Summertime -- more light for the fisherman means less time at home

Longer days mean there is more time to fish, at least for the devoted fisherman. There's more sunlight during the day -- it doesn't get dark until 8ish now. That means the husband can stay out later without having to come home from fishing.

Summer is not a friend to the fishing widow. Because summer for the fishing widow means coming home after a long day of work to find the husband waiting anxiously. Not out of concern for the fishing widow, and not because the husband is excited to see the fishing widow. No. The husband is waiting anxiously because the fish are biting and he only has four more hours of daylight left.

The fishing widow has to be very careful on days like this. Because if the fishing widow doesn't watch out, the husband is likely to run over her as he rushes out the door once he sees her pulling into the driveway. Ladies, watch for this. It is very real.

"You've got dinner all right, right?" he will call, sometimes waving, as he peals out of the driveway. He will not wait for an answer, of course, even if the fishing widow is yelling back that she planned to call out for pizza. The fish are biting, after all.

So, the fishing widow is left alone. Well, except for the making sure children are fed, bathed and then put to bed part. Usually, the fishing widow is putting the finishing touches on the bedtime story and about to tuck in the kids for the last time when the husband re-appears. Suddenly, he's the hero of the night and the kids jump out of bed and the fishing widow realizes she has another hour of work to do. Because now she has to start the routine all over again.

The fishing widow really hates summer sometimes. At least until hunting season starts up again.

My fisherman is growing up

You know, the best thing about being a fishing widow or a hunting widow is that sometimes your husband comes back to you. Usually, this is when you least expect it. And then you realize you aren't really a widow after all.

Tonight, just before dinner, my husband went off as usual with his friend to go do some fishing for an hour. I didn't have a problem with it. He's been doing solo duty this week while DS is on spring break. So who was I to begrudge him an hour or so by himself.

He returned within a half hour -- a personal record for him. He said he felt guilty going, knowing I was home and knowing I wanted to spend time with him and DS. He said he should have taken us fishing or just taken a stroll on the beach together.

I almost cried. It was sooo sweet.

But, I had to tell him, I think it's good that he gets out with a buddy to fish. He needs the break every now and then. Even though I complain on this blog, I know fishing is good for him. It gets him out and he can relax. But I do have to say, it was nice to hear him say he missed me.

Love your hunter or fisherman -- and don't give ultimatums

I was driving home the other night and heard "I'm going to miss her" on the radio. I can't remember who sings it, but basically it's about a guy who loves to fish. His wife tells him if he goes fishing again, she will leave him. Hence, the name of the song. The chorus is basically an "Oh well, she's gone" sentiment -- "I'm going to miss her. Oh, lookee here, another bite."

I find the song really sad.
First, I don't think I would ever give my avid fisherman and hunter an ultimatum about something they love doing. As much as I complain about him going fishing every weekend he's not out hunting, I know he really enjoys it. And, I can't see myself telling him not to do something he loves that much. Besides, it sometimes lets me have some alone time.

Second, I'm afraid I would become the wife in the song. I know my husband loves me. But, I think part of me is afraid that if I hit him on a bad night, he would go off fishing just to spite me. And I think it would be utterly humiliating to have to tell my friends and family that I told my husband to choose me or fishing and he chose to go fishing. Serious blow to the self-esteem!

Third, I don't think giving an ultimatum is quite fair in this case. My husband lives and breathes hunting and fishing most of the time. Telling him to not go fishing is like telling him not to breathe. Besides, my rule of thumb is that if my husband had the vice before we got married, then I can't nag him about it. He provided full disclosure of his hobby well before the wedding. I knew it and I chose to accept him -- hunting and fishing and all. If my husband significantly increased the time he went hunting and fishing, I might have to re-evaluate. But, if anything, he goes out less. So, I keep my mouth shut. Well, most of the time, anyway.

Surviving in-between Florida hunting seasons

"You need to go out to the woods," I told my husband. "I need more material for my blog."

That's when he broke the news. The deer and hog hunts are essentially over for the area he hunts. We have to wait until turkey season for him to go out again.

That's a few months away -- sometime in the spring. My husband isn't much of a turkey hunter -- it's a lot of work to go through for something you can buy plucked and cleaned at the grocery store. But that's another blog topic.

The purpose of this blog is to help the hunting widow get through this in-between time. Of course, there is the cleaning to do. The husband's hunting camp for the most part comes home in January, which means there are lot of clothes, sleeping bags, towels, blankets, etc. to clean. It's amazing just how dirty these things can get. The hunter now also gets together his inventory to see what he used and what he needs to have replenished in time for the next hunting trip.

