Don't scare away the fish
When I was a kid, every year Dad would haul us off to Wasagaming, Manitoba for a weeklong camping trip on the shores of Clear Lake.
It wasn’t too far from home, only about an hour and a half drive. But it was far enough and long enough to send my Mom into an ideal-packing-needs versus actual-cargo-space panic.
My brother and I counted ourselves lucky if we were left with enough room to sit in the backseat without being so close to each other that our thighs would touch. It was bad enough that the backs of our legs were already sweat-glued to the vinyl seats for the entire drive. And we didn’t have cell phones back then, so it’s not like we could have called child services to report the situation. Mom wouldn’t have let us pack them if we did. She was busy using every nook and cranny for all the truly necessary provisions like blow-up water floaties and paper plates, and empty milk jugs full of water. Dad loaded the car with tents and camping gear and fishing rods and boxes of worms and other weird fishing stuff.
“All we need is a fishing rod, a knife and the stars,” he would say. And to his credit, that’s probably all he’d need if it weren’t for us tagging along.
Mom would always try to sneak in a few backup dinners, and then Dad would ask her what she was doing and convince her it wasn’t necessary because of all the delicious fish we’d be eating.
“Walleyes. Mackerels. Pike. A prize-winning trout. Or as a last resort, the handsome whiskered catfish.”
So, Mom wouldn’t pack actual food. She would pack sides and snacks. And salt and pepper and lemon juice. And spare change for the ice cream shop in town. And Dad would take us out and try to show us the ropes.
And just as inevitably as the coming of summer itself—after a full day in a boat, in water we weren’t allowed to swim in, struggling with the impossibility of being quiet for what seemed like long stretches of eternity—we would come back in tears, and Dad would grab the keys and drive us all into town for French fries and ice cream cones and then say, “oh, now you’re quiet.”