Ya won’t hear it from me

by the Trout Whisperer

Ya won’t hear it from me.
A half hour of thoughts, just occurred to me, in no less then three minutes of his appalled conversation.
He looks at our truck and he is aghast. He is stunned. The words fly out of his mouth. “What did you do to that truck, where have you been, what in heaven’s name is wrong with you? You can hardly see the windshield.
Now me, I’m smiling inside.
So, I try to explain that we just got off the road. We were in the boreal forest. We went Christmas camping. We drove on roads that four-wheel drive was invented for.
Why you buy truck tires with heavy deep-digging tread. Why you carry a tow strap and a scoop snow shovel and why, when we found the dad with his kid stuck - scared, pick-up truck-stuck, because the dad knew someone else might not go down that road for a few days - and we got them out.
Well, that’s why our truck looks like it just came back from some arctic exploration and we love it.
The truck is snow covered, ice-laden, salt-rimmed from the barely visible ice encased headlights to the ice sculptured receiver hitch.
The truck to me, just says, adventure.
I don’t tell him how we followed a bull moose at less than a mile an hour for better than a quarter mile until, in its leisurely horned, four footed pace, it finally turned over its own shoulder and then lit out for the forest minus our snow filled ruts. Or when wolves sniffed outside our tent at ten at night while it was twelve above outside and over seventy inside. Yeah, that was chilling.
He doesn’t know about how the patience in Mrs. finding a bird’s nest full of snow in all of northern Minnesota on a snowy day when you could only see feet in front of you.
And he won’t hear about birch trees frost-covered barest of branches creaking thirty feet above the newest softest snow fall on the first day of winter.
No, he won’t ever hear that and, well, he aint gonna hear from me either. -- The trout whisperer