#literally nothing compares to being out on a small lake at sunset when its like 65 degrees and literally perfect weather

[fagdykebassboy]

most cis guy thing about me is how much i love fishing like ive been thinking about it for the last 30 minutes like half of my feed is just fishing content

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

My Only Valentine

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin​

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: Your first Valentine’s Day in Wakanda turns out to be more eventful than either of you expected. (This is in the Only For A Moment world but can be read as a stand-alone.)

Warnings: None. Just fluff.

A/N: Well. I wasn’t expecting this to happen but it did. I just couldn’t stop thinking about these two even after wrapping up part one. I hope you all enjoy! 

Bucky woke with the sun, heart already racing. Even the peaceful view of the lake and the soft morning sounds of the countryside waking around him couldn’t calm his nerves. 

Courtesy of his enhanced ears he listens as you wake and shuffle around your small home, pour a cup of fresh coffee. Simple sounds, simple everyday actions, but knowing it’s you doing them makes him smile. 

He turns toward the door as you step out into the morning light, eyes blinking in the light. His anxieties fall away for now as a smile overtakes his face. 

“Good morning baby doll,” he coos as you rest your head on his chest, your hands curled around your mug. 

“Mmm,” you hum response, never quite one for early mornings. 

“Full day?” He asks before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Surprisingly so,” you say on a sigh. You take a deep drink before continuing. “Okoye popped a bunch of last-minute drills on the schedule yesterday. So I’ll be tied up there until later in the day.” Silently he thanks Okoye once more. 

“What about your class?” You’d been taking classes at the university in the city, learning all you could about your new home and it’s history. Afternoons spent with coffee, lounging in the hammock, eyes glued on the spectacular sunset while you shared new bits of knowledge with him were his new favorite thing. 

“Drills before, drills after.” 

He rubs your back with his hand, “Well, don’t push yourself too far.” It was an empty warning, he knew your day would be light despite the time it was taking up. 

“I’ll tell Oko I’ve got Sergent’s orders to go easy,” you laugh. 

“She outranks me, don’t think she’ll listen.” 

You smile up at him. Rising from the ground until you’re at eye level with him you place a kiss on his lips. He shudders with pleasure, cupping your cheek to hold on to the kiss a little longer. 

“I gotta shower,” you say breaking your connection. 

“Want company?” He asks smirking. 

“Always,” you purr into his ear before nipping playfully at his earlobe. 

He takes care to be sure you aren’t even a minute late heading out the door, despite his aching desire to toss you onto the bed and have you again after the shower. 

As you tear off toward the city on your bike you blow him a kiss, sending a puff of your power with it so he actually feels when it touches his cheek. The moment you’re out of sight that anxiety begins to creep back in. 

In the house, he glances at the time. Still a few hours to go. Thankfully there was always work to be done on the farm.

He may have been born a city boy but he could spend the rest of his life on this small farm with you by his side and die a very happy man. Just the thought of it keeps a smile on his face while he works up a sweat and the hours, and his worries, slip away. 

Before he realizes it’s time he sees Shuri cresting the hill, waving from her hovercraft. He waves back, always happy to see her. 

“Ok,” Shuri starts to rattle off before she’s even off the craft, “everything is a go on Okoye’s end, got all the stuff you asked for here - and a few more things I thought you’d both like - and this-” She holds up a garment bag. “And trust me, it’s gonna be perfect.”

He swallows hard, hoping she’s right. 

-

“Again,” Okoye calls and you can hear the machine readying to launch more sand figures your way. 

You groan, “Oko, come on, we’ve been at this for literal hours.”

“What,” she asks with a grin on her face, “too easy for you?”

“Yes actually,” you say as you dismantle three of the figures before they’re within five feet of you. In the months since you’d been here, your ability had only gotten stronger as you honed it both through practice with Okoye and through Shuri’s insights into just what makes you tick. 

Without warning, all of the black sand is drawn back into its container before exploding into the shape of a panther about three times your size. This was new. You glance to Oko who just shrugs at you with a smug look on her face.

You send out your power, invisible tendrils trying to permeate the figure and tear it apart but it’s too dense to do in one fell swoop. Before you can do anything else it charges at you, forcing you to take to the air before a massive paw can knock you to the ground. This was gonna be a hard one. 

Forcing yourself up higher you propel yourself over the big cat’s head before it can react. You land on its back, intending to try and sever the head. But in an instant, there’s nothing left for you to stand on as you tumble toward the ground in a cloud of black sand. 

Just barely, you catch yourself before your ass smashes into the hard floor of the training room. Okoye’s laugh fills the space as you glare at her. 

“You should have seen your face!” She bellows. In response, you flip her the bird. 

“Ah, don’t be like that sister,” she says throwing an arm around your shoulders as the sand resets itself. “Besides, it’s time to call it a day.” 

“Thank god,” you sigh.

As you walk into the locker room you notice something large and black hanging in your cubby that you knew for certain wasn’t there before. 

“What the-” your fingers pluck a card from a pocket on the bag, your name in Bucky’s hand on the front. 

Y/N,

Meet me at sunset. 

-Bucky

You look back to Okoye who’s suspiciously leaning in the doorway with a smile on her face. 

“What do you know about this?” You ask with mock severity. 

“I don’t know a thing,” she lies. “But I do think you should open that bag.” 

After giving her one last sidelong glance you snag the zipper and slide the garment bag open to reveal a dress that truly takes your breath away. 

Your fingers reverently run across the smooth black satin of a dress straight out of time. The neckline is that quintessential 1940’s sweetheart you can’t help but adore, the waist cut perfectly before falling into a full skirt. On the left, just above where your heart would be, was a red heart brooch. Only then does it hit you what day it is.

