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May issues a satisfying exhale almost every evening, a freshness in the air, winter is over. May mornings, sunrises come quickly, without summer’s heat or ugly bugs, particularly mosquitoes, unlike friendly bumble bees that buzzily hover over new dandelions, they seem to be in as big a hurry as I am not. May, to me, feels like I got time.
We finish our coffee. Mrs. and I hooked up the boat last night. She packed our picnic, after a rather late breakfast. May, a full long month, daylight savings time full of day, no need to be there at the crack of dawn, the crappies this time of year are so willing to participate.
We putter along, off the blacktop, the gravel roads dry here. A puddle there, a ruff grouse pecking some mornings grit, shaggy shedding does, a pair, the next turn, by the brown DNR public water access sign, like, welcome, come fish here.
One pull and the outboard turns over, we simmer the boat over to the deepest hole in the lake, a lake without one cabin, and no other boats about. There are two sets of vocal swans, as if tuning their long throats, it’s a music, and over the side goes the floats.
The little ripples, several buffalo heads skim the lake’s surface in a back bay, down goes a float, Mrs. reels in a two-sided slabber. Oh, it’s a keeper, and so is the month of May.
--The trout whisperer
