10. Ten
“Finn. Shut that thing off. This is stupid.”
Marin covers her head with a pillow as Finn’s alarm beeps loudly at 1:45 AM.
“Shut up, Marin, this is going to be epic. Life changing. Get your ass out of bed.”
I groan as I slide open my curtain. “Language.”
I struggle to pry myself from my mattress, so tired my eyelids physically ache, as Finn skips around like he’s had a full night’s sleep.
When Marin and I make it out of the Avion, we look like we need to be resuscitated with paddles and a high dose of electricity.
As soon as we find Dickey at the office shack, he looks at our feet and nods in approval at the rubber boots we’ve worn. A small light on the porch is the only thing shining in the darkness.
“Well, now.” Dickey lets out a low whistle. “I wadn’t sure y’alls gonna make it dis mornin’, but here y’are surprisin’ ol’ Dickey.”
My tired face attempts to smile, but it is entirely too early for third-person conversations. Or any person conversations.
“I spose y’all didn’t crawl outta ya beds just to hear me talk, so let’s get on with it. Gotta get movin’ if we wanna even see if we gonna get a jubilee. Can’t just stand here all day.” He waves us over to a wagon. “Now in here, we got us some nets, gigs, a coupla numba two washtubs, and headlamps. Now some dem boys like to use big lights, but dis here headlamp frees up ya hands, ya see.”
Marin and I stare at the wagon like zombies while Finn goes full speed ahead and investigates every item.
“Now we gonna walk down to the wada, and we’ll know right away if we gonna be havins us a rush… jubilee, as dey say. Tides comin’ in. If it’s gonna happen, we gonna see some critters hangin’ in de shallows dat we wouldn’t usually be seein’. Maybe an eel, maybe some shrimp, maybe a mullet. Just no tellin’ what’s gonna be lettin’ us know if it’s happenin’. Y’all just grab some lights, and we gonna go shine it on down de shore.”
We all do as he says, Finn asking a million questions about fish and tides while Marin and I stay quiet. I swear he says something about phytoplankton, but at this crazy hour with that many syllables, I cannot compute it. We wander down a short path to the edge of Mobile Bay. The darkness is so infinite it makes my skin crawl.
“Well, whatcha’ll waitin’ on? Less find us some breakfast!”
He turns toward the water, and we all follow his lead, pointing our lights down toward our feet. We spread out from each other slightly. For the first few minutes, we’re quiet as we carefully look in the water, or wada, as Dickey calls it.
“I see something!” Marin yells.
“Me too! I think a needlefish? Dickey, over here!” Finn calls.
I keep my lamp pointed at the water. A piece of seaweed and shell bits are all I see as I walk along the shore. Then my light flickers over something that moves. A leg. Another leg. A crab.
“Crab!” is all I can make my 2AM mouth shout.
Dickey makes the rounds to the three of us, eyeing what we find in calm silence.
“What’s it mean?” Finn asks with a squint.
“Well, boy,” Dickey pauses with a smile. “It means we havin’ ourselves de first jubilee of de season.”
Finn pumps a fist through the air with a shout, and my throat clogs at the simple beauty of it.
Dickey stands calmly before giving us directions.
“We got a little time to get ready before de rest of dem come in. Lil’ Miss?” Dickey nods toward Marin. “I need ya to go ring de bell to let the folks know that we havin’ ourselves a jubilee. Go eat some food or get some coffee, and we’ll meet back at de wagon to take it all down to de beach.”
The three of us take off running like chickens with our heads cut off while Dickey and his golden retriever walk slowly and take a seat in a rocking chair on the front porch of the office. His silence only breaks occasionally when he whistles a few notes.
Once Marin rings the bell, the campground lights up. People in pajamas—some in less than—fling doors open and start yelling. The out-of-towners wonder what the hell is going on, while the experienced locals know exactly what the hell is going on.
I scramble around the camper to make coffee as all the excitement hums outside the window. Marin and Finn stumble into each other as they make a fast breakfast and scream about what might happen. As tired as I am, I can’t imagine not being part of this.
I leave first, wandering over to the office and the old man who sits outside of it.
“Hey, Dickey. I wanted to thank you so much for doing this. For my son, Finn, this is as exciting as Christmas morning for him.”