“Oh,” you say touching the beautiful, clearly vintage brooch. “I forgot.”

“He didn’t expect you to think about it,” Oko says behind you. She nudges you with her shoulder. “Come on, get ready. There’s a ride to take you home.” 

Home. The word brought a smile to your face. 

Bucky, unsurprisingly, thought of everything. Your makeup bag had been brought from the house, he even picked out shoes that went perfectly with the dress. Quickly you shower before trying your best to wrangle your curls into something that seemed like you put in some effort. Eyes lined and lips in a deep red pout you take a look at yourself in the full-length mirror. 

The woman who stared back at you was someone you never thought you’d see again. You had buried her along with her family, chalked her up as yet another loss at the hands of Hydra. Yet here she stood, in defiance of fate.

It felt like a lifetime ago that you’d seen him across a busy street in Bucharest even though it was just over two years. In that short time loving him, being loved by him, had brought you back to life. You smile at your reflection, resurrection looked damn good on you. 

-

Bucky glances at the sky, the sun peeking just above the horizon. He turns his focus back to the mirror, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and straightening his tie. 

When Shuri was helping him gather everything for tonight she insisted that he had to have the whole suit, jacket and all. Of course, he’d given in and even gave her the satisfaction of seeing him in it. Now though it was slung across the bed, leaving him in just his slacks, a white button-up, a tie, and suspenders. He always left his jacket at home because it was better than losing it in the night - either on the dance floor or on the floor of some gal. 

How many nights had he headed out in an outfit almost identical? He could remember so many of them now. 

“Hey,” Shuri hisses from the front door. He pokes his head out of the bathroom. “They’re about ten minutes away. Come make sure everything looks ok!” 

Once more she walks him through how the trays the food is on will keep everything perfectly warm, how the wine should be just right, how to work the music player - it’s speakers tucked all around the farm. Once more he tells her it all looks perfect. 

“Ok, you’re sure you don’t have any questions?” 

“I’m sure, Shuri,” he laughs. “Thank you.” He’d be thanking her for the rest of his days. 

“I already said you don’t have to thank me!” She bats at his arm playfully before giving him a quick hug. “Have a good night!” She tosses over her shoulder as she heads to her hovercraft to disappear before you arrive. 

-

You hear the music, soft in the distance before you even crest the hill. It takes all your control to not just fly, following the music straight to him. But you wait, and you’re oh so glad you do. 

As you come over the hill you’re struck breathless at the sight. 

The sunset makes the whole world look surreal with its incomprehensible colors. Lights are strung in the trees and seem to float on nothing in the air, twinkling in the growing twilight. Just barely, you can make out a table set for two, candles flickering around it. Now you can make out the words of Dream A Little Dream Of Me being carried on the breeze. 

All of that is lovely, still, it’s nothing compared to seeing Bucky. 

He stands in the center of a low platform - that certainly wasn’t there this morning - hair in a half ponytail, looking almost like he stepped from the many old films you loved. Your handsome soldier with a heart of pure gold welcoming you home. 

You can’t take your eyes off him as you step off the hovercraft. 

He holds his hand out to you as you approach, “Care to dance?” 

“With you?” You ask playfully. He smiles and your heart rabbits in your chest. “Always.”

The steps are second nature to you now, even the alterations you’d made to accommodate the loss of his left arm. Together you swing across the dance floor, your skirt spinning out perfectly, your laughter filling the evening air with the sound of the brass. As the song ends Bucky twirls you into his chest, kissing you breathless.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darlin’.” 

It is the most perfect night. After a few hours of delicious food, wine, and dancing, you both lay on the dancefloor, the lights dimmed, and stare up at the endless starry sky above you. 

You look over at his drowsing eyes, unable to keep the smile from your face. God, you loved him. 

“Bucky?” 

“Hmm?” He says sleepily, his hand shifting in yours. 

“If this was 1940, what would you do after a night like this?” As more and more of his memory returned you loved hearing about his life back then. 

He laughs a little, “Ask you to marry me.” 

“Only in 1940?” You ask the question without even thinking about it. His hand goes tense before pulling from your grip.

Leaning up on his arm he looks down at you, face framed by the night sky, lit just enough by a couple of candles you brought to the floor for you to see his expression. Is it fear there? Wonder? Excitement?

“Would you?” He asks breathlessly. 

“Would I-”

“Actually marry… me?” There’s a flash of pain in his eyes at the last word. Somehow he still struggled to believe that you loved him, all of him, from time to time. 

“James,” you sigh. You rarely used his first name but it seemed fitting now. For just a moment he wilts, thinking the worst, eyes looking away from yours. You cup his cheek so he’ll look at you. “Do you really not know the answer to that?”

That goddamn smile of his crinkles his eyes and lights his face. He shoots to his feet before pulling you up to yours. 

“What are you-”

“To get the answer I gotta really ask the question, huh?” 

You’re a little slack-jawed as he takes a knee before you, looking up with eyes starrier than the sky above you. 

“Y/N, would you do me the honor of marrying me?” Bucky asks all sincerity. 

Your head falls back in a laugh rooted in pure joy before saying, “Yes, you ridiculous romantic. Yes!” He whoops into the night air and stands, gathering you to him and spinning you around.  

“Let’s just do it now.” He says setting you down 

“Now?!” 

“Why not?” He shrugs. “We’re both international fugitives, not like we could have a big shindig. And…” He seems bashful suddenly, “I just wanna call you my wife.” Immediately you take his hands in yours, he stares at you with wide eyes.

“James Barnes,” you take a deep breath, “I can’t promise I will always be easy to love-” he opens his mouth to protest - “nope. It’s my turn,” you tell him. “But I can promise that I will love all of you for as long as I live, no matter what comes our way.” 

