Eventually, we moved North to Idaho, land of rainbow trout, cutthroat trout, steelhead and salmon. With the advent of Robert’s smokejumping career, we began to divide our life between Idaho and Washington -- states made of similar fishes, and very fine fishes, at that.
It occurs to me that my life could be measured in fish. I can remember fish I have caught in specific places, the weather of the day, the mood of the water, what I was wearing. We can hike a river together and Robert will point out the eddies and deep bends he has taken fish from.
I wonder sometimes if Robert loves to see a trout in my hand, the way I love to see a trout in his.
Trout. They’ve been a steadfast part of our life, a reason for travel and adventure, a cherry on top of the wild desserts of life. I think they’ve made me a better woman and Robert a better man. Maybe it’s a slippery, rainbow flanked trout between us that ties and binds us like a golden band on a ring finger -- a trout that makes us worthy of each other, worthy of the wild world we live in, worthy of the good fights we take up on a daily basis. They are noble things, trout, a worthy fish.