MUSINGS FROM THE MIND OF AMANDA

I am not what you call “outdoorsy.” I’m pale, and fat, and prone to overheating. But I love to take pictures of animals, and the lakes are my favorite places. I’m lucky; we have four or five lakes within thirty minutes of my house, and we have a boat. I’ve only gone out a couple of times by myself; usually my husband takes me. But on one especially memorable occasion, I decided to take my mom to the closest of the local lakes. My husband was at work, so my son, who was about ten or twelve, offered to go with me.

The trip started off rough. I’d never actually hitched the boat up by myself. I ended up FaceTiming my husband so he could watch what I was doing. Then Mom shows up and doesn’t want to ride with me. She wants to take her own car. No problem. But this is a private lake, and you can’t park at the ramp unless you have a tag. She’ll need to leave it at the gate.

Well. You think actors are dramatic. “What if they steal my car?” Well, um, nobody’s ever had their car stolen out there, but ok. Not to mention, the caretaker lives about 31 feet from the gate, but what do I know.

We finally get her in my SUV and we head down the lake. Well, guess what? I can’t back a trailer. It took me fifteen minutes to get it lined up and ready, while she (who has never ever backed a trailer) gave me airport controller style hand motions to “help.” Spoiler alert: It was not helpful. The trailer was a little crooked, but my son could unload a boat blindfolded in his sleep…and he got it out on the water while I parked the truck and trailer.

Hitch # 2. The lake has a floating dock. The boat pulls up next to it, and you step from the dock to the boat. It can be scary, but there are pylons you can hold on to, and if someone is in the boat, they can sort of push it against the dock to keep the boat in place. Except she refused. “I’m going down the rocks.” Well, fine, but you’ll fall. “No, I won’t”. She confidently stepped down onto the rocks.

After we picked her up (she fell!) and got her into the boat, she started fussing. “It’s too windy. We don’t need to be out here. It’s too rough. We need to go back.” It wasn’t windy, really, but the wind cuts across the lake there. There are several large coves, though, and once you get into them, there’s no issue. I finally get her calmed down enough to ride and we head out to the other end of the lake.

Now, this particular lake is beautiful. In some places, you can see the bottom, up to probably ten or twelve feet deep. It’s also full of alligators. It’s more unusual if we don’t see a couple than if we do. My son was checking out the gator situation and I was driving the boat and my mom was fussing about everything.

We get to the cove that my husband told me to go to. Even at ten feet deep, the bottom was clearly visible. You could see the fish. “There’s no fish here. We need to fish OVER THERE.” No, because over there is full of duck weed and I may not be able to get you loose if your bait hangs up. “But there’s no fish here!” I’m looking at them.

At this point, my son is looking for gators because he wants to feed his grandmother to him. I’m sending him subliminal messages to take her life jacket off before he pushes her in. Life jackets are expensive, you know.

After a while, I decide we need to leave. There’s no light at the boat ramp, because you have to be out by dark, because, again, there are enough alligators to take over a small country. We head to the boat ramp, I get out and then head to get the trailer. Takes me another ten or fifteen minutes to get the trailer down, (yes, with air traffic controller motions) and then see the trailer is crooked. Dang it. My son is a pro, though, and he whips that boat up there like he gets paid for it. I pull him out and start hooking up all the belts and buckles and ropes and what not to keep it on the trailer, and that’s when I realized we had a problem.

The boat was six inches or so farther down the trailer than it should be.

I can’t move it. It’s an 18 foot metal slab. I can’t winch it up; the winch and rope aren’t strong enough. I only have two options: Leave it there and then file an insurance claim if someone steals it, or back it back into the water and float it enough to winch it the last six inches. Just as a resign myself to another fifteen minutes of “help,” two angels in a bass boat appeared.

“Ma’am, are you having some trouble?” I explained what I’d done, and that I needed to float it, and just as I was going to let them load first, one of my redneck angels offered to do it for me. Yes. Yes, please. I hand them the keys to my SUV and they start off…and my. Mom. Lost. Her. Mind.

“THEY’RE GONNA STEAL YOUR TRUCK! ” Um, no, this is a private lake that requires a permit that requires an application with the city. Also, you have to sign in at the gate with your permit number and license plate. The same license plate that’s on the truck that is sitting in the parking lot while they fix my boat.

“WE’RE GONNA BE STUCK OUT HERE WHEN THEY STEAL YOUR TRUCK!!” Um, no, their truck is right here, I have a cell phone, and I’m ten minutes from the city. I can handle this.

Just as she worked herself into a huge fit, the two gentlemen who saved my butt drive back up. One gentleman climbs out of the boat and complements the motor. The other hands me my key and tells me what a nice set up that is. I thank them profusely and we get in my SUV. We drive back to the (locked) gate, sign out, and get my mom back in her car.

Then my son and I went drinking. Just kidding. We vowed to never, ever, take her out in the boat again.

A few years later, we took her out in our pontoon boat. My husband go so fed up with her, he drove her to her campsite, kicked her out of the boat, and drove away. True story, brah.