Man Down
Last week, John and Bryce built a wooden tree stand with 2×6′s, a generous platform, with side rails. These guys are professionals, making sure the monstrosity weighed in at 350 lbs. and installed it on a parcel of our farm John refers to as his “Legacy Land”.Fast forward to high noon on Saturday, May 26, 2018: The characters in this three ring circus were Uncle Bob and his son, Johnnie, who came up to work the land so when November rolls around, Johnnie can drop another 140 class buck or better. The ringleader was my husband John. Despite the long walk through the vines and brush and all the bugs, they were getting a lot done. John climbed up the newly built tree stand to tighten the turnbuckle. I guess stands have to “settle” and then you tighten them. Just as he reached the top, about 25′ up, and unbuckled the turnbuckle, the 3″ “guaranteed for life” peg he was standing on cracked in half. No safety net. The lions roared as Humpty Dumpty fell.
On the way down, John twisted to shove the ladder away from crashing on top of him. When he did that, his body rotated and within milliseconds, he was flat on his back in 6″ of water. A corner of the ladder stand ripped through his super thick Cabela’s jeans and he had his bell rung. Send in the clown cars for distraction. The two man crowd gasped at the horror.
He saw stars for a moment and Bob and Johnnie did a great job getting him out of the woods. He was slow, but ambulatory. So fortunate for the water to break his high fall, that he wasn’t impaled by a stump or stick, that he didn’t land on a log. He just took a licking and kept on ticking. The only message he left me on my phone was, “When are you going to be home, I might need some of your oils.” So of course I took my sweet a** time coming home, stopping for a Culver’s butter burger after boot camp yoga, completely unaware of his near death experience.
He looked okay, nothing tingled, no blood, no bruising so I couldn’t talk him into going to the hospital. So I did the next best thing. Applied ice packs and DoTERRA oils up and down his spine. The next day he got up and went to work in Saginaw followed by attending a house warming party for another nephew and checking on some of his franchisees in the area. Still, he refuses medical care. Whatever. You can’t fix the 150 percent Polish in him.
This morning, only two days since the fat lady sang, he was up at 3:30 a.m. to do a cooking segment on the morning news. Ahhhh…now, finally, he admits, “I might have over done it.”
Note the picture on the wall: lots of his DNR Successful Deer Hunter Patches
Take Two and Call Medicine Man Charters in the Morning
I’ve known Captain Ed for about 6 years now. He is a man with a plan and plenty of jokes to keep the fish biting. We went out today on a walleye charter in Canada waters where we could keep 6 walleye each. I lost track of the upgrading we did to come in with a bucket full of finger licking good eaters. Today’s trip included Steve Kovacs and his wife, Laurie, who was AMAZING. She began fishing before she could walk.
The morning was custom ordered. Light winds, warm temps, and a Ranger boat with a 300 Merc, 4 stroke on the back. Pedal down to Motown on Lake St. Clair, one of the best fisheries in the United States. Within 1.5 hours, we had our limit on the Detroit River, by the Canadian Club plant. Figures.
Captain Ed said he could put us in the range of trophy smallmouth bass (my favorites) as soon as he cleaned the walleye and we headed back to the dock to regroup, slug some water and he put the dressed walleye on ice. ”
We busted a move 7 miles to the land of Oz and sure enough, the smallies were hitting, but they were tricky devils. We had the squirreliest minnows I’ve ever seen and they danced above the fish beds so we could land some lunkers. Steve and Laurie both shouted “Fish On!” at the same time and there it was….a double. Both fish were in the 19 to 20″ range and danced their way on top of the water, giving us all a heart attack.
Finally is was my turn. I had a sketchy minnow who slinked in the shallows, over the fish beds and rocks until finally, a tug. Then another tug. When the moment felt right, I set the hook and landed a 20-1/4″ smallmouth. He protested and spanked the surface, but Ed was quick with the net and we landed him. 3/4″ short of a Master Angler designation. Still, a great fish and a fighter to the last. We released all the bass, split the walleye and I made it back to Grand Blanc in time for my ballroom dance lessons. Whew. I stunk like fish but couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face when “Stayin’ Alive” played and we did the hustle.