The phone calls are endless. It's as if the buddies go through campfire withdrawal about two weeks after the last hunt is over. They go on endless talks reliving the best kills, laughng at the guy who fell asleep in his tree stand and missed the 8-point buck and wondering about next year.

The hunter misses his hunting weekends. He'll start poring over catalogs from Cabela's and Bass Pro Shops, and start planning his trip for next year.

But this year has been a lot different. My husband has grown up and really played his part as a good dad. He's missed many of his designated hunts -- hunts he put in for months in advance -- so he could attend our child's plays, games, even birthday events. So, he hasn't been out all that much. Now the hunting season has come and gone.

I am not sure how to handle this new hunter. It seems strange for me to push him out to the woods, especially since I've spent most of our married life trying to pull him back home. But I want to keep writing the blog. And so, I tell him, he needs to go out scouting or something, just to give me some content.

I can't very well call myself a hunting widow if my husband is at home during hunting season, can I? Oh well, I'm sure it's just a phase my husband is experiencing.

At least there's no problem with his fishing. He's out casting his lines almost daily these days.

Broken-down boat does not make a happy husband -- or fishing widow

The husband's fishing boat is down. Again. Seems as if it just got out of the shop. As you other fishing widows know, a boat that is grounded makes for a very unhappy fisherman. And his wife.
The fisherman usually doesn't know his boat is broken until he is ready to use it. Sometimes, he doesn't notice the problem until he actually launches it. This is a problem on multiple levels. He most likely has spent the previous night preparing for his fishing adventure with lures spread out all over the kitchen floor and fishing rods that need new reels. He is highly anticipating the day on the water. It is painful to see a grown man so disappointed when he gets all ready to go fishing, only to find his boat doesn't work.

If he doesn't notice the problem until he is already on the dock ready to launch or has already launched, then he usually calls the fishing widow to come rescue him. Luckily, that has never happened to me. We also have never had to bother the Coast Guard with a rescue. I guess that would be another blog topic.

The time between the fisherman takes his boat to the repair shop and when he gets it back is pure torture. For days, he just kind of sits outside with a strange look on his face and stares at the spot where his boat is supposed to be. He wanders aimlessly out to the utility room where his fishing rods and equipment are, only to just wanter aimlessly back in the house. After a day, he just sits in the house and sighs. Or he monitors the Weather Channel and comments on how great the boating weather is and how he should be out on the water. After two days, he calls the boat repair shop. He will continue calling said repair shop until they finally get his boat fixed and in working order.

During this time, he drives the fishing widow (or spouse) crazy. It's as if he has nothing else to do but fish. When he can't do that, he mopes. A lot. The fishing widow prays for the repair shop to finish quickly, and then makes a mental note to herself to check online programs on how to make boating repairs herself.

Freezing while trying to be supportive of your Florida hunter

I'm from New York, where it gets very cold. I've even spent time upstate, where it gets very, very cold. But I've found that since I've lived in Florida, my blood has become very thin. I can't take the cold the way I could up in New York. Although, maybe I can. I never went camping in New York.

Hunting season in Florida is very strange.  It starts around August, when grown men (and some women) get themselves sit in the hot woods with archery bows. I've been out driving around in the woods (which my husband calls scouting) in the August heat without air conditioning. Let me tell you, it's brutal.

But it's not as bad as in January and Florida experiences an unusual cold spell. And your Florida hunting significant other camps in a tent. Brrrrrr.

It's been cold in this state, which made me think of the time the hubby took me on my first camping trip in January. I had been camping with him before, and it wasn't so bad. I never understood why he packed so many clothes and heavy coats. It was Florida, after all. That January, I finally understood.

The temperature had dropped to the teens. In a tent, there aren't many ways you can stay warm. You have to pile on layers of sweat pants and sweaters and crawl into a sleeping bag with another couple of blankets on top of you. Yes, I am a spoiled American woman. I don't like the cold. And for those who think this sounds romantic -- I assure you, it is not.

I couldn't sleep that night. Every time I moved, another part of my body froze. So I tossed and turned hoping I would generate enough heat to keep me warm. That's when I felt something cold and wet rub against my hand. It was my husband's Rottweiler.

My husband had owned this dog for years before I came along. I was scared to death of it. She had slowly become used to me, but only after I kept feeding her treats. Now, this poor dog was trying to make friends. Not because she liked me any better, but because she was cold and wanted to come into the sleeping bag with me.

There wasn't enough room for me and the dog. And, truth be told, I didn't really relish the idea of letting the tempermental dog into my sleeping bag if she was going to growl at me if I accidentally rolled over on her during the night. So, I compromised.

