March 10, 2024
Changing Winds
Last night, while everyone was asleep, the clocks moved forward one hour for daylight saving time. My wife arrived home from her shift around 3:30 in the morning, and I was happy she returned. Once she was in bed, I fell back asleep quickly and was up a few hours later, sneaking out of the room, trying not to wake her.
The winter weather was thawing into spring, but this morning was a clear indicator that winter was gone. The rain subsided, and the day dawned with bright, clear skies. I stepped outside, noting the feeling of the warm sun radiating from the deep blue sky. High in the trees sat a bright red cardinal singing his morning song. These birds are normally flighty, but this cardinal stayed perched on the same branch, singing for over twenty minutes.
Inside the house, I worked, putting away the dry dishes, washing a load of clothes, and feeding the dogs. After, I made a cup of coffee and sat down to write as the dogs slept, drowsy from their morning meal. After a couple of hours, I closed my iPad and walked outside to come out of my writing brain and back into my body. I looked around and knew the clear weather would make my wife happy.
When she woke up, we walked outside in the backyard, taking in the sunshine, peering up at the azure skies, listening to the cries of a hawk flying high above. I asked her if she wanted to go to breakfast, and she looked at me, saying two words: La Rancherita. I peered down at my watch to see how long it would be before the restaurant opened, but I had forgotten about the time change. It was already later than I thought. We changed clothes and sped into Wilson like two moonshiners running liquor through the county during prohibition.
After an amazing lunch of tortas con birria, we stopped by Harris Teeter to pick up some cupcakes for my wife’s office. She was on medical rotations, and when she finished with a group, she liked to take some tasty treats to thank them for their help. While we were in town, we stopped to pick up dog toys, because we were goddamned decent human beings. A quick trip to fill my wife’s SUV with gas wrapped up our excursion, and before I knew it, we were on our way home.
The afternoon felt lazy as we recovered from our large lunch. My wife dove into her studies while I edited some writing pieces. We both took intermittent breaks, walking outside as much as possible. Later in the afternoon, my wife asked me if I planned to go fishing, telling me she would like to go if I could have her back in time to get ready for work. She still had her last evening shift to attend. I grabbed some bait from the shed while my wife packed a picnic blanket and grabbed a book.
We drove to the Wiggins Mill Reservoir and found a suitable spot along the bank. I fished while my wife took in the sun, happy as could be. I do a lot of fishing alone, but truth be told, I always miss my wife while I’m gone. She asked me what I enjoyed about fishing, and I answered, this. Being out in nature, where things move at a natural pace, was always relaxing. I told her how I often arrived at a fishing spot with a busy mind, still affected by stress from work or other people. But when I made that first cast and the line shot out and hit the water, it quickly dawned on me that there was nothing else to do but wait. In that moment, life became clear.
It was like taking a trip where you rush to pack, get to the airport, find parking, check in your luggage, and get through security. After that, there was nothing left to do but wait. At that moment, all the pressure just falls away. That was what being on the water did for me. It was fun when the fishing was good, but even on slow days, I came home with everything I needed to catch. Having my wife close and having a rod and reel in my hands made for a splendid afternoon. The highlight of the trip was when a bald eagle flew overhead, its white head and tail flashing in the sunlight. We both feigned a salute and laughed.
After fishing, we grabbed some ice cream at Culver’s, filled my SUV up with gas, and drove home. As my wife prepared for work, I went to check the creek on the property. A neighbor had contacted my wife, telling her that the creek on their property was low. I suspected beavers had dammed the creek on our side, but after seeing our water levels were not inordinately high or low, a beaver dam past the neighboring property had likely given way under the pressure of the recent storm.
After my wife left, I made a quick run to the Piggly Wiggly in Bailey. On my way home, I noticed the sun was approaching the horizon, so I drove past my turn and made my way to Buckhorn Reservoir to watch the sunset. It was getting cold, and the wind was picking up. The show, however, did not disappoint. The sky, lit in bright gold, contrasted perfectly with the deep blue water. A long wooden pier, aged by the elements and time, jutted out into the scene, making for a nostalgic view. It was one of the prettiest sunsets I had seen in a while. On my way home, the sky continued to transform, deepening in soft colors of magenta and violet. It was another reminder of how lucky I was to live in such a beautiful place.
When I arrived home, I cut some logs into kindling, started a fire, turned on some music, and sipped on a cold beer poured into a frozen mason jar. Still feeling euphoric from the sunset, I sat on the back porch looking out into the forest. The wind blew wild, making the hundred foot pines sway like grass. The fire burned hot, its flames swirling like a small tornado inside the pit, as embers shot out in every direction like tiny fireworks. Seminole Wind was playing in the background, and the weather seemed to sing along.
I had forgotten what it was like to have longer days. As the evening wrapped up and nature closed her curtains, I sensed change was in the air, and I was ready to embrace it.