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TRINITY RIVER ADVENTURE CABIN 

 The Anniversary Present

We don't usually do much to celebrate anniversaries. There might be a small present, or a nice meal out, or nothing at all. But July 29th was our thirtieth. I figured something special was in order, but what? Months ago, Steph and his buddy Randy plotted a fly fishing trip to Idaho. The dates for guides and lodging needed to be locked in well in advance, and this was further complicated by the fact that two more old friends planned to join them. Dates were proposed and junked many times, but finally, they were set. All parties agreed. And that's when we realized our anniversary fell right in the middle. This worked for me because I felt we both got a present. For Steph, there was the trip. And for me, there was the knowledge I'd given him the go-ahead. Win-win.

I'm happy knocking around here on my own, but to make sure I didn't have challenging guests at Sow's Ear while Steph was gone, he suggested we block out those dates. I agreed. My biggest job was to convince Buf I didn't cause her dad's disappearance.

Right before the guys headed for Idaho, I used our big weed eater to cut the tall grasses along the bank. Then, I used it to edge the patio. This proved to be a highly effective method for locating a meat bee nest. They went after me with a vengeance. Several worked their way into my overalls and tank top, under my bra, and into my underpants, and they kept on stinging. That led to lots of Benadryl and incessant scratching; it was a great time for Steph to leave home.

A major snag not having Steph here is Buf's daily bike run. It's the reason her vets brag about her, claiming she's one of their most fit dogs. But she runs like the Tasmanian Devil, which explains why Steph rides a three-wheeled recumbent bike; it's far safer than riding a two-wheeler while holding Buf's leash on her crazy-assed runs. I had to figure out an adaptation to fake the fit for my shorter frame, but once that was done, off we went each morning. Very nice.

Exhilarated after the Buf run on the 29th, she and I felt pretty good. Using our river pumps and lots of fire hose, I had watered all around the evening before, so our day was open. Should I paint on the patio? Pot up more basil seedlings? SUP with Buf on the river? I stood on the landing considering our options, and that's when two vehicles drove into our driveway. The Jeep went smoothly up the drive to Sow's Ear, while the F-150 backed up after it. Both acted as though they'd been here before, and they have. We've hosted their three-generation party for about a week each year for many years, but Steph put them coming in on August 29, not July 29. And Sow's Ear wasn't ready for guests. I walked up the drive to greet them and to figure out what had happened.

To his great credit, Dom, who heads up this group, was surprisingly mellow.

"Are we turning around and going home?" he asked. I said no, we’d work it out. Dom's a definite believer in "It's all good," and as I took a picture of his family milling about in the driveway to send to Steph and bumbled my way through assurances this was fixable, he said it several times. Looking back at his confirmation emails with Steph, Dom said the problem appeared to be on our end. I agreed. And that problem was currently on the upper Big Lost River. I'd have to finish the flip on the cabin in record time.

Once we were over the shock of Dom’s arrival, I was okay with the goof-up, but Steph nearly ate himself alive with guilt. He slowly came around, though, aided by the fishing and camaraderie. The extended group Steph and Randy had lunch with one day included another three-generation party. Jimmy Kimmel has quite a fly fishing lodge up there, and he, his dad, and his son were also fishing. Jimmy dropped by to shoot the shit, and Bill gave him some of his special hand-tied Sandy Mite flies. This is a big deal because Bill recreates a design that is no longer commercially available. You know you've made it in his sphere of influence when he does this.

Also there that day were Idahoans Pepper and Connie, old friends of Randy and Bill. They fly fish and paint stunning watercolors. Steph was entranced by them and soon was calling Pepper his younger brother by another mother. During our evening phone calls, I listened to Steph’s stories; they were filled with discovery and joy. He described fish caught, fish lost, and the laughter and camaraderie that swirled through their group.

"Steph," I exclaimed, "you've found your tribe."

Realizing that Pepper and his wife, Connie, are gems, I made Steph promise to exact an oath from them to visit us out here, or else. So Steph texted Pepper, saying, "Please promise my wife you'll venture out our way so I can go home." Pepper and Connie agreed—what a gift!—but he had another one up his sleeve.

Steph and I had already gotten a winning anniversary present. Steph connected deeply with new people (a rarity), aided in part by my cavalier attitude about his being gone on the 29th. But something else was headed our direction. A very well-wrapped package arrived not long after the guys returned from Idaho. Steph carefully unwrapped it, and there were two beautifully matted and framed watercolors of the same scene. It's of Randy and Steph in their waders, fishing on the Upper Big Lost River. Pepper sent one to each of them.

So, about that present for a special date. However one views it, I'm pretty sure we nailed it.