thriftily made into excellent bread loaves. (Later, some enterprising young executive realized that leftover pizza dough could be made into breadsticks, and the “free bread” game was up.)
Dad also took a government position as a researcher on a Gulf Coast shrimp boat, counting and ensuring that sea turtles weren’t being harmed. When the captain realized that the scientist was also an avid fisherman and willing to work, he put dad on the nets, earning the young student and father a share of the catch. John returned home every three weeks with huge coolers full of prawns, flounder, redfish and sea bass. With nearly one hundred pounds of fresh seafood as “pay” every month, the Baker house was the official site of weekly parties for all the starving grad students—we ate so much fresh seafood my brother and I would beg for cereal. (To this day my brother Kevin won’t even touch shrimp.)
1974 Budweiser ad…??
Michele posing with the day’s haul - about 1974.
Fran and John Baker, Kevin and Michele Baker in Hattiesburg 1977 or 1978.
The battles of Vicksburg
Fast forward to the 1980s, and John moved his little family to Vicksburg to take a job at Waterways Experiment Station. Kevin and Michele attended high school and learned to drive a car (a stick shift, if you please) on the curving, hilly streets of downtown Vicksburg and in the confines of the Vicksburg Military Park.
Even though they’d known each other since they were 14 and my father was a great cook, my parents parted amicably in 1988 after 20 years together.
The Ozarks beckon
I went away to college and my father married Dr. Susan Foster, a woman he met at an “ichs and herps” conference. Susan encouraged my dad to finish his degree, and he soon defended his thesis on the Threespine Stickleback to become a full-fledged Ph.D. in ichthyology (fish biology), a lecturer and researcher.
Both professors now, dad and Susan moved to Arkansas and adopted two infants, my brother Patrick and my sister Dylan. They lectured about biology, grew vegetables, rehabbed a historic house, and hosted their grad students during holiday parties at their large home in Fayetteville.
Susan Foster, Patrick Baker, Dylan Baker, John Baker vacationing in Hawaii in 2014
Fishing at Turkey Creek.
Teaching science classes at Clark University, about 2016
New England farmhouse
Dad’s final move came in 1996 when he and Susan relocated to the tiny hamlet of Petersham, Massachusetts, to teach at nearby Clark University. With a confidence born of long practice, they bought and restored a 1770s-era farmhouse, planted a half-acre garden, and began to host their grad students at huge holiday parties.
The huge garden provided dozens of varieties of tomatoes and peppers, sweet corn, four kinds of squash, beans, cabbage, Brussels sprouts, melons and more, all of which benefited from Susan’s vast knowledge of canning and preserving. Friends and relatives were constant recipients of this bounty in the form of care packages containing a random assortment of potatoes, onions, jams, jellies, home-cured sauerkraut, handmade soap and cards, small toys and other oddments.
By all accounts, students loved the personal stories that really made his lessons understandable, and several commented on RateMyProfessor.com that to succeed in Dr. Baker’s “Bio 101” a student simply had to attend lectures that were sprinkled with dad jokes. His curriculum vitae expanded to 21 pages and ultimately, he was the author/co-author of more than 100 scientific articles. By the end of his career, a rough estimate indicated that nearly 50% of all Clark students had taken at least one of dad’s science classes.
Dad in his half-acre garden in Massachusetts with Olivia and Maya Wund.
Still hosting parties for groups of grad students. Backyard of the house in Massachusetts, about 2016.
The circle closes
In April 2021, I got a call from my father asking me to accompany him on a six-week road trip to visit friends and relatives. His oncologists were advising against the trip, fearing he was too frail, but his own mindset was much more optimistic. I flew to Boston and took a bus to Clark University where he met me at his fish lab; he was helping his graduate students get the collection ready for its shipment to Harvard.
We set out the next day, driving cross-country to Niagara Falls; Columbus, Ohio; Spirit Lake, Iowa, to visit his sister and attend the annual Walleye Weekend fishing tournament; Pekin, Illinois, to visit his brother, Gary; to Mississippi to visit his son, Kevin, and see his new house; to Knoxville and Chattanooga to visit friends and tour the amazing Tennessee Aquarium; and back home again. Two days after we got back to Petersham, my sister took him to the hospital for the last time. He died as he had lived: on his own terms.
Dad and Daughter #1 at Niagara Falls (US side) in April 2021
Munich-style wheat beer (Weissbier) at Hofbrauhaus in Columbus, OH (April 2021)
Brother and sister at Bergen Bar & Grill in Jackson, MN for the Walleye Special (May 2021)
Now, a year later, I look back and realize what an amazing life he led and how far he came. From humble beginnings catching minnows in a creek, to raising four children, to teaching thousands of students and mentoring dozens of future Ph.D.s, growing his own food; and ultimately, eating—and living—well.