Matthew Dickerson, Addison Independent, April 15, 1999 (reprinted by permission)
My wife and I have a lot in common. Though she doesn't hunt or fish, she loves the outdoors and we've spent plenty of time together canoeing, cross-country skiing, hiking, camping and biking. One of our first dates together was a mountain-climbing excursion in New Hampshire.
We also have a few differences, the most significant of which are our attitudes toward work and recreation. My wife's name is Deborah which means (correct me if I'm wrong) "industrious like a bee." It is a very fitting name for her. She has the impression that life revolves around work. Her idea of a weekend is making a list of all the jobs that need to be done around the house. Her idea of a good weekend is one in which we got through that entire list. Only after we've finished all (or at least most) of the work is she ready to consider some form of play.
I, on the other end, place a somewhat higher emphasis on fun. (My wife calls me "Mr. Recreation", which I have realized is not a term of endearment.) When the weekend rolls around I make a list of all the fun things I want to do: fishing, biking, guitar-playing, Lego-building with my kids, etc. If at the end of the day I feel satisfied with the amount of fun I've had, then I might be willing to consider doing a little work.
Now as you might imagine, this little difference between us has the potential to cause some occasional conflict. I've tried suggesting an arrangement to resolve the conflict--an arrangement that seems obvious based on our personalities: I will take care of whatever recreation that needs to be done in our family and she can take care of any work. However she refuses to see the logic behind this suggestion.
And so, with fishing season rolling around, I'm left with a serious problem. How do I make fishing look like work so that it will appear on my wife's "to-do" list for me? In the olden days this wouldn't have been a problem. Hunting and fishing were considered work. They were necessary activities for survival. If you didn't regularly bring home fish or game, you didn't eat. Unfortunately this argument no longer carries much weight. Among other things, with the amount of money I spend on fishing equipment in a year I could go to a grocery store and fill our freezer with meat. Another approach is clearly needed for the late 20th (or early 21st) century angler who finds him- or herself in a similar situation. Last summer I had one plan to solve my dilemma: I tried a stint as a professional fishing guide to give legitimacy to my claim that fishing was work. Unfortunately, it was too successful--it really did turn fishing into work.
My friend Randy Butler came up with a much better approach. On April 10 he became a child-care specialist. Which is to say, he took his 12-year old son Wesley and his 11-year old nephew Marshall out fishing for the entire day. It should be noted that somehow, despite all the hard work of watching the two boys fish, he managed himself to land a 17" opening day brown trout. Great plan, Randy. I like to fish with my boys too, so I'm sure I'll make use of your scheme. I only wish I had nephews living closer than North Carolina and Budapest.
Anyway, not to make you jealous Randy, but I have a better plan which doesn't even require nephews. It recently dawned on me that as the outdoor and fishing writer of a biweekly column for the Addison Independent, I'm under a certain obligation to go fishing. Fishing can even be said to be a necessary part of my job. And about every three months or so, I even get a check for my labors. (The fact that all the money I've earned writing this column over two years hasn't yet covered the cost of a single one of my fly rods is insignificant. Writing the column is still work.) Best of all, my strategy worked. Just this past Sunday afternoon after coming home from church and eating lunch I casually mentioned to my wife the possibility of going fishing. To my delight she replied,
"Sure. Go ahead."
"You don't mind?" I asked.
"Not at all. You need to go fishing so you can write your article. Too bad though. It's going to seem like work."
"Yeah", I said. "Too bad."