THE BIG “D” WORD -- “Divorce” . . . Are We Having Fun Yet?

by Danna Shirley

My husband, Ron, was an avid fisherman, dare I say . . . A VERY SERIOUS FISHERMAN! I came from a family of non-fishermen. My dad didn’t even like the smell of fish cooking in the house. So what does Ron want to do just a few months into our marriage? Take me fishing!

            “Oh, it’ll be fun, you’ll love it!” he said. 

            “Well, I don’t know. I’m not much in the great outdoors.”

            Ron was excited about our upcoming weekend. As an Alabama boy, he knew all the fishing holes back home, but in California he had to get out the map and decide what lake we could get to and if there was a camp site available. His next chore was to rent a tent, sleeping bags, camp stove, lantern, and all other paraphernalia that goes with such a weekend. He went around the house whistling while he worked just knowing this was going to be an unforgettable experience. I, on the other hand, had ominous misgivings about even surviving, much less enjoying it. Roughing it, to me, was a camper with running water and a flushing toilet.                        Friday afternoon came and we were off to a reservoir about two hours away. As we pulled in, there were already several parked cars with boat trailers and campers dotting the surroundings.  People were fishing around the top edge. Ron took one look and said it was too crowded for him; we needed to go further around to a secluded spot so he could fish in private . . . yes, he was A VERY SERIOUS FISHERMAN! We began to drive where no car had gone before, and with good reason; we got stuck in the mud. He was not only aggravated by this predicament but also aggravated that it would delay getting some fishing in before dark.

I learned that the process to unstick a car is quite dramatic. It involves digging out mud, placing some lumber pieces just so, and a whole lot of cussing. He put me behind the wheel and got behind the car to push. Fishing was temporarily suspended while everyone around the top of the reservoir turned their attention to watch the antics of these new arrivals.  

When Ron told me to give it the gas, the mud smacked him in the face with a vengeance; almost like payback for us invading its territory. That’s when the big “D” word was first spoken. I was NOT having fun yet and with each attempt to extract the car, the more unbearable this fishing experience became. We must have been a deplorable sight to the observers up top for we were putting on quite a show.

            When we finally reached an acceptable spot and calmed ourselves, Ron hurriedly set up the tent and made everything ready for me to cook a nice fish dinner when he returned with a catch. Now I do not like to cook under the best of circumstances and this campsite was no where close. He returned after dark and lit the lantern so he could see to clean the fish. As I delicately tried to grip each fish he handed me, it would slip through my two fingers and plop to the dirt and we would again go through another tirade of the big “D” word. He would grab up the fish and take it back down to the water to rinse it off. With the cooking ordeal behind us and the eating ordeal ahead of us, I did not want to sit out there in the dark.  I slipped into the car and turned on the dome light. What I saw was my fish covered with bugs. Ron was sitting in the dark blissfully eating his fish with the bug garnish on top. 

            ARE WE HAVING FUN YET???!!!

            The next challenge was the tent, which Ron had set up on an incline in such a way that we were rolling downhill all night. I could not wait to get back to civilization, a hot bath, and a pleasant dining experience, which he owed me and paid for dearly.

            We both came away from that weekend with a fresh understanding of our relationship; if our marriage was ever going to make it, we had to agree that I WOULD NEVER GO FISHING WITH HIM AGAIN!

            It was several years later before we once again attempted this challenge. It was a day trip, just a few hours, and Ron allowed me to bring a lawn chair, umbrella, book, and a bag of chips, which I could eat only if I didn’t rustle the bag and scare the fish away. I must have been quiet enough for we were happily married thirty-four years.

 February 2006