Weeds in the Water
May tripped on some loose rocks as she tried to make her way down to the canal. Luckily, she didn’t fall flat on her face or her behind, but she definitely felt a pain on the right side of one ankle. She bent down to rub the side that ached and tried to focus on what she should make for dinner. Usually, just the mere thought of cooking would make most any pain go away.
The water in the canal, though it was low and looked rather muddy, made her think of fish. Specifically, fish in a brown butter sauce. When she left her farmhouse that morning, she failed to see if any chives were coming up yet in the garden. The thought of chives, as well as the arrival of spring, made her suddenly feel happy. Except the wind blowing over the canal made May pull down the wool hat she was wearing on her head even tighter. And that definitely didn’t make her happy since the hat was itchy.
May heard the sound of a small motorboat and she saw a guy in an olive-green colored jacket and dark green cargo pants holding a fishing pole over the side of the boat. She didn’t know anything about fishing or what kind of fish you could even catch in the canal. And, even if you caught something, was it edible? May started wondering what else she could make for dinner since she knew there wasn’t any fish in the freezer. Chicken? Pork chops? She sighed at the mere boredom of eating any of those proteins.
The fisherman caught her eye, and she thought she saw him give her a little wave, so she waved back. She wondered, if he nabbed some fish, would he throw it back in the canal? Or take it home and cook it? And then May wondered if he even knew how to cook. May realized that wasn’t a fair assessment. Did she think he couldn’t cook because he was a guy? May found herself smiling at him. Maybe he was actually a chef. Maybe one of those chefs who like to forage, or in this case catch, their own food and then create something to put on the menu.
But then she heard him call out. “No fish today!”
May nodded, not knowing what to say, so she thought about saying nothing. Except that wasn’t her style, so she figured maybe a weather-related response might do.
“At least it’s not raining,” she offered. And then she found herself looking up at the sky.
The fisherman looked up at the sky and nodded, too. She wanted to ask him if he was cold. Or what he’d do with a fish if he caught it. But she didn’t.
“They’ll be disappointed,” he said.
She had almost started to turn around and walk back to where she had parked her car at the beginning of the trail when she stopped.
“Oh?” she heard herself ask.
“I usually cook up some fish to hand out at the Lutheran church. On Friday’s they serve a free fish dinner for anyone who needs one,” he said.
“Oh,” May said again.
But she realized she was pleased this guy volunteered, or whatever, since she had a tendency not to volunteer for anything.
“Have you been?” he called out.
“To the church?” May asked.
The fisherman shook his head. “Sorry, I meant for the fish dinner.”
May quickly looked down at what she was wearing - an old plaid jacket that she wore day in and day out. It was fleece-lined and was the warmest thing she owned other than her puffer coat that made her look like the Michelin tire guy. Plus, a pair of jeans that were kind of dirty and hiking boots that were muddy and old, too. Based on her outfit, she wondered if he thought she was homeless, or at least in need of a free meal.
“No, I don’t need free food,” she said. “I have a farm and land,” she called out. And then she wondered if she had come off sounding arrogant.
He nodded. “Good,” he said.
May looked at him and all the green he was wearing, and she wondered whether she should just make herself a big salad for dinner. Or even just a bunch of grilled vegetables with a nice dressing. She had recently developed a fondness for tahini and hoped she had enough left in the jar to at least make some sort of sauce. She had bought the tahini on a whim at a fancy food store when she had driven down to the Cape one day just to have a lobster roll. She remembered that the lobster roll was expensive and not particularly good, but she sat at a picnic table overlooking the ocean and it was a sunny day, so she didn’t regret the drive. She had even ordered a local beer that tasted like flowers and not the wheaty-hoppy taste she was craving. So, she ended up leaving the bottle of beer on the table and wondered if someone else might enjoy it more than she would. But then she thought, who would drink a bottle of beer that someone left on a table? Other than perhaps a seagull. On the drive home, she saw a sign for the fancy food store and had there not been a parking spot right out front, she would have kept going. But there was a space, which is how she ended up with the aforementioned jar of tahini, as well as some pistachios and a container of dried apricots.
May turned around on the trail and realized that the fisherman had disappeared. She looked up and down the canal and didn’t see his boat. Where had he gone? She didn’t even hear him start the boat. Did he just row away? May was a bit flustered thinking that maybe something had happened to him, and she just didn’t notice. Did he suddenly capsize and drown? Wouldn’t she have heard him shouting if he was in danger? Wouldn’t she at least have heard his body go over the side of the boat? She didn’t think the water was even deep enough for anyone to drown, so she wondered exactly what had happened.
But then she thought that maybe he had caught a fish and just packed up and gone back to where he had come from. Would he already be cleaning the fish to cook later in the week? Should she go visit the church he was talking about? Or should she try to find him to make sure he was okay? Or even just to continue the conversation?
The sun peeked through the clouds on the trail and the orange glow reminded her of the dried apricots she had just been thinking about. She wondered if apricots would be good bait, and she wanted to ask the fisherman. She turned a corner of the trail and saw his boat. She felt suddenly relieved when she saw him, so she called out, “Hey, did you catch something?”
