Granny and Grumpy got a much-needed weekend away at the lake, and I'm pleased to report we did absolutely nothing useful and it was wonderful.
First, the headline: I caught more fish than I have ever caught in my life. I'd like to say it was skill. The fish would probably say the lake was just feeling generous. Either way, my bobber and I had the weekend of our careers.
The star of the show was a genuinely nice sunny — a proper one, the kind you hold up while somebody scrambles for their phone. Grumpy was unhooking it for me, because that's the arrangement: I catch them, and he handles the wiggly parts. And that fish waited for its moment, performed one Olympic-caliber wiggle, and plopped itself back into the lake with the confidence of someone who had clearly rehearsed.
And you know what? I wasn't even mad. You go, fishy fishy. Swim home and tell your family about the nice lady who almost had you. Lie about your size like the rest of us do. A fish with that much determination has earned his retirement.
Here's the part I'll actually remember, though: a whole weekend where I didn't have to think about a single thing. That's the magic of lake time with Grumpy — I get to shut my brain clean off and just be the passenger princess, because I know he's got me. The boat, the hooks, the plan, the escaped fish and all. Ten out of ten. Would lose a fish with that man again.
The rest went exactly how lake weekends should: a fish fry (courtesy of the fish who did NOT negotiate their release — thoughts and prayers), too much good food, and bonfires that went a little too late. At one point a loon drifted by, calm as anything, supervising the whole operation like a tiny feathered lifeguard. Minnesota's state bird approving of Minnesota's state pastime.
Meanwhile, back home, the garden heard we were relaxing and took it personally.
We pulled in the driveway and there it was: a wagon full of cucumbers, tomatoes stacked in every basket I own, all of it sitting there like a to-do list with a tan. You take ONE weekend off and the garden works overtime out of spite. The cucumbers have pickle ambitions. The tomatoes are eyeballing the jars. Around here, even the vegetables think rest is a rumor.
Rested, sunburned in one weird spot, and back at it with a grateful heart.
— Granny
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