The weather was beautiful, I loved being on the boat, playing with Ijah in the sand, sitting by the fire.  Sherman swore he saw Mark in a porcupine that was meandering up the road.  I didn’t see,  but I could imagine it.

I made kick ass spaghetti, and ate lots of meat.  I treated the sisters to midnight pigs in a blanket, tater-tots, and chocolate chip cookies.  I drank beer, and whiskey, and coffee, and cursed the mosquitoes to hell.

I caught one fish.  In seven days I caught one fish.  One tiny, weeny, wormy fish.  What?  I thought…no help?  Nothing Mark? No pull at all from you up there?

Then last night something happened that has only happened to me two other times in my life.  A very vivid dream, some would call a hallucination.  Two shiny red fishing reels dancing towards me, hover over my bed.  I reached up for them, and like the other times strange objects have appeared, they vanished.

It occurred to me after, that Mark hadn’t been missing from the trip.  He hadn’t been ignoring.  He’d been there, living through me.  With the pigs in a blanket, and the cabin chilling, and the mosquito cursing.  He was there showing off for Sherman, as he would have been.  He was there watching Ijah play in the sand.   And he was there catching no fish…like he often did with my Mom.

Then, to make sure I knew, he danced fishing reels over my head.  Bright red and shiny.  Probably guaranteed to NEVER catch a fish.…

Thanks Mark…miss you…and a little LESS help next time?  Please?

I sat back for a moment and realized…I’ve become a person who LOVES to fish. 

It happened last year and surprised me then but actively reading fishing magazines, getting nostalgic over the gear, and hoping the baby sleeps on the boat drives it home. 

I can’t wait to be up at the cabin, dragging Sherman out of bed asking if we are going this morning.  I don’t have a problem being up at four to be at the lake by five.  The tippy boats used to make me a little nervous, I didn’t know that I was really up for damp weather and squishy shoes.  Fish seemed kinda slimy, I couldn’t even bait my own hook.

I can bait my own hook now.  I can tie on swivel snaps with speed.  I know how to load my reel.  I can (usually) take my own fish off the lure.  I get the basics of technique.  I can almost tell what type of fish I caught by feel before I see it.

By no means am I an expert, but I do enjoy it.  Squeamish at first but then everything just seemed so cool.  I started by handing Sherman every fish I caught, now I at least attempt to handle it myself.  I still have my girly city moments.  Lures stuck on the outside, or god forbid an eye, make me squelchy and feel super bad.  Sometimes the buggers are just too slippery, or I get nervous with how long I’m taking.  But more often I am amazed at the coolness of it all.

I need practice, I need more trips.  The weeds know me a bit too well and my cursing (kept so well under control close to the point of nonexistence) seems to come back when I get stuck AGAIN.  I will say though I never wanted to turn around because I was bored.

So here I am.  The girl that LOVES the city, that loves her technology, her skyline, the people, the noise; getting twitchy about going to the lake.  Thinking “gosh I hope my fishing jeans fit again…glad I found my Wellies…they make tiny life jackets for Comma right?”

Who knew?