Tears glitter in his eyes and you watch his adam’s apple bob hard as he swallows. 

“Y/N…” His thumbs stroke your knuckles. “I’ve waited a few lifetimes to find you. But all that time, all that hell, was worth it to find myself standing here with you. There is so little I can promise to provide you with-” his voice cracks a bit. “But I swear I will always protect you. I swear I will always love you,” he smiles, “and baby, you’re so damn easy to love.”

You sniff, a tear tumbling down your cheek, “Damn you. I shoulda made you go first.”

He laughs, “Y/N, will you take me as your husband?”

“I do.” You smile, “Bucky, will you take me as your wife?”

“Absolutely.” You watch a tear sneak out of the corner of his eye, “May I kiss the bride?”

“Always.” 

TAGS

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[chuckadams]

The Fierce and Beautiful World: A Requiem for a Year

And now let us gather round the hearth—or whatever it is we consider a hearth in this day and age, be it a wood-stove (you lucky bums) or the soft glow of a smartphone screen—let us gather and dive into yet another of my long-winded rants and raves about the past year. For it has been a doozy. Is that the right word? Can a doozy capture both the highest of highs, as well as the lowest of lows? Is there a better word? I have already googled “best word to describe a year of ups and downs” and google cannot adequately give answers.

Because there are no answers.

Last year I wrote that there are only “arcs and circuits and feedback loops, and they are always bending and flowing. Gaining and losing. Seeking a balance, that will never be perfect or purely balanced.” 2019 was the year that proved it.

SRI LANKA NEW YEAR

On the first day of 2019 I woke up in Bucharest after a long sleep, interrupted briefly by midnight fireworks in the piazza down the street. I had just returned from a two-week trip to Sri Lanka, which, if nothing else, allowed me time to reflect and consider where I was going. I had just begun dating Ani, an Armenian-born Russian citizen, earlier that fall, and she was back home in Russia for the holidays. 

One year later, I will read this, from a book gifted to me by my brother: “I will find my way into new country that beckons me to take unexpected risks, which turn out not to be risks at all, but the next step.” And I realize this was what 2019, and pretty much all of the past decade, has been about. Unexpected risks turning into next steps.

In Sri Lanka, I sat on a beach and watched a daughter excitedly frolic in the waves with her dad, and I thought, Wouldn’t that be nice, too? I took surf lessons (“I need to impress my surfing girlfriend,” I told my instructor). I sat on a flat wooden raft and was pushed across a lake by a silent boatman, while I spied elephants on the far shore with my binoculars, tuning in to the steady splashes of water against the hull. I leaned out from the open door on a jungle train as it chugged through tea fields in the highlands from Ella to Kandy to Colombo, listening to a soundtrack of indie rock music on my mp3 player. 

I read, months later, about the terrorist attacks in Colombo and thought about the wonderful people I had met who would likely suffer from less income this year.

THE TROUBLE WITH ONLINE DATING

“Everything, even the weather, becomes a communication, or even a critical comment, on one’s relationship with things, phenomena, persons, etc.” I wrote that last year. It seems sad to admit, but the biggest comment about my newfound relationship with Ani came when I deleted all of my dating apps on my phone. Not days after I met her, nor even weeks. It took months. Months of internal conflict that culminated in what, for me, was a small victory for the soul.

Online dating apps have been both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, they have allowed an introvert like me to actually have a dating life. I recall, back in 2007, when I was suddenly single after a long relationship, how difficult it was to date. I didn’t even have the Internet at my house in Eugene, Oregon; no Wi-Fi, and definitely no smartphone; I got 8 hours of screen-time per day at my job, and that was plenty for me, thank you. Dating in 2007 was like the Stone Ages compared to today, where you had to physically go out and “bump” into strangers, or just wait until strangers fell into your orbit.

I’m not really the kind of person who talks to strangers at bars (at least not in bars in my home country), so I let people drift into and out of my life like those deer who show up in your front yard, eating your clover, and then move on down the street. I was that kind of deer, too. A feral browser, moving to and fro, with no rhyme or reason.

And then, around mid-2016, voila! an endless scroll of possibilities with dating apps, whilst living in ever larger cities of Portland, and then Bucharest. But I noticed something: the “endless possibilities” became, for me, antithetical to actual committed relationships. I remember going on a few dates with women, who were, on balance, worth spending my time and energy with, but that energy was instead spent scrolling through the endless possibilities still out there. It was like I was living through some bizarro world version of my college art film, “Hunting Love.” I had become a hunter-gatherer, and yet I wanted to be a farmer. These apps had turned me into a hypocritical monster. With so much wild game at my fingertips, there really was no rational reason to switch to cultivating a sustainable life with another person. I had resigned myself to eternal bachelorhood, and I was becoming more and more okay with this.

Then I met Ani.  

And isn’t this how it typically happens? Someone defies all of your expectations, catching you unaware?

With Ani, our courtship (and yes, I insist on using that old-fashioned term) developed over the course of months, not days. It was like a tree that needed to grow a few rings of thickness before it knew it was something of substance. In the past, I would have looked at the seed, imagining I saw a tree, prematurely. Often I would have planted anew before even giving it a chance to grow.

For me, the seed became a tree when we both took a weekend trip to the Black Sea coast in late January 2019, a full 2.5 months after we met. We got a deal on a room at one of the few seaside resorts still open in the dead of winter, one that had an indoor pool and a sauna. That evening, before dinner, we took a stroll along a desolate stretch of beach. It was dusky, cold, and a light rain fell, coating us in those fine white dots of spray. I remember thinking, “There are only so many people on this Earth who would actually enjoy what we are doing right now. I mean, it stinks like dying fish on this beach, and it’s bloody cold, and there is nobody else around here except us.” But we got closer, for warmth, and it was obvious I was not asking too much of her to be here with me.

