The Finished Shawl

Day 53: No sage philosophy today, folks. Friends in several different venues have been after me to post a photo on completion of the shawl I've been knitting for my fishing buddy. You're probably going to ask, "For a man?" Yes, because he's always cold these days, and with shaky hands and arms he can't always control, it's hard to stay covered up in a blanket. This drops over the head and can't come loose because the center section is made of "fingers" woven together. The remainder of the shawl is knit in basket-weave, carrying the theme.

For many years, I fished alone. Then one chilly day in March when I was working the waters of Alder Lake to no avail near the mouth of the Nisqually River, I spotted someone coming along the bank, fishing pole in hand. I watched him carefully, ready to bawl somebody out for fishing in the river out of season (the lake was open, but not the river), but he seemed to be coming steadily on toward my spot. When he got within speaking distance, we exchanged the typical civilities of fishermen and he settled in to fish beside me.

Neither of us were having any luck, and I was just starting to think that I might go home and warm up when I got a bite. I could tell it was a good-sized fish, so I was playing it carefully. My erstwhile companion sidled over a little closer...closer...and I was seized with a sudden fear that he was going to try to be "helpful" by grabbing my line, not realizing what I was doing. My attention shifted to him and off the fish, and as luck would have it, just as I got it near the shore, it got stuck between two rocks. My reaction was to jerk (bad move!), and I heard a sickening "ping" as my line parted. I looked down, and saw the fish, somewhat dazed, only inches away from my feet. I made my second bad move of the day, and thirty seconds later, rose out of the water with nothing dry but one spot on the back of my head. A slick rock had been my undoing, and I'd gone face-first into the cold, clear waters of the lake.

Now frozen to the bone and wet besides, I announced that I was going home for a change of clothes. At that moment, Sande hooked a fish. The Bite was on! I do not believe there is a fisherman alive who could have walked away at that moment, nor did I. I cast my line and reeled in a nice silver. We kept fishing, the two of us, until we'd limited. Halfway through when he noticed I was visibly shivering, Sande gave me his jacket like a true gentleman.

As we walked back to our respective cars, the man I'd just met asked me a question: "Would you like to go fishing with me again some time?" And that was how our relationship began.

Sande is 94 now, suffering with Parkinson's and living in an elder-care facility. I see him often, and when he's able, we talk about the good old days and all the fish we caught. Once upon a time, he wrapped me in his jacket. Now I will wrap him in this shawl, our friendship coming full-circle.