Officer Friendly
In the 60′s while in elementary school, each year we were subjected to an hour long session with Officer Friendly. He spoke about “Stranger Danger” and candy and helping people find lost pets. His badge was polished and his gun was holstered. He brought coloring books for us. I thought he was friendly until he put me in “time out” in 1st grade for reading ahead in my Officer Friendly book.
The following year we had a different man show up, an imposter, pretending to be Officer Friendly. He arrived with polished black shoes and that same blinding badge, but I wasn’t convinced he was the real deal. I remembered the one from the year before so I went up to him and asked him to show me his gun. He, of course, said no. I was put in “time out” again.
That’s the last time I showed any initiative in school. The end.
#Trama #PTSD
Deer Me
Paddling in the August sun made my bare shoulders smell like burnt potato chips. Purposefully, I put my wrist up to my tongue to taste pure salt. Time to ditch the canoe and fulfill a promise I made to myself earlier in the day to go swimming with my dog. I haven’t been in a bathing suit in 10 years, convinced that no one wants to look at old lady parts –yet I was yearning for the childhood thrill of making three backwards somersaults in a row underwater and floating on my back, looking up at the sky.
My objective all along was to be brave, not be seen, and be quick. My swimming hole would have to be secluded. After passing up two possible sites, I settled on one across from a lively beaver dam. I love beavers and hoped to get some brownie points by aggravating one bad enough to slap his tail at me. I shivered for a minute in waist deep water, steeling myself for the plunge. Hmmm….much colder than it looked. I kept saying, “Just do it….do it….GO!” Elvis was singing “It’s Now or Never” as I pushed off hard, leaving the earth and years behind, sinking up to my neck in orange tannin-colored water, common in Michigan’s upper peninsula.
Now my legs were working like eggbeaters in the water, treading it, as I called Remi out to me. She had been on the shore doing a pretty good impression of Scooby Doo’s “Rutt-Roh” look. I blew bubbles at her, clapped and called her out to me. After a sufficient amount of begging, she figured, ah, what the heck, and took the plunge–steering towards me with her built-in tail rudder and pumping her back legs until we were nose to nose, hearts smiling.
All of a sudden, to my left, I heard a huge kersplash followed by a smaller kersplash. Surreal. There we were, out in the deep water, the two of us dog paddling with a doe and a fawn. The doe was in high gear, cutting 30 yards straight to the mainland from this island cove and her spotted baby was bawling after her. Remi and I had the “deer in the headlights” look as we shared this spectacle. Safe on the other side, they shook off and quickly disappeared into the woods, thinking nothing of it. All that was left on our side were the two sets of meandering hoof prints on the sandy beach and a miracle I will be thinking about for decades.
I’ll Carry You Home
I’m heartbroken listening to James Blunt’s “I”ll carry you home.”
Realizing it is a song written for a man killed in action (click video) doesn’t provide a balm. I lost my father to lymphoma cancer in 2007. He was my mentor, my hero, my first love. Flashback to 1960′s and 1970′s and he was the one that played catch with the baseball mitts; each throw a mental intimidation with cause and effect. If I sent a stinger, he retaliated. Fair and square. An amazing teacher. His fastballs, high pop ups and grounders groomed my future. He took his daughter fishing. He taught me to change the oil in my car and he helped me blow out the candles on my first birthday cake while my mother was in the hospital having my brother! Thank you, dad–you gave me strength.
In the first days following his death I was curled up in a fetal position, crying hysterically. It was up to me to write his obituary and his memorial. I’m writing this because he always INSISTED that my mother was the strongest of the pair. I thank God forever for my mother. She is the glue that holds me together. It was devastating to lose my father, but he prepared me for the future–which I hope is a long way away. My mother is my EVERYTHING.
She is strength and survival. She is giving. She is loved by more people than she realizes. She is the matriarch. Mom, I love you.
We get one shot at life; as I age, I see this. I’m blue tonight. Loss is a sneaky opportunist; rearing up, unannounced, and causing pain that wrenches and twists. I texted my daughter, Jennifer, and she called at almost midnight to check in on me…a chip off the old block. Yes, I’m blue, but I count my blessings. The circle of life continues.
Dairy Air