He smiles as I sit in a rocking chair next to him, watching the excitement unfold around us.
“I shood be thankin’ y’all. Ain’t nobody gonna be lookin’ for a jubilee fer anotha’ coupla’ weeks. Your son’s feedin’ us all today.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Now tell me, whatcha’ll doin’ down here gettin’ fish wid an old man in de middle of de night.”
It is the definition of a loaded question.
“Hmm. Well, we fixed up an old camper and decided to take the summer to see the country. We’re from Florida, so we’re used to fishing, just not quite like this under such magical circumstances.”
I take another sip of my coffee and click my tongue at the bitter flavor.
“What makes ya call it magic?” he asks.
Even in the dark, I can see a twinkle in his eye.
“Well, the way my son explains it, this is a very precise set of circumstances that has come together to make this rare event happen. I can’t even really believe it. Things like this don’t just happen everywhere, ya know?”
I drop my head back on my chair.
“Well, accordin’ to yer words, maybe der’s a lot more magic in dis world den we give credit to,” he says. “Dem kids o’ yours? Perfect timin’. I don’t pretend to be a smart man, but what if ya had ’em a little lata or soona? Reckin’ we don’t know if dey’d be de same folks. Magical, as you call it. Birds migrate. Certain flowers grow only in certain areas. Sometimes we see rainbows paint de sky after a storm. Ya boy told me y’all just got to see sponges from de floor of de Gulf. Sounds special from where I’m sittin’. Jubilees happen all ’round us if we know where to look.”
He pats the dog on the head and takes another sip of his coffee as his eyes look out into the darkness of the early morning.
I soak his words up like the desert sand in a rainstorm, letting their meaning seep into every part of me.
“How’d ya husband die?” he asks nonchalantly as he takes another sip of coffee.
“How do you… why would…”
I reach instinctively to spin the ring on my finger before remembering it isn’t there.
“Women don’t keep weddin’ bands if dey’s divorced.”
His eyes drop to the chain hanging around my neck.
“Eitha way. Life, death, light, darkness… it’s all magic. Timing and perfect circumstances spontaneously comin’ togetha for a phenomenon of one type or anotha. Funny ting about it, dough, we forget it’s all temporary. It has a season. No jubilee lasts forever—hell, we lucky if it lasts til de day breaks. Dat’s why it’s fun,” he says with a small chuckle. “If we skipped everytin’ we wanted to cause we knew it was gonna come to an end, dat’d be a damn shame if ya ask me.”
I stay quiet. This man with a wiry beard in overalls at some insane hour of the morning has cracked me open with the wisdom he has in him that he somehow knows I need. I suspect he’s lost someone in his life and sees something familiar in me. A twin flame that burns in a way that only someone with a hole in their heart does. I sit silently, staring into the same darkness as him, knowing he doesn’t need me to say anything.
Marin, Finn, and a few other folks from campers start to join us on the porch, along with cars filling the small lot. My eyebrows raise, and Dickey sees my surprise.
“When der’s a jubilee, friends don’t let friends fish alone.”
He squints as he waves to people he recognizes through the bright headlights.
Regardless of the insane hour, the excitement is palpable in the dark, muggy morning air.
We make our way back down to the bay, Dickey guiding us through everything as dozens of people cover the beach, bright lights shining into the water. This jubilee, it seems, is bringing mostly mullet and blue crabs, but there are some shrimp mixed in as well.
With metal washtubs tied around our waists with a rope that tugs them along the top of the water behind us, we slowly wade out into the bay.
Finn takes right to gigging the mullet with a forked spear. He’s completely in his element with a headlamp, knee deep in the dark water as he effortlessly jabs the fish and then drops them into the bucket that floats behind him.
When Marin screams and runs maniacally from the water more than once—everyone laughs, even Dickey.
I scoop with a net and wade only in the shallowest parts, where I drop blue crabs into my own washtub tethered to my body.
Sometime around 5AM, someone brings out the ingredients for a Bloody Mary bar and invites everyone in earshot to make one. While vodka before daybreak isn’t usually my norm, neither is wading in water with a bucket of crabs tied to me, so I have one for the sake of authenticity.
Then I have one more, just because.