She watched him lift up his fishing pole and that’s when she saw what looked like a bunch of dark brown weeds hanging from the end.
“Can’t even pretend it’s seaweed if I wanted to,” he said.
May couldn’t help but laugh.
“You like sushi?” she suddenly heard him call out.
May was taken back. “I do, but…”
“Yeah, we’d have to drive down to New York City for good sushi,” he said. “Or boat up to Canada,” he continued.
“Want kind of bait do you use?” May asked.
“Sometimes minnows or even worms. Some guys use crickets, but whenever I buy crickets, I spend half the time I’m supposed to be fishing just trying to keep them from jumping out of the pail!”
May started to laugh again thinking about that. “Could you use apricots?” she asked.
“What?”
“You know dried apricots?”
He shrugged, “Don’t know, I guess. I mean, fish will eat anything right?’
May nodded.
“You looking to get rid of some apricots you didn’t like?” he asked.
May looked at him and realized she was kind of attracted to him. But she composed herself, at least she thought so, enough to respond. “No, I was just thinking how I bought some dried apricots when I drove down to the Cape and never ate them, so I was just wondering.”
“Apricot-glazed salmon,” he called out to her.
“What?”
He repeated what he said. And then, “I used to own a small restaurant.”
May smiled. How had she known that maybe he could cook?
“Always had to have apricot-glazed salmon on the menu, couldn’t take it off. It was really annoying. I decided to just pretend it wasn’t there. Such a boring dish,” he continued.
“I like apricots,” May volunteered.
May realized that he had anchored his boat into the muddy bottom of the canal and was now stepping over the side and climbing up the rocks. He was still holding onto his fishing pole and suddenly, he was standing in front of her on the trail.
“Have you been to the zoo?” he asked.
May wasn’t sure what to make of that question other than to say quickly that she didn’t like the idea of animals in cages. He seemed to agree with her. May watched as he started to pick at the brown weeds that were still hanging off of the pole.
“You’re not a forager, are you?” he asked.
May shook her head no but then wondered why he had asked her that question since she thought maybe he had been one, too.
“Used to have some guy show up at the restaurant occasionally bringing me weird stuff – twigs, mushrooms, ferns that he said were edible. He’d probably try to sell me this, too, if he could,” he said, pointing to the bits of brown he was throwing on the trail. May couldn’t help but smile.
Suddenly, a frog appeared in front of them. And then a turtle. May wondered whether the frog would try to attack the turtle. She couldn’t imagine the big fat turtle lifting up one of its legs to swat the frog away. But then she heard the guy laugh. A real hearty belly laugh, and she wondered what he thought about these two very different creatures standing on the trail with them.
“Do you like frog legs?” he asked her.
May didn’t waste any time answering him. “Tastes like chicken, right?”
But he just nodded. May started to remember an old wives’ tale - something about if you spit in a frog’s mouth, it will take whatever pain you’re feeling away. May didn’t know if that was supposed to be physical pain or emotional pain, but either way, she wasn’t going to spit in any frog’s mouth.
She flexed her ankle a bit and he must have seen her do that.
“You okay?” he asked.
May nodded. “Just twisted my ankle earlier on the rocks.”
But he didn’t say anything else, he just kept picking the last bit of brown stuff off of his fishing pole and then he got back into the boat. May watched as he held the fishing pole up really high and cast it into the canal.
“Should have left more of that brown stuff on the trail for you,” he called out to her as she watched the boat drift away.
“What? Why?” May answered.
“Could have wrapped it around your ankle.”
And then she heard him laugh. “Seaweed is supposed to reduce inflammation,” he added.
“But that’s not seaweed,” May said.
“Yeah,” he called out to her again. “You know, most days there’s absolutely nothing to catch in this muddy water. Nothing at all, except a bunch of weeds.”
May didn’t disagree and she wanted to ask him what he’d be cooking on Friday at the church if there wasn’t any fish, but she didn’t. She just waved goodbye and started walking back towards her car.
She thought she heard him call out, “Come visit me!”
But when she turned around, she didn’t see his boat. And when she looked down at the trail, she saw the frog nibbling on a piece of the brown stuff. And that, May realized, was just strange since she knew that frogs are carnivores.
May walked back to her car in the parking lot when she suddenly saw the fisherman.
“Where’s your boat?” she asked.
“I dock it up at the marina,” he said.
“How did you get down here so fast?” she asked.
“I ran,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to miss you.”
May thought it was a bit odd that he didn’t seem out of breath at all. She thought that if she had run all the way back to the parking lot from the marina, she’d probably be bent over trying to get rid of a stitch in her side.
Suddenly, May had a craving for meat. And when he asked her if she wanted to grab a bite to eat, they both looked at each other, and said the same thing - “Burgers?”
May realized that her ankle had stopped aching. And when she pulled her hat off, her head stopped itching, too. She wondered if seeing the frog had something to do with it. And that, she thought, would be a perfect old wives’ tale happy ending.