Four years ago this summer, we all got together and reroofed the cabin. Off went the mossy green shingles, on went the new forest green ribbed metal. Roof shines like crazy when the sun’s shining, but that’s not today, today the rain is casting off the roof’s edges in sheets, it’s a downpour being watched by two small eyes, who wants to go fishing so bad. It’s actually raining so hard, we can’t see the lake, not more than 150 feet away.
Oh how I feel for the kid, and I’m especially glad we didn’t go when it wasn’t raining, yet, because we would have gotten soaked. If we’d have not heeded the boy’s grampa’s weather prediction. “Luke, it’s gonna rain, and its gonna be a soaker Luke, but don’t you worry these summer storms blow over quick, we’ll be out there just as soon as it stops. Now come have some breakfast.” Luke abides.
He fiddles through a couple of pancakes, grampa makes him finish his milk, he clears his own dish and back to the window he went. I recall a day much like this one, it’s an ache for the boy. And I’m gonna call this a day.
When I said my goodbyes I told Luke to let me know how the fishing went, make sure I get a report ok? He says yes. I step out, still under the eave, it’s pouring, I know I’m getting soaked, just getting to my truck, new roof or not.
--The trout whisperer
