"Gone Fishin"

On our way home from Traverse City, we did some “antiquing” in Manistee. I picked up an old fishing creel to add another touch of that “north woods / nautical” look to our family room. It's a perfect souvenir for this weekend even though we didn't go fishing.

I’m sure Hemingway would disagree, but to me the need to be “gone fishin" has nothing to do with fish—it's all about the sign on the door. It’s a Mayberry thing—the longing to whistle down a road with someone you love at your side (with or without a pole on your shoulder). It's the hope of some shade beside a stream with the sun spangling down on your face; it's the splash of
cool water on your feet. It doesn't much matter where you're going... what matters is—you're gone.


Last weekend's get-away had the feel of a spontaneous, surrender to summer. We’ve never really done it before. We usually keep plugging away until we put the previous school year to bed. I'm often still in the office shortly before departure of a "big vacation."

If I'm not packing in a panic, I'm reviewing in my head as the car rolls down the driveway—"Do I have what I need for ten days? What have I forgotten?" It’s work to be gone long from home, and if you’re not careful, long vacations can fall short of expectations or funds (or both). Worse yet, they can drag you home more exhausted than when you left.

Mini-vacations eliminate all that. If you keep them simple, they spend just enough energy to fully recharge your system. Throw some clothes in a small suitcase and some extra food and water in the dog’s bowls, and hit the road. Take the scenic route.

Oh, we'll still take long vacations when we want to... and our long-distance visits with extended family are always great. But I'm convinced the mini-vacation is good medicine. We're hooked.
Being gone fishin' has a new allure—and none of us has a pole.
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P.S.
We actually had a friend check in on our dog, but the extra food plan works for an overnight trip.