Memorial Day -- Compromise for the Fishing Widow

First off, I have to say thank you to all those real widows of soldiers, the ones who lost their lives while defending our freedom. I am grateful to the veterans, of couse, especially those who died while in service. But I also have to say thanks to the families of those soldiers, who also paid a price for their sacrifice. I call myself a fishing widow and hunting widow, but I know I would be lost without my wonderful husband -- even though I sometimes complain on this blog. My tongue-in-cheek moniker is a reality to the true widow.

Memorial Day doesn't get ther respect it deserves. I'm guilty of it as well, thinking of the day as a three-day weekend and a chance to get away, rather than a tribute to the men and women who have died while serving this country.

Perhaps then it was out of guilt that I agreed to a compromise when it came to making plans for Memorial Day. I was thinking a trip to Orlando to play in the theme parks. My husband was thinking three days of fishing. We agreed to a compromise.

I agreed to go on the boat, with book in hand, for a jaunt on the ocean, while he could fish. I even agreed to go camping for the three days so he could have easy access to the boat launch. I was looking forward to the weekend, thinking at least it was a chance to escape work and stress for three days. Because I like camping, my husband does most of the work because I still can't manage to light a camp fire or put together a lantern. I have become handy with a tent and usually tell my husband the best way to set it up. And, I figured I could sit and relax in quiet solitude while my husband and son took the boat to fish.

But as it turns out, we didn't go anywhere this weekend. My husband caught a cold earlier in the week and still wasn't better by the weekend. I grumbled a bit (OK, a lot) because I know he went out fishing in the afternoons when he should have been resting. And because I no longer was looking forward to the weekend. Believe me, three days cooped up with a sick fisherman who can't go fishing is no picnic.

In which the Hunting Widow follows husband into camp and ruins the hunt and weekend

OK, I am not an outdoors person. Never claimed to be. A city girl to the core, I have slowly learned to adapt to my husband's obsession with the woods. It's been difficult, though.

My husband  hunts the public lands of Florida, mainly because he has never been lucky enough to score a private lease somewhere. If I ever won the Lottery, that would be my first purchase -- private land for my husband to hunt.

He usually hunts the same public wildlife management area, but one weekend he decided to try a new place in the northern part of the state. He made me promise not to reveal on this blog where we went for fear the rangers would remember us and his hunting buddies would laugh at us.

I agreed to go with him. He said it was a weekend away. I was thinking romantic camp in the woods. I was wrong.

The area itself was pretty, lots of woods and places to see wild animals. We drove along a dirt road until we got to a desolate area reserved for camping. There was only one other group camping there, and they were packing up to go. I guess the hunting wasn't that good.

I thought it would be really great when the other group left -- we would have the entire place to ourselves. Kind of like pioneers. But then night came. And it got quiet. Really quiet. Until -- something or someone screamed. (And it wasn't me.)

"What was that?" I asked my husband.

"I don't know. Probably a coyote," he shrugged, unconcerned.

I heard the scream again. Followed by what I heard as laughter. By more than one person. OK, I was officially freaked out then. I was scared. Images of every horror movie I had ever seen flashed through my mind. Scenes from "Deliverence" popped into my head. (If you've never seen that movie, just ask your husband or boyfriend. He'll explain it to you. I think it's mandatory that every male watch that movie by a certain age.)  I suggested to my husband that maybe there was a group of teenagers roaming around that were going to attack us.

He asked if I was serious. That wasn't possible. He reminded me we had our faithful Rottweiler. And no one would think to attack a hunter knowing he most likely was storing plenty of loaded firearms inside the tent, he reasoned.

But the more I heard the screaming, the more scared I got. The final straw was when my husband, the one I was depending on to keep my fears at bay, admitted the possibility the sounds could be from a group of people in the woods screaming and laughing.

I wanted to leave. Right. Then.

I shoved supplies into the truck. I couldn't leave fast enough, even making him leave the tent and everything else in the camp. My heart kept pounding in my chest.

Our troubles then really started. It was about 10 p.m. by this point. And we were in the middle of nowhere in this part of north Florida. We started driving looking for a hotel or motel or someplace close to stay so my husband could finish his hunt the next day. The only place we found was about 10 miles away. It was dirtier than the camping area, and had plenty of bugs to keep us company. I think the woods would have been better.

We returned to the camping area the next day, of course finding nothing disturbed. When we talked with the ranger, he assured us that there were no other people in the woods or the area the night before. And most likely the noises we heard were coyotes. But they wouldn't have come close to our camp. They were more afraid of us than we were of them.

Somehow, I doubt that. But it didn't matter at that point. It was time to go home. My husband's hunt was ruined. Our weekend was ruined.

Coyotes: 1
Hunting Widow: 0

We never went back again so I could have a rematch.

What I would like to see -- a beauty spa in the middle of hunting camp

I thought of a great idea for a new business -- a ladies' spa near hunting camp. I think it would go over well with all the hunting widows of the world, and possibly save lots of arguments that start with the wife asking her husband, "Are you going out to the hunting camp AGAIN?"

Now, maybe there already are spas like this. My husband hunts public land in Florida and it's usually in the middle of nowhere. The most I can hope for is a decent restaurant.

But wouldn't it be cool to have a place to go near the hunting camp to get a massage and a facial or just a relaxing soak in the pool? Of course, I would want this place to be exclusive to women -- who wants the place to reek of stinky hunters? The wives and girlfriends could go to this hunting widows' retreat to get away from it all and maybe to meet their hunters in camp for dinner.

