“February;Remember?”

by Stumblin' Jimmy Watermelon

e’ve all got February memories. For young an’ old alike, they spill forward from some tucked away corner in the folds of our minds. Images long untouched spring from a simple flip of the page on that fresh new calendar, a spark lit from this month’s mention in the casual conversations we have with ourselves (but would never admit). Poof and there they are, past moments, some not always our best, taking us forever by surprise like the sight of a one legged monkey dancin’ for quarters at the front gate of an alligator farm. You’re not sure why, but you just know you’re always gonna be takin’ another look back.

Now lots of folks hear ‘February” an’ the first thing, sometimes the only thing, that comes to mind is Valentines Day. Of course that’s how my wife, Ghee, would like to think me to be. It’s romantic, you know. Certainly I have that side and that’s the one I most try to show her. It’s most often the whole truth. But then there are those moments when the truth of that ‘whole truth” is really just ‘partial” and, as you may guess, (if indeed you can follow) it’s that ‘partial” part of the ‘whole” that I’m leanin’ towards right now.

There has popped up an’ sticks sorely to my focus a never to be forgotten February boat excursion with ol’ Davey Dennison. I was lookin’ to buy a canoe he had for sale. It was gonna be a Valentine surprise for Ghee; that romantic side of me that I try to keep nurtured in her mind. He and I launched out from the creek bank at a half-tide quickly goin’ down. As would be the case, there was a steady northerly breeze just cold enough to grow a good crop of goose bumps on any flesh exposed. Imaginin’ myself an experienced outdoorsman, feelin’ almost Daniel Boone like, I egged us onward.

We was cruisin’ smartly, paddling with the receding water of that outgoing current. Seated at the stern so’s to get a better feel of the craft, I kept us steered to hug the leeward bank. There the waving, wintered tan marsh reeds offered a fair shield and, with the effort in our steady paddle strokes, kept us almost warm. I remember thinkin’ that Mr. Dennison must have found a hint of confidence in me, as he had for some time now stopped glancing back over his shoulder in my direction. He was a waterman of lengthy experience and the thought of such wordless praise lent me a moment’s swell of pride.

There came a point at a particularly hard bend of this waterway, when we had no choice but to traverse it’s wider breadth to regain the lee. Mr. Dennison and I both bent forward to put a stronger shoulder into our paddle strokes. Somewhere, there along that course, my under-attire(long-john drawers to be exact) chose the most inopportune moment to ride a blood pinchin’ stride up my left leg.

Well folks, there’s pain of lost pride an’ just plain pain. In this here instance I could not find enough of one to ignore the other. Frankly, I didn’t even try. Sheer reflex shot me up, standin’ and dancin’ in that canoe. Honestly, my only focus was on straightening myself out. Only later could I reflect on how that scene looked to Davey Dennison when he snapped himself around to see what in the world was happenin’.

It turned out that the water on which our canoe had floated was mercifully shallow. Unfortunately, the pluff mud that lay further beneath that was far deeper. As you may guess, by the time we had managed to wright our flipped over craft and extricated ourselves from the ooze, we each bore the resemblance to ‘extra’s” acting in a grade-B horror movie. The look of Mr. Dennison’s was a somber one. Our paddle back to the creek landing was even more excruciating for the silence than it was from the cold.

I did buy the canoe. Painted hearts on both sides and gave it to Ghee on that Valentine’s Day. Davey Dennison still calls me a friend. We all go boating together, but never in the same craft. And the image of that odd little monkey? Well that’s one February memory better left untold.