I lured the animal over with a piece of cookie or treat -- a major big deal, since my husband didn't allow food in the tent. He was too afraid the food would attract bugs. When she lay down to eat, I took my husband's warm coveralls and laid it over the dog. I found a blanket and some towels to keep the dog warm. The dog looked up at me and finally stopped shivering. I think she smiled at me for the first time.

"Sleep well," I whispered. "Now, you will be warm."

My husband turned over at the sounds of my voice.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Covering the dog. She was shivering, and tried to get in bed with me," I explained.

"Oh," he mumbled. "Thanks."

We survived the night somehow, and the rest of the nights seemed warmer after that. My husband bought some battery-operated heaters for the next camping trip, so we would never be that cold again.

But it wasn't all bad. The dog became my fast friend. Seems she never forgot that small bit of kindness. From that point on, she always stuck by my side, even growling at my husband if she thought he was hurting me when he tickled me.

So ladies, remember, if your significant other wants to go hunting in January, always check the weather. Even if you're in Florida, where it's supposed to be sunny all year round. It gets cold here. Bring plenty of  blankets. Better yet, make hotel reservations!

The Best New Year's Eve ever for the fish and hunt widow -- at hunting camp

I'm not much of a partier, never have been. Even in college, I didn't really like going out to the bars. I especially don't like being out on the roads on New Year's Eve when everyone else has been ringing in the New Year and driving home with alcohol rining in their ears.

One New Year's Eve, however, stands out. It's the year we spent New Year's Eve at my husband's hunting camp. My husband had a special hunt that weekend, so we decided to get a few special steaks and take along champagne instead of beer (the husband's usual after-hunting choice) for the night.

Now, I have to confess, I was really leery when my husband first suggested the idea. But, I discovered, camp is probably THE most romantic place to spend New Year's Eve at camp. I'm not kidding. We camp at a public camp area that by late December/early January is filled with other hunting campers and trailers. But on New Year's Eve, the place was pretty much deserted, with a few exceptions. And, you know, there is something to be said for a roaring fire (even in Florida), twinkling stars and counting down the end of the year with your favorite guy.

Since it no longer is just the two of us, we haven't been able to spend New Year's Eve like that in some time. But it's down as one of my favorite memories.

So for you other fishing or hunting widows who don't have plans for the end of the week, if your significant other suggests he might want to go hunting or fishing over the weekend, consider going with him. Don't forget to bring the champagne glasses and champagne to count down the final seconds. And make a wish on the stars.

So how much does this hunting and fishing cost, really?

I'm not a big spender on clothes or trinkets, I don't believe. Yet, every now and then, I'll go to lunch with a friend or stop at the mall to pick up a new skirt. I don't spend a bunch of money -- I'm usually saving for a family vacation, or the rainy day (in Florida, they're known as hurricanes). But still, the husband seems to always need to know how much things cost and how much I spent.

It didn't really bother me until I started noticing that every time we go to Wal-Mart to shop for food and necessities, there always seems to be a fishing plug or bait or line or something related to hunting and fishing in our cart. I started looking at the receipts. They don't cost a lot -- $5 or $6 on a plug, for instance -- when you look at it individually. But we end up at Wal-Mart sometimes 2-3 times a week. That's about $15 just on plugs. When you add in hooks - we go through a lot of those also it seems -- and bait, that adds up after a while.

And that's just fishing. The Cabela's boxes are starting to pile up outside our front door these days, as hunting season starts here.

My husband tries to explain that with these items he is able to provide his family with fresh fish and deer/hog meat. But, I think we're starting to pay more for this fresh food than what the supermarket charges, when you add in all the costs. And he doesn't get something every time he goes out there.

I've never quite understood WHY my husband even needs to get all this stuff. I swear he has about 10 tackle boxes filled with equipment, and could probably fill another 10 just with stuff lying around the house and garage. I think he keeps a pole and a tackle box in his truck just in case he gets a few minutes to go to the beach to cast a line. Of course, that's when he's NOT at Wal-Mart.

In Which the Fisherman Takes His Pride and Joy Out On the Boat, and Said Pride Gets Seasick

My husband is an outdoorsy kind of guy. He loves to fish and hunt, and will do so every chance he gets. But he's also a great dad, despite my complaining on this blog. And he's been waiting a long time until he felt our son was ready to go fishing in a real boat.

We've been married 10 years, and I don't think a week  has gone by since that time that my husband has wished for a boat. About a year ago, he finally bought a used one we could afford. He worked on it every night he could to make sure it was shipshape for his family. He would take our son out fishing on the shore to teach him and prepare him for the day we finally would go out on the ocean.

