Notes of
Concern…
…Jackson Blair
“Man Caves” on Ice
When
I was a younger man, I commuted by train every day from my home in Connecticut
to my office in New York City. Over the years I became great friends with
the others who made that four-hour trip every day. How many friends spend 3-4
hours together every day?
We
would play contract bridge on our way into the “Big Apple” in the morning, and,
in recognition of a hard day and tired minds, we would play gin rummy on the
way home.
Over
the years the camaraderie grew.
In
those days we didn’t know much about “man caves,” but we knew a lot about guys
wanting to spend time together bonding and trading stories and enjoying
libations. Heck, we often met for lunch in New York City to help cut the day!
One
of the fellows who rode the train with me had a fishing boat. On many
afternoons he would telephone his wife and tell her he was taking some others
and me “fishing” when we got off the train at the end of the day.
She
knew exactly what he meant.
She
prepared a picnic basket with goodies, gathered a few fifths of alcohol and a
couple of six packs of beer, and had everything ready for us when we got off
the train.
I
am not sure why we felt we needed to take fishing rods, bait, and other fishing
equipment, but we did. Why we thought anyone who saw us getting on the fishing
boat in our three piece suits and wingtips would ever conclude that we were really
going fishing, I do not know.
All
I do know is we never caught any fish.
We
never introduced a line to the water. But we had a great time.
I
will admit that wives were more understanding and forgiving in those days.
So
imagine my surprise after we acquired a cottage on the water on Prince Edward
Island, and someone told me that men actually go out on the bay in the middle
of winter, when temperatures hover around or below zero. These fellows then cut
a small hole in the ice. They build a hut on top of the hole to protect them
from the wind.
Frankly,
what came to mind were Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau in the movie Grumpy
Old Men. Of course, they were competitive and resourceful, and the
heart of Ann Margaret was in play!
I
don’t think those are the stakes on St Peter’s Bay on Prince Edward Island.
Then
I remembered my fishing expeditions, and I understood.
These
guys aren’t really fishing for smelts. No one really knows what is happening
inside those huts.
But
my old commuter friends would fully understand why the fellas want to be there.
And they would be supportive.
If
a line never goes into the water below that little hole, if “fishing” is
enjoyed beside a small fire inside the hut with a couple of “cold ones” sitting
on the natural refrigerator-the ice, a few highballs raised while telling and
retelling old tales, and the “hunters/gatherers” of today’s world have a great
time at a stag outing in their equivalent of a “man cave,” I am fully appreciative.
And
I understand.
The
problem would probably be that wives are not nearly as understanding and
forgiving these days.
(Except
for you dear!)
