O P / E D

To Hauling: Chasing the Bugs

The clock says it’s morning, the sky says it’s night, and my wife says feed the dog on the way out. Patting her generous rump as I pull the quilt back over her she mumbles something and pulls the covers tighter. She doesn’t get up with me like she did in the early years. She has more sense now and puts my lunch up the night before; coffee I can handle myself. I know the old girl still loves me though.

The dog’s happy to go out; there’s all kinds of smells to investigate. He clears the last step running with his nose barely off the ground. We both have jobs to do, mine starts with brewing the coffee and gathering up my gear. The stink of bait never quite leaves your work clothes; the aroma never comes out. It’s a good stink married together with diesel, salt spray, and sweat.

“The Smell of Freedom.” I like to tease Jean.

“Your Freedom!” She always throws back at me with a haughty laugh.

Cooler and thermos in hand; I’m out the door by the time the dog has finished his business. I pop him back into the trailer and trudge to my truck. The times seem to be getting harder. It’s twenty long miles to where my mortgaged boat’s moored, right within view of the old family homestead sold for taxes. Bad enough fuel costs eating me alive, now it’s the bait! How can we feed the hungry gustatory habits of the world if we can’t tempt the Bugs? But it’s not just a food problem is it? It’s exponential!

Nadine M. Murphy
Sullivan, Maine