In this part of Montana, there is a decent percentage of women who spend a portion of the summers on their own, temporary widows to the rivers, Alaskan mines and an awakening fire season. I only realize this when I travel somewhere else – back to visit my family in California for a weekend most recently where most have a Monday to Friday, 9 to 5 grind – and explain how work is going for my husband.
Work as a fly-fishing guide is great for him. Which means that I don’t really see that much of John right now and our life is absent of routine. In Montana, this is the norm. In California, it’s like explaining that I’m married to a sea captain.
These are the months when John could be guiding on Rock Creek one day, then be on the Big Hole for the next three, followed by a week on the Madison or Gallatin. Life for both of us is week to week, with no set schedules. But I’m finding that I like the rhythm of these long summer days that have become a re-visitation to my spinster self. There is no real household to keep in order, except for the dog, so I am lucky that way. Marriage may challenge me to be better at sharing (though I learned early on that the supersized re-sealable bags of veggie burgers in the freezer are brilliant hiding spots for Ben and Jerry ice cream pints) but these are the months when I can regress without guilt. Because the house, once more, is all mine again.
The fly-tying station set up at our kitchen table through the spring has been packed away. When I get up in the morning, I have a clean surface or a vase of flowers that I pass by as I pad across the wooden floor to the kitchen and sleepily turn on the coffee, opening the door to let the dog out. Everything is arranged exactly how I like it as I’m waking up in our home. I don’t have to justify playing Sade’s Greatest Hits as I write in my PJs on the couch until noon.
After living and working together through the winter and spring, there is something about having this time to unabashedly do what we love in our separate spheres for a few days at a time. We are both independent people and I think it is good for us to remember what it is like to miss each other. Because I do love these chunks of time right now to myself, when I can watch movies that have subtitles in the evening with the fan flowing and the last beer in the fridge. I can make plans and then change them. I can start a project on the kitchen table, then leave it there overnight to continue with the following day and not be apologetic.
I can also pack up the dog and go find my husband on one of the beautiful rivers where he spends his days or meet him in Missoula or Bozeman for a night and maybe go hear a band or go out for drinks somewhere with a garden patio and strung lights (I demand places like this when we meet up for an outing in a city). There is a lot of freedom in this time. The summer feels long, and not even half-over, and there is that great July sense of long hours of sunlight, aching feet, and cool rivers to soak our soles and talk about what we are barbequing that night.
That’s about as far ahead as our planning stretches. I wouldn’t have it any other way right now.
GRATIFY