Later, in the spring, we took a weekend road trip to the far western part of Romania to scout a location for a school trip. Then, for a week we road-tripped through Bulgaria, with the highlight being some wild camping on a beach near the border with Turkey. Again, I came back from these trips pinching myself.

ADDRESSING THE ISSUE OF CHILDREN IN WAR ZONES

In the midst of all this, I continued to teach at the American International School of Bucharest, surrounded by intrepid and exasperating students, as well as adventurous colleagues.

For example, there was that wonderful week in February spent in Sweden with colleagues. We walked around Stockholm, then spent a solid few days cross-country skiing and soaking in hot tubs in Funasdalen, in the central-west mountains near the border with Norway. Mmmhmmmm, just what was needed in the middle of winter. 

I also took on a new challenge this year, namely that I coached the middle school’s Model United Nations (MUN) for the winter season. We had a group of 8 students, all quirky in their own ways, who got practice in debating, resolution writing, and the fine art of lobbying. I’ll admit that I probably would not have been interested in MUN when I was a middle schooler, nor as a high schooler. It does seem to favor those who like to hear themselves talk, though it certainly attracts those with a desperate need for social skills practice. However, I liked that this was a group that actually enjoyed discussing worldly topics, like the role of NGOs in developing countries, or the role that religion plays in national politics. I was most comfortable when I could just assume the Humanities teacher role and guide students to a well-written and researched resolution addressing the issue of children living in war zones. We had a local, on-campus MUN conference in March, and then traveled to a MUN conference in Budapest, Hungary. The big news I wish to share is that, for the first time in my life, I bought a suit. Apparently MUN participants must dress the part, and their coaches must follow suit, literally. So there’s that. A small but significant change. Ka-ching.

THE POETRY OF BONFIRES

After MUN season wrapped up in early April, I got ready to lead a group of 7th and 8th graders on a trip to Port Cetate, in the far southwestern part of Romania, for a week-long creative writing and photography retreat. At my school, the 7th through 10th graders go on week-long trip in mid-May tailored to their interests. The trips ran the gamut from creative pursuits (like writing and photography), to outdoor pursuits (like rock-climbing, mountain biking, or scuba diving), to service-learning pursuits. On the trip I led, I got to teach kids about writing short, descriptive vignettes, as well as how to take photos manually using a DSL film camera (using my old Canon AE-1). It blew their minds that they would have to wait 2-4 weeks to see the fruits of their photography, most of which turned out slightly out of focus. Above all, I won’t forget the last day we had with the students, when we had a bonfire on the banks of the Danube River, looking across to Bulgaria. We had an impromptu dance party, which is probably the most memorable poetry these kids will remember a few years from now.

When we returned from this trip, I headed straight to the airport, to fly to Portugal to meet Ani in Sagres, where we spent two days surfing, eating amazing meals, swinging in hammocks, and hanging with her surf camp friends. We spent one sunset overlooking what can only be described as “the end of the world.” And others describe it this way, too. Sagres is the extreme southwestern point of the European continent. (It is at this spot that we hope to perform a small but special ceremony in June 2020.) Later, we drove north to spend a day in Lisbon, a wonderful city well worth the time and energy spent exploring its nooks and crannies.

SUMMER OF HANG TIME

After that, time moved swiftly. The school year ended, and my summer break began. This summer I would not be charting something so adventurous as the previous summer’s month-long bike tour of the Balkans. No, this summer the theme was Hang Out with Friends and Family, and Renew Relationships. I think this summer epitomized what I wrote last year about optima:

“Optima means there is no single variable which should be maximized over any other single variable: period. This is the practice of stability, of optimization; an oscillation of gain and loss; the practice of diversity; the spirit of community.”

What this meant, in practical terms, is that my legs and lungs probably got less exercise this summer, but I was exercising something else, perhaps less physical, but no less important.

I spent quality time with friends and former professors in Laramie, Wyoming; a week with my brother Jonah and family in Colorado; a road trip across Hwy 50, the “loneliest road,” from Utah to Oregon, with my brother Phil; a family reunion in Astoria with my niece, Skye, and her fiancé, driving in from San Diego, as well as my sister, Elisha, and her boyfriend, Joe, flying in from Chicago, essentially to celebrate my return from abroad, as well as my niece’s recent engagement.

At first I anticipated this reunion with trepidation, as Elisha has a knack for returning to Astoria with hurricane force winds, knocking down everyone in her path of verbal volleys, usually snarky but occasionally biting. That being said, I hadn’t seen her in over a decade, for a variety of reasons, and I realized, after she arrived, in full hurricane mode, and saw her interactions with everyone, that I missed her. Her boyfriend, Joe, was sporting a mohawk and pounding down the local craft beers I was offering. Uh-oh, I thought. Maybe I should have mentioned these were 6% ABU? Somehow we all made it up to the Astoria Column for the sunset.

I remember waking up the next morning and seeing that nobody was taking action to make anything special for breakfast. Such lazy bums, I thought. Then I remembered that I was an adult now...it only took me 36 years to figure that out...and that if I wanted pancakes for breakfast, I had to make them myself. So I got out all the ingredients and I started churning out what we call “big pancakes” in my house, and which are called Swedish pancakes, or French crepes, elsewhere. Sure, there were arguments about whether my dad’s cherry jam would or would not cause food poisoning...arguments over the absurdity of my brother running out and buying three large jars of high fructose corn syrup jelly…but those arguments came from the parents. I remember that Elisha and Joe were grateful for my sweat over the stovetop.

This, I choose to remember.