We went out last week for the first time together. My husband was so excited. He spent the night before packing and unpacking and rearranging the tackle box he would take on the boat with his son, his pride and joy. He carefully selected four fishing rods from his cache -- yes, four, because you can't go with just one each -- for him and the child to use. He packed fresh sandwiches, water, soda, chips and ice in a cooler and put it in the boat himself. We were ready for a long excursion that day.

The ocean was calm when we set out. Hardly any waves at all. We saw sea turtles swimming along, and dolphins in the distance. It was going to be a great day.

And then, 20 minutes into the day, it happened.

"Mom, I don't feel well," the 7-year-old whined.

"What's the matter?" I asked the child who loves roller coasters and spinning rides at the carnival without so much as a tummy ache.

"I don't know. My stomach hurts. Can we go home?" he whined again.

I glanced at my husband, who looked crushed. All his dreams of going boating and fishing with his son were going away. It was sad to see.

I tried to get the child to reconsider. "Maybe you just need to sit down instead of bouncing around," I suggested.

He did, but five minutes later, it was back to the now-familiar whines and threats of throwing up that morning's breakfast.

Our day out was over just like that. My husband said nothing, just turned the boat around as the child curled in my lap and just whimpered.

He was fine as soon as we got back on land, laughing and giggling as usual. My husband, however, was not. He was strangely quiet when we got home and he put his fishing gear away.

"Maybe we ought to sell the boat," he said quietly that night after the child went to bed.

I told him to hold off on doing anything drastic just yet. Maybe we'll take it a little slower next time. And maybe someday, when my son is a little older and has logged a few more sea miles, father and son will be able to sit in a boat together and fish.

OK, so I'm secretly hoping. Because then I'd be off the hook for the day, and I can send them both out for a little day off by myself.

Hi, Honey, I'm home, now I'm off to fish!

One of the great benefits about having your own blog is that it gives a person a chance to vent when she's really, really angry without resorting to a screaming match with the person she is angry at (yes, I know I shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition, but I'm too annoyed to fix it.)

It's summer vacation, which means that before I can come home, I have to pick the child up at camp, which is a little further away than the regular school. And, well, it's been a long day at work, which the husband knew.

So, after a really long day and having to pick up a cranky child. I pull into the driveway just as he is leaving the house wearing his fishng shirt and carrying his pole and tackle box. He looked at me as if he was a 10-year-old just caught playing hooky.

"Oh, you're home, already? I was going to go fishing with Billy."
"I see," I couldn't hide the sigh in my voice.
"We won't be gone long."
That was an hour ago, and no sign of him yet.
It's not that I mind him going fishing every now and then, but did I mention it had been a long day? And, with the days going longer and longer, I most likely won't see him until about 8 p.m., at which time I will be about to put the child to bed. Then, the husband will look at me and whine about letting the child stay up a little later so they could spend time together. Never mind that I'm dead tired and I want to relax also. Sorry, but I just can't seem to really unwind until after the child goes to sleep.

With my apologies to the farmers who most likely need the extra daylight, I swear fishermen and husbands made up Daylight Savings just so they could get in a little extra fishing after work. And that leaves the Fishing Widow holding the bag. Again.

Grrrr.

Hunting season in July! Let the madness begin

It's started, and it's still July. The first hunt for my husband doesn't start until October, and yet he has started salivating already.

The results of the drawings for public Wildlife Management Area hunts are posted on the myflorida.com's web site. For more information, you can also check out this Florida hunting site. My husband got an email this week from the state. You would have thought he won the lottery the way he was celebrating the hunts he got. Sigh.

Archery season start in August or September, but they don't impact me. My husband isn't an archery hunter, although over the years his friends have tried to lure him into this sport. Archery season in Florida is even more brutal for hunters, I think, because it is still boiling hot outside and hunters sweat profusely in their hunting attire. But I digress.

Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission limits the number of hunters for each hunt on public land. The official reason is probably to limit the number of animals killed from each area. I say the real reason is to reduce the number of hunters in any one place so they don't kill each other accidentally. Now that the results are  posted, the scouting must begin. My husband is already making plans to head out to the places he has hunts so he can figure out where to put his stands, where the deer are moving and how far he has to walk to get there. I used to go with him during these trips, but now, with our child, it's difficult, so he'll go alone.

OK, so I use that as an excuse. Scouting trips aren't fun when it's 100 degrees outside.
To all other Florida hunting widows, welcome to Hunting Season. Let the fun begin.

