Fishing season drags on just an instant longer. Although the opportunities to participate are short-lived and sparce, the work of the nets wears the body. My arms tire and I've learned that even the strongest women must fight to be even in a career of men. It's habitual now, throwing out the net, drifting for an hour, pulling the net in, gathering the fish, throwing out the net. I'm sure you see the obvious here- that the process continues. Often times for twelve hours straight. I must admit times would be easier if king salmon were permittable to catch, for they are a many more coins that the chum and coho we currently catch. But nevertheless I find contentment on the waves. For being a fire sign my home should not be the water- but I do love the substance. And although the work is hard it is fulfilling. Only a month or so longer shall we be given the chance to get out- so I must take advantage while I am able. And for the time it's well worth the strife. A few coins in the bank and a full share of fresh air. Could one ask for a better day spent?