RECONNECTIONS

Later, once my extended family came and went, I focused on hanging with my parents, and spending time with friends in Astoria and Portland. On this trip alone, I met at least nine brand new humans under the age of two, such is the state of mid-30s life. At some point, I remember briefly thinking, “I miss the freedom of my bike tour of the previous summer, where every day I packed up my panniers and cast off on another journey to another new town.” Then I remember thinking, “Well, but this is nice. To reconnect and restore relationships...moreover, to have the blessing of time off in the summer months to do such a thing, is priceless. There will always be time for adventures; there is not always time to just hang out, however brief, and catch up on life.”

Indeed, I even got to spend a few hours with Ngaoi, a friend I met back when I was volunteering on a farm in New Zealand in 2010. She was the best friend of our hosts, and would come over often to hang out and help us in the hydroponic lettuce greenhouses. My ex-girlfriend, Rachel, and I secretly wanted to adopt her as our daughter (we were in our late 20s; she was in her late teens). Zoom ahead a decade, and she was visiting her current boyfriend, an American she met in New Zealand, but who happened to live in Beaverton, Oregon. They both made a weekend trip to Astoria, and I introduced them to the Blue Scorcher’s coffee and we browsed a “flea market” at a local church.

The sun races around the galaxy; the Earth sprints to keep up with it in gravitational orbits; and we always make our returns back to our origins to begin again.

THE ORIGIN OF LOVE

When I flew back to Romania, Ani had moved into my apartment in downtown Bucharest. We had planned on it before I left, but still it was a bit of a shock to see all her belongings in place, the decor slightly personalized to her likings. I didn’t mind it at all. Moreover, it was an important milestone, a difference that made a difference.

When you are 22, you have your whole life ahead of you, and, even if you’re certain about a thing, can take your time to get around to ascertaining it. Well, when you’re 36, and you are certain about a thing, there is no practical use in waiting to ascertaining it. You take hold of it and don’t let it go.

Thus, by mid-October, while we Ani and I were on vacation in Greece, on the island of Crete, on a stretch of beach we had all to ourselves, as the sun hung low on the horizon, I proposed.  

The engagement ring has the words “origo amare” engraved on the inside of the band, an allusion to our first meeting at a coffee shop named Origo. The Latin phrase means, “The origin of love.” It seems ironic, I know, that the origin of love could be instigated by a few messages sent back and forth on Internations, a social media site for expatriates, followed by a meeting for coffee. There was no love at first sight. In fact, it took a month before we exchanged our first kiss. But every slow burn needs its spark.

Our spark came when I asked if Ani would show me how to use her longboard, which she had in the trunk of her car parked a block away. As we walked to the concrete slab, she pushed me from behind to see which foot was more dominant. It was just a test, but later, she told me, “You felt so warm.” Perhaps the body knows things before the brain does. Life is a mystery, and I want to hold onto that mystery, because there is no reason we should have met each other, growing up on opposite sides of the world, to meet under such particular circumstances. That spark led to another meeting, and then another... 

So it goes.

One year later we were engaged. Unlike most other times in my life, there is no inner conflict, no hesitation. Sure, there are “What if…?” lines of inquiry, as per usual. But the one line of inquiry that sets me straight is the one that goes, “What if I had never met Ani?” It sets me straight because I know the answer to that one: I would be writing this end-of-year review as per usual, likely on a tropical beach somewhere, likely alone, and happy enough, because I am perfectly fine enjoying my own company (and the company of books), and I would be describing some incredible moments from the past year.

But I would not be describing what I suppose I’m describing now: a change in trajectory, a revolution of priorities. Without Ani I would have been happy; with Ani I know I will be happier.

OF LOGISTICS AND A DOG BITE

So the year beat on. In November, I brought my cross country team to the championships in Kiev, Ukraine, and got bit by an unclaimed dog in the middle of the coaches race. Spent my November getting injections of rabies vaccine by a no-nonsense nurse at the Anti-Rabic Clinic here in the city.

We enjoyed a three-day weekend at the end of November in Milan, Italy, visiting with an old friend and taking engagement photos with an iPhone X. I celebrated my 37th birthday on a rare sunny day in Milan, eating turkey at a belated Thanksgiving Day feast. 

Throughout the fall, Ani and I spent many an evening planning the logistics of when and where we would get married in Romania (in front of the legal authorities) and in Sagres, Portugal (in front of family), as well as the insane amount of bureaucratic paperwork needed to fulfill the requirements here in Romania.

Ani and I have no plans to return to the United States to “settle down.” We met as global citizens of the world, and we intend to stay that way, at least for the time being. As of today, I have spent a little over 5 years of my adult life living abroad, in places all over the world. I feel at home in the world now, and building a cross-cultural, multi-lingual family seems to be my ultimate fate, happily.

THE REBALANCING OF HIGH & LOW

Well, so much for the highs. Sometime in September, I thought, “I’ve been lucky so far, because I have only lost my grandparents, and that was long ago. But...it’s only a matter of time.” And that time came in early October, with the passing of my Uncle Remi. He was 76 years old. My parents flew to Chicago to attend his funeral, as well as take care of his final arrangements. He was living in his family home at the time, and now that house, which had been in my family’s possession for over 70 years, will be up for sale.

Then, on the evening of December 7th, I got a call from my brother. I was in the middle of my school’s holiday party, at the Marriott Hotel, when he told me our sister had passed away. She was 47 years old. At one point, he mentioned that we knew this moment would come eventually, and I knew what he meant. In 2011 she had nearly died as a result of a critical MRSA infection. At that time I was in a far remote corner of Ethiopia, and the power and Internet was cut. My family was rushing to the hospital in Chicago, and I was rushing to catch a bus to somewhere with a phone signal. She miraculously recovered from that scary episode, and so I like to think that she was blessed with eight more years of life. Eight more years to make memories with her daughter, and to see her daughter get married on a beach in Hawaii this past October, so happy and joyful.