No rain, nor sleet, nor even hail can stop the Fisherman

Today, being a holiday from work because July 4 fell on a Sunday. I figured I'd be spending the day cooped up with the husband and child, also off from camp. Wrong.
At 6 a.m., earlier than the alarm clock usually rings in our house, I awoke to the sound of him putting on his fishing shirt. (Yes, there are shirts in his wardrobe that are designated fishing shirts. You even  have to wash and dry them differently, but that's another post.)
"What are you doing?" I mumbled.
"Going fishing with the guys," he said matter-of-factly, as if I had just asked him why he as breathing.
"But it's raining outside," I insisted -- hence the reason I figured we'd be cooped up in the houe together.
"Yeah, but we're taking the kayaks. We'd get wet either way," he shrugged. And off he went.
So, I ended up getting awoken by the child at 6:30 a.m., also earlier than the usual alarm clock, so he could watch TV and get breakfast. Did I mention we'd all been  up late last night because of the fireworks???

I guess it's not so bad. The husband is not a good one to stay in the house with when it rains. He gets cabin fever easily. And the child and I usually can get a good game of Monopoly or something going.

But when the husband comes home, he will be drenched in rain and river water. Soaked to the skin, he will rush to the shower and then go take a nap. We'll see him emerge around 5 p.m. today, in time for us to start getting ready for dinner.

Father's Day for the fishing and hunting widow

OK, you would think Father's Day would be a no-brainer for me, considering my husband has two major hobbies and there are lots of accessories for me to buy for him. Actually, I hate having to buy for my husband. (Please see the entry about going to Wal-Mart to buy a simple lure for further explanation.) Fishing and hunting require certain tools and I think everyone is different as to which lure, bait, pole or other accessory is the best. Usually, when I've tried to surprise my husband with something, he tells me I've chosen the wrong thing. So now I don't bother.

I know what my husband wants to do on Father's Day -- go fishing on the boat. And, as a good Fishing Widow wife, I will go with him. After all, on Father's Day, we have to give our children's dad a break from our nagging. My husband works hard all week, and he is good with our child. My husband is waiting for our son to become seriously interested in fishing so he can actually cast some lines when the two go fishing by themselves. I think he has a while to wait. For now, I'm content to go along with him, especially on Father's Day, to distract the child a little with shells and swimming while my husband fishes and spends quality time with us.

Fishing widow and the Fishing Show

The husband was looking at the newspaper the other day and noticed a blurb about a fishing and boating show. He asked if I wanted to go with him. I couldn't think fast enough, figured it was either that or do laundry at home, and agreed.

Ladies, take notice. If your significant other ever suggests such a venture, do not make the mistake I did. Especially if said venue is outdoors in Florida anytime between May and September. Be sure and have your significant other drop you off first at the movies, mall, antique show, craft show or anywhere else.

Because if I thought shopping with him in the Wal-Mart sporting goods department was bad, a fishing show is MUCH, MUCH worse. Going with your husband to a fishing show is like taking a child to a carnival. He has to go to every single booth and talk with every single person in the booth. First he talks with the person about the products or service the vendor is selling. Then, they get a history of how long my husband has been fishing and hunting and how Florida has changed so much. Twenty minutes later, well, my eyes just sort of glaze over and I stand there with this silly smile on my face not knowing -- or caring -- what the conversation is about.

Then we go to the next booth, and the routine starts over. My husband can talk about reels, rods, lures even, get this, the LINE. I mean, seriously, he had a conversation over the best fishing line to use. Sigh. Meanwhile, sweat is pouring down my face and in my eyes. I'm having heat stroke and he's discussing the difference between a silver spoon and a feather lure or something. Plus, I have a bored child hanging on me and whining about the heat.

Three hours later, my husband turns to me and asks if I wanted something to eat. I'm thinking chain restaurant or fried clams (for some reason I had a hankering for seafood). Then I followed his gaze to the barbecued pork sandwiches someone was selling at the fishing show. Oh no. I drew the line at that. If I'm going to stand around listening to fishing discussions and waste a whole Saturday, the least I deserve is a meal out of it.

And not some lousy pork sandwich.

Has your spouse's fishing been affected by the oil spill?

I'm on the other coast, so we haven't been affected by the BP oil spill yet. Although, experts predict the oil will soon get to the Atlantic coastline. But I've heard that some areas are banning offshore fishing because of the oil spill. Now, my husband is not a commercial fisherman, so we aren't depending on the fish he catches to eat or anything. But banning fishing to an avid sport fisherman like my husband is almost as bad as cutting off his arm. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to eat fish spoiled by oil and I don't want my husband out fishing in that either. I'm just saying it's not going to be easy living with a cooped up husband who can't go fishing. We're between hunting seasons as well, so I can't even send him out to the woods.

Anyone have any ideas?

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.