I think it’s been three months since I wrote my last post about Christmas. I finally took our lights down and removed every last reminder of the holidays a few weeks ago. When it’s sixty degrees in March, folks in Michigan have to take every opportunity we can to do things that will be impossible again the next day.
I have to admit, this winter has not been that bad. And you don’t know how hard it is for me to say that. I would rather hold on to my “winter is full of crap no matter what anyone says” attitude. I only did some serious plowing with the tractor one time and even pushed a few piles out of neighbors’ driveways, just because it seemed a waste to put the plow away after only thirty minutes of work.
The other snow events were nothing. Literally. The most I shoveled was an inch of wet slop. Good riddance. I have a very strong preference for the “white stuff”, as some silly Michigan meteorologists call snow, that is white sand. All people who grudgingly endure snow should be rewarded with a long period of white sand. Lovely.
I am presently perched at a high-top table, warmed by beautiful sun, listening to a constant symphony of waves rolling in, twelve floors above the beach. Bare feet, shorts, sun glasses, a hat, coffee cup close by. Heaven.
I often wonder what possesses people to live in places where it’s cold nine months out of the year. Understand, cold is anything less than seventy degrees. Some people love winter. I like winter from the living room where it’s warm and my coffee is not turning to ice.
I am happy to say however, that our home is a place I would want to stay if I was visiting there. I’m sure you know that feeling. You’re visiting somewhere and the thought, “I could live here” floats through your mind. You look around and think, “I wonder what people who live here do for a living. I could do that.” Then the next thought is, “Why do I live where I do? Why didn’t I think of coming here?” Most of the time when I think things like that, the weather is better than in Michigan.
I wonder if the people who are fishing off the shore know what they’re doing. You can tell the ones who fish all the time, they have a cool wagon with the big rubber tires and all kinds of stuff piled inside they actually know how to use. If a vacation-time fisherman caught a ray or a shark, would they panic? Throw their pole in the ocean and run? I think they probably would.
These are the ones who really know what Florida fishing is. They have a huge boat with a flying bridge, lots of fancy poles, live bait, lots of drinks, and their hands are rough, scaly, and always smell like fish even after scrubbing with Lysol.
I wonder if there’s a name that real fishermen call the vacation-time fishermen. (Has fishermen been changed to fisher-people? I don’t even know. These days you can’t be too careful about PC language. It’s almost impossible to say anything with offending someone). Let me explain. When anyone visits Mackinac Island, Michigan, they are referred to as “Fudgies” unless they are in residence on the Island for more than just a few days. It’s like this, someone parks their bike, put the stand down, the bike immediately falls over and knocks ten more bikes down and scares a horse pulling a dray close by. The real residents shake their heads and say, “Fudgies.” (In case you are unaware, Mackinac Island is THE place for homemade fudge. Not just in Michigan, but anywhere in the world. Every other place that offers fudge, anywhere, is copying Mackinac Island fudge. Poorly.)
So, I wonder if real fishermen have a name for vacation fishermen. “Posers.” “Line flingers.” “Bait slingers.” Probably not “hookers”, or maybe that really is the one! Hahahaha! “Pole busters.” They probably say things like, “Reel fishermen don’t fish on vacation.”
So, there you have it. My first post of the new year. From very sunny Florida. I wonder what people do who live here. I could live here. Maybe I could be one of those guys who sets up beach chairs and umbrellas for condo residents. Maybe I could be a bait slinger. Maybe I could open a fudge shop and call it, “Mackinac’s Finest Fudge.”