FISH DON’T WEAR WATCHES, WAYLON
A Tennessee Afternoon That Moved Too Slowly
It was one of those lazy Tennessee days when even the sun seemed to yawn. The cicadas buzzed like they were bored with their own song, and the road outside Waylon Jennings’ place looked like it had given up on going anywhere.
Jerry Reed showed up with a fishing pole and a hopeful smile.
“Mind if I borrow your pickup for an hour?” he asked.
Waylon laughed. Anyone who knew Jerry Reed understood that his version of an “hour” came with creative freedom. Still, Waylon tossed him the keys. Nashville was built on trust, jokes, and borrowed guitars. A borrowed truck didn’t seem dangerous.
The Hour That Refused to End
The sun dipped behind the trees.
No truck.
No Jerry.
Waylon leaned against the fence and waited. He told himself Jerry had probably found a good fishing spot and lost track of time. That was Jerry’s talent — losing track of everything except whatever felt peaceful at the moment.
Night came. Still nothing.
By the next day, word had traveled down to the bar. The theories started rolling in.
One man swore Jerry had discovered a secret lake and decided to retire there.
Another said he traded the pickup for a cooler full of catfish and a radio that only played Hank Williams.
Someone else claimed Jerry had joined a fishing cult and taken a vow of silence.
Waylon listened, smiling through it. But when the second sunset arrived and his driveway stayed empty, even he had to admit it was getting strange.
The Sound of an Old Engine
Late that night, just as Waylon was about to give up waiting, he heard it — the familiar cough of his pickup engine coming down the road.
Headlights appeared. The truck rolled into the driveway like it had survived a small war.
The tires were muddy.
The bumper was dusty.
The radio was still playing country music like it had never stopped.
Jerry Reed climbed out looking proud of himself, like a man who had just returned from a long and successful adventure.
Waylon crossed his arms.
“You know what time it is?” he asked.
Jerry just grinned.
“Fish don’t wear watches, Waylon.”
A Philosophy Disguised as a Joke
Jerry didn’t offer an apology. He didn’t explain where he had been or why it took two days to find an hour. Instead, he leaned against the truck and talked about water so still it looked like glass. About a place where the only clock was the sun and the only schedule was hunger.
Waylon shook his head and laughed. He had spent his life racing from stage to stage, city to city, always chasing the next show, the next record, the next mile of highway.
Jerry had spent two days chasing something else entirely.
Peace.
The Song That Came Later
Years later, that line would turn into a song — not really about fishing, and not really about time. It was about slowing down in a world that never stopped rushing. About finding quiet in the middle of noise. About remembering that life didn’t come with a stopwatch.
People who heard the song thought it was funny.
People who knew the story understood it was true.
Waylon would sometimes smile when he heard it on the radio. Not because it reminded him of a missing truck — but because it reminded him that even outlaws needed to rest now and then.
What Jerry Really Brought Back
Jerry Reed borrowed a pickup truck.
But what he brought back was a small philosophy wrapped in a joke:
Time belongs to people.
Not to clocks.
And somewhere in Tennessee, under a sky that still knows how to yawn, that lesson stayed alive — carried in laughter, dust, and the slow hum of an old country radio.