This morning, at a time when one is supposed to be sleeping soundly on a Saturday, Beloved packed up extra clothes, snacks, beer, a fishing pole, an extra coat, his father, and the carpet we ripped out of the little green house when we first moved in, and headed to his brothers house an hour and a half away.
They're a goin' fishin'.
Beloved...is NOT usually a fisherman. He'll go once or twice a decade, usually with his brother and it usually has more to do with spending time with Fishing Dude than actually catching any fish (much to Fishing Dude's dismay because he is a real fisherman.)
Beloved was very motivated for this fishing trip though. You see, for the past six months that carpet has been taking up space in the man cave. Fishing Dude, requested we keep the carpet seeing as he could use it in his trailer house.
Anyway, there have been promises that the carpet would be gone on this date or that. All to no avail. So, when Fishing Dude invited Beloved and their father salmon fishing, Beloved leaped at the chance. He loaded that massive mess into the back of the van and nearly danced with glee just thinking about the space the man cave gained.
It's the little things you know.
I'd like to point out that these boys are goin' fishin' in the rain. And the cold. FIL is seventy-six-old and not known for his calm, hanging out, demeanor. Personally, I'd rather shot myself in the foot than go fishing.
I learned some very important lessons about fishing when I was just a wee slip of a girl. My daddy took me and my three brothers fishing. Why? Because there were important lessons to learn. Everyone needs to know how to bait a hook and clean fish. Right?
The rules are simple. You must learn to bait your own hook and clean your own fish. But none of this was explained to me at the beginning of this outdoor adventure. I do think that these rules are dandy, because I do not fish. Ever.
Anyway, on my very first fishing trip, to a stocked pond I should add, I caught a fish...after one of my brothers baited my hook for me. My brothers caught fish too. It was super fun and my brothers baited my hooks and held my pole and helped me if I had any trouble reeling in my minuscule catch. Lest you think that my brothers were saints, it should be noted that they both referred to me as a whiny girl, wimp, sissy and (sigh) a girl.
I remember standing outside our little camping trailer watching Dad demonstrate how to clean the fish. It hadn't actually occurred to me that I was going to be doing the cleaning until he handed me the knife and told me to be careful.
I looked at him.
I looked at the fish.
I looked at my brothers, who were all crazy eyed and jacked up from the kill.
Then I promptly burst into tears. Then I cried and I begged and I dropped my fish in the dirt and cried some more. Eventually, Dad made one of my brothers clean my fish. Being the only girl in a family of boys had it's advantages.
Years later, FIL, MIL, Beloved and I took Boy and Girl fishing. To this day I cannot remember how they coerced me into it. Anyway, both Girl and Boy caught fish. It was fun! Until it came time to clean them. Then Girl cried and begged and dropped her fish in the dirt and cried some more. Then Boy cleaned her fish. It has kind of a poetic beauty to it doesn't it?
My Beloved purchased his fishing tag and loaded up his father. He's off to bond with other men who kills slimy aquatic life. He'll stand in the rain. He'll drink a beer. He'll catch a huge whoppin' salmon and bring it home to his little wifey...who will promptly remind him that she does not, under any circumstances, clean fish.
I will make all the appropriate cooing noises when he brings home his catch. I will happily bake that lovely salmon with dill and lemons. I'll even do the dishes.
Just don't ask me to go fishing.
Fishing Dude and Beloved are befuddled by my lack
of enthusiasm over fishing.