Notes from a fishwife
This morning, when I flipped up the lid of my laptop computer, I noticed that someone had changed my screen-saver. The turqoise tropical waters of the previous view had been replaced by a photograph of our 46′ aluminum fishing vessel, the Saint Jude, back when she was brand-new in 1989.
Not hard to figure out who had changed the scene. I am living at home with my teen-age daughter while my son and husband are away fishing in Oregon on board the Saint Jude.
My girl admitted to changing the image. It is, I think, her way of letting me know that I am connected to the sea, and that she and I both expect the Saint Jude to take good care of our menfolk. My girl misses her little brother and her daddy. Our family fishing boat is essential to us making a living. When we are on board, our lives depend on her.
Just like the screen-saver, the lives within our small commercial fishing family are currently experiencing transition.
I became poignantly aware of this as I delivered fish last week-end to a couple of local establishments in the Sequim area. I had a nice chat with the owner of one of the establishments about how her business and customers like supporting local producers. She said they appreciated the opportunity to provide “clean food” to the community. I smiled as I handed a dozen cans of our Dungeness Seaworks albacore to her.
Then she asked me how it was for me to not be on the boat with my husband.
Ahh, that question. I looked quickly away from her, toward the horizon. Just as I do on the boat when seas start getting really rough. It is steadying. I felt my mind drift off to sea. Just for a moment. Then I made eye contact, once again, with this woman. Grounded once more. I have just met her, but I feel she has seen a glimpse into my soul.
I tell her truth.
It was and is hard. To be geographically separated from my husband for the most part of up to 6 or 7 months. Being married to a commercial fisherman is challenging. My pre-teen son has been on board for over two weeks and I miss him keenly.
My thoughts quickly move to why I am home this summer. I tell this person, who is no longer a stranger, that I am really looking forward to seeing my daughter in a local theatrical production of Les Miserables that upcoming evening. That it was a wonderful thing to spend summers at home with my children. That this will be my last season to do so, and that I am grateful.
We parted company.
That evening I dine with my mother and her housemate. We saw Les Miserables together. At one point, my 17-year-old daughter was seen in the show dancing on a table top with other “drunken” souls. The entire scene (in my mind, I call it the “Master of the House Scene”) made the audience laugh. Later, we cried.
It was just that powerful!
Every night of the show, there has been a long standing ovation. As I stepped into the night air, to hand my daughter flowers and to congratulate the entire cast waiting outside the theater, I thought to myself, ‘This is life!”
There is a monetary price for having stayed at home over the past number of fishing seasons. The crewman we hire these days, during the high season of summer salmon and albacore trolling, is only necessary to our business now because I am not there. I tell few people how much it is that our crewman makes in a season.
It is the financial amount I entice my daughter with to think about fishing with us in the future. A nearly sure-fire way to help her pay her way through college if she so chooses. As I did working as a deckhand on commercial salmon trollers in my youth.
In the here and now, however, breathing in the Sequim night air while surveying the smiles on the faces of every member of that Les Miserables cast (they absolutely nailed their performances), this was my only thought:
Being in this very moment, with my daughter, my mother, our friends, and other community members is absolutely priceless. Worth much more than the price of admission. Worth staying home this season and all the previous fishing seasons. It was worth Every. Single. Cent.
Rare air.
It is a glimpse into the future. Watching my daughter, acting in multiple roles of adult characters onstage, just as she is becoming an adult in real life.
It is a gift to be her mother.
This is a time I will savor for the rest of my life. One I am enjoying sharing with my relatives, my best friends, and most of all, with my beautiful girl.
Our small community is celebrating and savoring the amazing performances in Les Miserables provided by many, very talented local artists. My daughter, I am proud to say, is amongst them.
I invite you to share in the incredible experience that is our local Sequim production of Les Miserables.
The show runs through 2 Aug; Thursday-Saturday; 7pm Showtime.
Get your tickets at Joyful Noise Music Store (next to Hurricane Coffee), at the door, or online at http://www.Penfamtheater.org, reserve seating.
Integration 