The locals swear by their homemade mix of homegrown horseradish and a secret variety of hot peppers. We all raise a glass and laugh as they share stories of jubilees gone by. Even Dickey has one as he sits in a chair on the shore, coaching Finn and Marin as they wade around the water.
Eventually, the tide changes. The fish start heading back out to the deeper parts of the bay and our focus shifts from catching to cleaning. The sun barely peaks over the horizon but brings enough light to show the happy faces of strangers down the beach as they look in buckets and coolers.
“I woke up too damn early not to have blue crab for breakfast!” a man yells down the shore. Everyone cheers in agreement.
Portable gas burners fire up, and the smell of fresh seafood cooking wafts in every direction at the same time the sun fully pops up into the sky.
Emotions swirl in my chest as I try to process the beauty of what we’ve just experienced. A local tradition most people won’t encounter in a lifetime, yet here we are, with washtubs and bellies full of the freshest seafood I’ve ever had.
After nearly a year and a half of living my days trapped in a rerun of memories, this is my first best new one.
I don’t look for Travis—I don’t say his name once—but I can’t help but think about how much he would have loved this kind of crazy. He would have been right beside Finn, gigging mullet, making obnoxious sound effects, and mocking the fish as he tossed them in his bucket.
He would have waded beside Marin and me, plucking blue crabs out of nets, making jokes about having crabs that I would have rolled my eyes at but secretly loved.
Dickey would have somehow told him every secret from the east coast of Mobile Bay.
“Well, Nel,” he would have said, “Guess if all it takes to get you out fishing at two in the morning is a Bloody Mary, we’re going to have to get their recipe.”
The idea of it all makes me smile, but even more, it doesn’t make me cry. I figure sometimes, that’s what life after him will be—celebrating the moments I somehow stay intact.
By lunch, I’m tired, stuffed, and riding a Bloody Mary buzz so fierce, I wonder if the real secret ingredient was simply extra vodka.
We give Dickey a group hug, and his kind old face fills with happiness as we smother him in a tangle of arms.
“Ol’ Dickey nevah had a hug like dat before,” he says with a grin.
The next morning, we are up early once again to hit the road, all wearing t-shirts that say Jubilee with Me above a picture of a dancing mullet.
***
Somewhere east of Houston, I drop in a camp chair and call my dad to make sure the bar is still standing. His “Ye have little faith!” is followed by, “What have you found out about the local ingredients from the man in Maine?” which makes my eyes roll. Instead of crawling into bed and sleeping for a month like I want to, when we get off the phone, I scroll my inbox—finding the latest email from Ethan sitting unread.
Penelope,
I mention lettuce because even when it isn’t in season, I keep a salad on my menu year-round. What changes are the additional ingredients which I try to keep fresh and seasonal. So, in the summer, I might have blueberries in a salad, while in the winter, I might have beets or roasted sweet potatoes. Believe it or not, lettuce isn’t locally grown around here in January.
I change my menu regularly, but my menu is also small. I’ve found it’s easier to keep things local if you aren’t trying to make everything. Stay in my lane, so to speak.
Tell me about what you do. I looked up your restaurant, and I see it’s in Key Largo. I also see that if anyone should be asking anyone for advice, it should be me to you. I may have gotten a couple sentences in the magazine, but your whole article puts mine to shame. Most fun restaurant? That’s damn impressive.
Ethan
I laugh at the same time pride swells in my chest. I’ve been so stuck in sadness and surviving that I forget we have accomplished a lot. It is damn impressive and has taken so much work. But he’s looked me up? Not that my face is plastered on the internet, but somehow the notion has me savagely chewing my fingernail. I put my phone down and pick it up too many times to count before deciding to respond.
Ethan,
I’ve watched enough crime documentaries to know that your research on us is a creepy red flag. Lucky for you, I give people the benefit of the doubt and am going to assume your curiosity is just normal weird and not stalker weird.
Our fun ranking is due mostly to the fact I have kids and needed to get creative with our space to figure out ways I could bring them to work without having them drink all the vodka. Also, we rigged the voting process. I’ll let you decide if I’m joking.
In all seriousness, I”m just a bartender—nothing too exciting here.
Thanks for the insight into the lettuce/salad situation.
Is everything always fresh, or do you sometimes take fresh local ingredients and freeze it for a different season? I’m thinking soups, sauces, etc…
Penelope