After the news, I sucked it in as best as I could and went to work for three more days. Some colleagues wondered why I was at work. Where else would I be, I thought, on the couch moping? No, it was better to see the faces of my students, to let them know what happened, so they saw me as a frail human. And they were so kind about it. About seven students from my 6th grade English class even surprised me with kind notes attached to my door, reminding me of the spirit of giving and generosity in our darkest month of December.

I flew to Chicago on a Thursday, arriving late, hosted by my cousin Jeremy. Despite the circumstances, it was satisfying to catch up with some of my family still living in Chicago, such as my cousins Jeremy, Harmony, Mike, and uncles Steve, Ben, and John, and aunts Linda, Pam, and Kathy. As well, meeting my cousins’ tiny children for the first time was a diamond in the rough.

The night before the funeral, my brother Jonah, his wife LuAnne, and my brother Phil, all of whom just arrived by air, picked me up from my cousin’s house. We congregated at the Hampton Inn, in Lisle, Illinois, where several folks were staying for the weekend, to put together three large photo-collages that would be displayed at the funeral. Elisha’s step-sister, Melissa, had collected arts and crafts supplies from the daycare she runs, and we all got to work, including my niece Skye and her husband, David. Together, we all did our best to piece together Elisha’s life from images collected from several sources across the ages. It was hard not to dwell too long on this treasure trove of images, some of which we had never seen until now, and before too long it was nearly midnight.

What is there to say about funerals? Are they really for the deceased? Or are they for the living?

As family and friends came together at the funeral home for a two-hour moment in time, we paid our respects to Elisha, and we paid our respects to each other. I met people for the first time, and I reunited with people I had only met once, long ago. The photo-collages were beautiful, but it was the photo album that my Uncle Steve brought—ones that held Elisha’s baby photos, when she ran and frolicked on the farms and coastal beaches of Oregon—that choked me up the most.

Every time I got near my sister’s urn I choked back tears. Stupid as it sounds, because I didn’t have any tissue on hand, I stifled the tears. But when the funeral parlor director came out to ask everyone to take a seat, or take a knee, while he said a prayer, I found some tissues, and the tears burst forth.

Then he asked everyone except the immediate family to walk past the urn and pay their final respects. I did not, could not, look up. More tears.

Then he asked the immediate family to come forward. We made a half-circle in front of the urn, in all its rainbow-hued splendor, reflecting my sister’s colorful character, sitting there amidst the expensive floral arrangement paid for by my Uncle Steve (“For these types of things you call the professionals”). More tears from me—and the funeral director told what amounted to an anecdote about his own mother’s passing as a way to lighten the mood. Later, Jonah would ask, “You think he tells the same story at every funeral?”

He probably does tell the same story. Because it’s always the same story. Loss is loss. Grief is grief. He can tell us all about how it will only be “a little while—hopefully not too soon! (haha)” before we see our loved one again in the metaphysical afterlife, but, believers or non-believers, it does not take away the pain of the present moment.

Even so, the funeral was over, and it was time to pack up the cars full of flowers and photo albums and an urn, and head over to Q’s for the reception, where the menu was Italian-American to the max, including what my vegetarian brother described, accurately, as a “meat salad.”

The remainder of the days in Chicago were for hanging out. Being together. One-by-one, people flew home, and I stayed until Tuesday so that this “hanging out” would not be rushed. My cousin Jeremy took Friday and Monday off work, as far as I could tell, just to hang out with me. In many ways, this trip was an extension of my summer trip back to the U.S. No matter how far I fling myself out in the world, the Great Magnet always reels me in, back to Chicago, back to Oregon, back to the Rocky Mountain West, back to the Pacific Ocean, back to Doug fir trees, sand dunes, and the coastal river valleys, where campfire smoke always drifts downwind, and where an ageless youth laughs out loud, in a cackle, at the glee and sheer terror of catching a crawdad.

CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

The final half of December I spent with Ani as we celebrated the Christmas spirit at three locations throughout Transylvania, in Romania, each place unique. The first place, Sinaia, is known for its mountain peaks on all sides. We intended to go skiing, but the snow report stunk, so we went hiking instead. Then we moved on to Cund, a small, quiet village in what is known as the Saxon part of Romania, a place with a strong German heritage, and fortified churches. We sat by a roasting wood-stove, watched movies, and went on a meandering ridge-line hike in the mist. Finally we moved on to Sibiu, a small city that resembles a storybook German village than anything you typically find in Romania. They have one of the largest Christmas Markets in Eastern Europe, and it is exquisitely framed by a picture-postcard square, with buildings that have droopy eyelid windows in the roof, so it looks like you are being watched.

And, who knows, maybe we are being watched over.

There is much to be thankful for in the year 2019. For me, a solid job I am passionate about, a fiancée who sticks by my side through thick and thin, and the good health to still run my legs through the forest at a fast speed, rabid dogs notwithstanding.

There is so much to look forward to in 2020, up to and including:

In February, travel to Ethiopia, with a group of five other colleagues

In March, Ani’s cousin’s wedding, in Togliatti, Russia

In April, travel to Armenia, to visit my newly adopted motherland

In June, our family wedding in Sagres, Portugal

In July, a possible bike tour :))

I welcome this new decade, like a new chapter, with open arms.