It's a win-win solution. Wives wouldn't feel left out because they would go with the hunter on his hunting camps. Husbands wouldn't feel guilty leaving their wives all alone.

And, of course, the place would need a day-care and children's camp.

What do you think? Is there such a place that I don't know about? And would you go to such a place?

Mother's Day should be in effect all weekend. That means no fishing or hunting, right?

Is it too much to ask to give me two hours of "alone time" for Mother's Day?

Or, if it is, then I'd like a family trip somewhere without feeling as if I'm dragging them to their execution.

And I think Mother's Day should be celebrated on Saturday AND Sunday. That means no sneaking off "to the store" when I can see the fishing pole in the back of your truck. Or giving me a guilt trip because a buddy has to work Saturday, but he has the whole day off Sunday. "Oh, but it's Mother's Day, so I told him I couldn't go. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh."

I don't want flowers. Or candy. Or even to go to dinner. I just want a day when I can watch the movies I want by myself. Or read my trashy novel. Or just go to the mall by myself without having to hear "Mom" or "Honey?"

 Is that too much to ask?

My second choice would be to go to a park or an antique store, zoo or museum for the day with my family and, just once, not have to be the one to play the mindless car games, hold the child's hand in the parking lot and bathroom monitor (oh, to go to the bathroom alone!)

And no, going to the beach with your family when one of them has a fishing pole and tackle box is not my idea of celebrating Mother's Day. It just means more work for me. Better idea -- I'll stay home.

Don't get me wrong. I love my family dearly. It's just sometimes I need a break. And some time to myself.

First impressions of the hunting camp and the city girl

I love going camping with my husband when he goes hunting. Even now, when we bring our children with us, the hunting camp makes for a nice getaway from the television and telephone. It's a chance to get back to nature. It's also fun, especially at night, with the fire going and the marshmallows roasting (OK, so some of my husband's hunting buddies have laughed at me when I show up with my marshmallows.)
I wasn't quite sure about the whole camping thing though the first time I arrived at the campsite, I was a naive city girl who had never been to a hunting camp before in her life. I'd only been camping a handful of times. It was scary.

My then-boyfriend was still out in the woods when I arrived. So I followed his instructions and went to the front gate, where he said someone would help me find his camp.

"Um, hi, excuse me, I'm, um, trying to find the camp of my boyfriend, who, um, has his dog with him," I stammered.

Now, my husband's dog had quite the reputation back in the day. She got along with me, but I was probably the only one who could get near her. I knew they would know the dog I meant.

The men at the gate all laughed. I must have looked way out of place, and I still had my New York accent, so I really stood out. They pointed to where my husband's tent was and mumbled something. To this day, I can't tell you what they said. My ears weren't accustomed to the southern accent and my brain couldn't translate.

It was dark by that time, so I made my way to where I thought they pointed. And fumbled around the tent, hoping I was entering the right one. When I heard the dog growl, I knew I was in the right place. Luckily, the dog remembered me and licked my face in greeting.

I sat there in the dark until my husband came in from his hunt. I hadn't yet learned to make fire, so I couldn't put on the lantern.

He started grinning at me, and laughing.

"I hear you made quite an impression," he said.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Well, the guys at the front gate told me to make sure you know where I'm camping next time. And that you seemed like you were scared to death," he giggled. "They want you to know that they don't shoot at people. Just deer and hogs."

I was pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. Eventually, I got to know my husband's hunting buddies, and realized they weren't a bad lot. Just different. I hope they realized that I wasn't too bad either, for a city girl.

Is Friday night date night, or time to go out fishing?

Back when I first started dating my husband, Friday and Saturday nights were reserved for dates. You know, going to the movies or a resturant. Sometimes, friends had parties at their homes and that was enough to qualify as a date. Now that we are older and have children, date nights have fallen by the wayside.

Unless you have a bromance going with your fishing buddies.

Then, you get, this conversation. I didn't crack the code until watching an old rerun of "Everybody Loves Raymond." Then I realize men do this with golf, hunting, fishing, poker or just to hang out anywhere but with their families. I have to say, my husband doesn't pull this very often. But he did last night, so I have to vent.

"Jim* and Bob* are meeting up at the pier with some other guys for night fishing."
"Do you want to go?"
"Nah, I don't really want to deal with people right now. I think I'm just going to stay home." (Translation: I am in a bad mood because I really want to go with my friends, but I can't, so I am going to be grumpy at home with you.)
"Well, why don't you go for just a little bit." (Translation: Stop bothering me about this. I know you want to go, but need permission, so let's stop playing games. You go, I can be the great wife and we'll all be happy.)
"You think? Oh, but I promised you guys I would hang around here tonight. And besides, I've made plans with Mark to go out in the morning."
"Yeah, but you don't see Jim and Bob that often. We're not doing anything here. I think you should go."
At these words, you would have thought the magic fishing fairy had suddenly given my husband rocket jets for legs. He was changed into his fishing outfit and packed his tackle box before I had a chance to realize I'd been played.
"OK, I'll go. I won't be gone long. I'm really tired," he said with a sigh.
Meanwhile, four hours later, I'm still on the couch by myself reading my Kindle (which said husband bought for me for Christmas, so he's not all bad.) This "won't be gone long" turned out to mean "I'll be home around 1 a.m."
Sigh. What he doesn't know is that during that time, I slowly plotted my own girls' night out with MY friends. After all, I was just taught how to perfectly execute the plan, and get my spouse's permission.