[mnranger5]

A Trip Full of Battles Finally Pays Off, Brown Town, U.S.A., 9/12/19 - 9/15/19

I talk about fishing in crummy conditions all the time on my blog.  It’s not that I am being overly dramatic, it’s just the reality of fishing in Minnesota.  Our springs are cold and wet.  Our summers are wet and windy.  Our falls are cold, wet and windy.  We get used to it.  Fishing can be a grind in crappy conditions.  Battles with controlling the boat in windy conditions, staying warm, keeping dry and coaxing finicky fish are all part of experience.  Much of the time, the battles are not won.  But on those days where you persevere through the challenges and stick with the game plan, even when it doesn’t appear to be working, it can produce some of the most rewarding days on the water.  And battles won at Brown Town, U.S.A. can produce the very best rewards imaginable.  This is a story of an epic battle that I eventually ended up winning at Lake Mille Lacs.

9/12/19

I had work appointments in Duluth on Thursday afternoon/Friday morning, so I took that work trip as an opportunity to sneak away to my most favorite lake of all time, Mille Lacs, or as I refer to it, Brown Town (because it produces the biggest smallmouth bass - brown colored bass - in the world).  I left early Thursday morning because I knew finding a place in Duluth to park the boat could be a challenge.

For the record, when booking the hotel I called ahead of time and asked if they had an oversized vehicle lot.  They assured me they did!  So, when I arrived at the Radisson Duluth, I was shocked when the oversized lot was full with employee parking.  They told me there was nothing they could do other than direct me to the top deck of the parking ramp.

Battle #1: Jake vs. The Parking Ramp

I spent over an hour getting up on the parking ramp and turned around so that I could leave easily the next morning.  After a 53-point turn, I had the truck and trailer parked on top of the ramp.  The weather was miserable, with gusty winds, rain and fog.  Not a nice afternoon in Duluth.  I used the skyways to walk to my work appointment.

9/13/19

Following my last meeting of the morning, I hit the road toward Brown Town.  I arrived to my campsite, Father Hennepin State Park, around 1PM.

Battle #2: Jake vs. 30mph winds

Winds were out of the west at 30mph.  The waves were crashing up on shore.  Being out on the water in these conditions looked miserable.  I noticed deep-v walley boats slowly scooting across the choppy waters slapping hard against every swell.  I wasn’t going to let the lake beat me up today.  This was a victory for the wind, although, my body was sure happy I elected not to get jolted around by the waves.

That afternoon I got camp set up so that it would be ready when Dyan arrived later that evening.  We grilled out jalapeno cheddar brats, had salad and chips and salsa.  We feasted as we sat around the campfire.

9/14/19

The following morning, we finally had some beautiful weather!  The sun was out and the wind had calmed down dramatically.  We were on the water by 7:30 and immediately went to the rocky reef off of Malone Island.  

Battle #3: Jake vs. Big Brown fish

I started by throwing a Yum Flash Mob Jr. umbrella rig with a single hook.  I was casting it on my musky rod with 90lb braid.  It was a mega setup, for a mega fish!  And a mega fish hammered right off the bat.  I was swimming the umbrella rig in about 7FOW above a rocky point when a smallmouth absolutely destroyed it.  The fish fought ferociously for at least 2-3 minutes as I guided him over to the boat.  The fish began thrashing right next to the boat as Dyan prepared to scoop him out of the water with the net.  But on one of the fishs’ flops, he threw the hook and dove into the depths.  He was gone.  I was crushed.  This fish was well over 5lbs.

Battle #4 Jake vs. Another Big Fish

Just a short time later (after my tears had dried), I hooked up with another giant.  Just like the smallmouth, this guy crushed my umbrella rig to smithereens.  This heavy bodied fish lethargically made it’s way to the boat – a much different fight than the erratic smallmouth.  This time around, Dyan was able to get the net in the water and scoop this beautiful walleye out of the lake.  This beauty taped out at 26”.   Lucky for him the DNR considers him a protected species.  Otherwise, he would have been in the fry pan over our campfire that evening.

After that flurry, the rest of the morning was pretty quiet.  I fished ultra shallow in the pencil reeds to super deep rocky points and everything in between.

Later that afternoon, we were getting hungry, so we loaded up the boat and headed over to Grand Casino for some food and fun.    

Battle #5 & #6: Jake vs. Lunch Menu and Jake vs. Casino

On the way to the casino is a little resort called Eddy’s.  They have had the most amazing duck wings on their menu the last time we came here.  But today, not so much.  They had an all new menu, and duck wings were not a part of it!  On the bright side, the server said they had so many requests for duck wings that they’d be adding them back to the menu in the near future. This was a battle I’d lose today, but win next time.

And speaking of losing battles, I lost another one at the casino.  My favorite herd of Buffalos just didn’t show up to the stampede.  The casino took all my money!

Battle #7:  Jake vs. Massive Thurnderstorm

So after the casino, we headed back to the campsite.  On the drive, a mega thunder boomer popped up right over the south end of the lake.  The campsite, tent and boat, all were drenched. The campsite was a muddy mess with standing water in the boat and tent.  

After the storm passed, Dyan and I got back out onto the water for some evening fishing. Unfortunately, the storms turned the fish off, and we couldn’t steal a bite.  The entire evening wasn’t entirely lost however.  We were treated to this gorgeous sunset.

Back at camp, we built up a raging campfire in the cool damp air and draped a tarp over our waterlogged chairs.  Redneck camping at its finest!

9/14/19

Battle #8: Jake vs. The Fog

Overnight, the fog rolled in, and it was thick as thieves.  Dyan had a bridal shower for her cousin back in the cities, so she took out around 7AM, the same time I dumped my boat in the water.  The fog seemed pretty thick, but I could still see the shoreline 100 yards away.  This was going to be a piece of cake!

I put the hammer down on the Merc and started cruising out into the big waters of Mille Lacs.  As soon as I was out of the Isle, the fog really thickened up.  I backed off the throttle as visibility was rapidly decreasing.  I was so far from shore, nothing was visible.  A wall of white in every direction.

I’ve been on the lake in fog before, but never so thick that you literally cannot see 20 feet in any direction.  I could hear bass boats in the distance roaring around the lake.   There was an insane amount of stupidity going on with boat traffic moving at more than 50mph.  Although, there was probably some stupidity on my part for leaving myself as a sitting duck target for those other boats to hit.

I would compare navigating on the lake in fog to landing a plane in fog.  Pilots cannot see anything because of the load cloud deck so they rely on their computer systems that they are correctly approaching the runway safely. Similarly, I was relying on my Humminbird and Ultrex to correctly navigate and lock onto spots I had previously marked.  The only difference is that pilots have a radar to tell them about other flight traffic in their area.  All I have is my ears!

So there I was, in the middle of the Mille Lacs, isolated by the fog.  Nobody knew I was there.  I may as well have been fishing naked!  Since I was moving much more cautiously in the fog that the other boats, I knew it was going to take me substantially longer to get to spots I wanted to fish. Therefore, I hatched a plan to fish less spots, but hit those selected spots more methodically and thoroughly.

In the fall the bigger fish tend to move offshore and located adjacent to large boulders.  The bigger the boulders, the better.  On a previous trip to Brown Town, I had marked a GIANT boulder, (a.k.a. The Main Event) about the size of my truck in about 18FOW about a mile south of Big Point on Sunset Bay.  This giant boulder had many smaller boulders scattered around it. My plan was to drag a dropshot all around the boulder field and hopefully pick up some small mouth bass.

I approached the boulder field, making dozens of casts at the smaller rocks.  If I noticed moderately larger rocks on my side imaging, I tended to make multiple casts to those rocks.  I spent nearly an hour casting to the smaller rocks as I inched my way closer to The Main Event.  I hot spot lock on my Ultrex, as I sat about 30 yards off the humongous boulder.  With the boat locked into the perfect casting position, I began casting into the fog.  The fog was so thick I could not see where my bait was hitting the water.  But as my 3/4oz sinker dove through the water column, I could feel it ricochet off the gian bould and roll off to the side.  I found what I was looking for.  I made cast after cast to the hunk of submerged granite, but could not pick up a fish.  A breeze began to pick up so I repositioned the boat into the wind and hit spot lock again. I was not casting out of the rear of the Nitro.  

After two hours of dissecting this spot, I was getting close to giving up.  I made a few more casts, one going just a bit further than The Main Event. The sinker raced to the bottom of Mille Lacs dragging the KVD Watermelon Dreamshot with it.  I slowly reeled, giving the bait a few tugs and pops here and there.  I felt it bang off the boulder.  I let it sit. I slowly lifted my road and could feel the bait lifting and simultaneously scraping upwards along the side of the boulder.  I let the bait drop again.  My bait was exactly where I wanted it to be – situated right at the base of the boulder. I let it sit momentarily.  I popped it a could of times, moving it a few inches closer to me.  A few more pops, then I let it sit quietly again.  Then something bumped the bait.  It was definitely a fish.  I lightly lifted the rod to check for resistance, but there was nothing there.  I popped it a couple more times.  I had a couple feet of slack in the line so I reeled it in. Once the line was taught again, instantly, a fish started tugging at the other end.  I gave a half-hearted hook set, but since the fish was obviously hooked, I just continued reeling.  The fish fought ferociously for a couple of minutes.  It stayed deep underwater never giving me any a visual indication for what species it was.  However, by the way it was fighting, it could only be a smallmouth.  I babied the fish for at least 3 minutes as I waited for the big girl to tire out.  Finally, she approached the surface, and at that moment I almost lost it.  This was a freak of a fish.  Easily, the biggest bass I’ve ever caught.  This pig had to go 5+ pounds!

With my rod in one hand, the net in the other, I cautiously brought the two together and guided the fish into the net.  In that moment, I let out a loud “Whoo-hoooo!”, but nobody was around the hear, or see it. The fog, still just as thick as earlier drowned out any kind of audience that may have been able to see this catch on any other day.  It didn’t matter!  This fish was a giant of giants!  I quickly got the tape out to check this donkey’s length and she came in at exactly 21” long.

And looking at her profile, it looked like she just ate a cannon ball for breakfast!  

I put her on my scale and she tipped it at 5.75lbs.  This shattered my previous person best by nearly half a pound!  Here is a pic of old PB vs. new PB!

I was ecstatic!  This was the fish I had been looking for, and even though it took forever to catch her, she was exactly where I expected her to be.  Catching a fish like this is so much more satisfying when you put in the work to find exact spots you think the fish will be, and to have it pay off.  Don’t get me wrong, I love catching big fish anywhere on the lake, whether it’s random or premeditated.  It just more rewarding in situations like this!  Obviously I was going to let the fish go, but I corralled her in the live well for the remainder of the morning so that I could have somebody take my picture with her back at the boat launch.

Around noon, the fog finally burned off, and gave way to a beautiful sunny day.  Back near the launch, I met a father and son s in a brand new Nitro from Lakeville, MN who were out fishing for musky.  Super nice guys and they offered to take a pic for me.

Unfortunately, the fish does not look like a giant because 1) the pic was taken pretty far away, and 2, the fish is angled in my hands and the tail side of the fish is further away from the camera. No joke about it, this is the same fish that is pictured on the tape above. 

By 2:00, I loaded up the boat and was headed home.  While the battles on this trip were quite real, the reward of catching the biggest bass of my life is absolutely priceless.  I would weather all of the storms on this trip all over again for a chance to catch a giant like the one I caught. Lucky for me, there are much bigger smallmouth bass to catch at Brown Town, so I see plenty more winnable battles in my future!