My extended family assembled in Pensacola. We came from near and far to celebrate birthdays of great significance. My Dad just turned 80; my stepmother 75. Plans were made to get up around four in the morning on that Saturday. We looked like a bunch of zombies when we came aboard the Lively One II. The giant boat made a turn for the sea. Stomachs turned in somersaults.

The deckhand gave us our instructions. He showed us the rounded hooks and told us what the horn blows meant. All of us were bundled up and bewildered. Only my Dad, the Navy man, exuded calm and finesse. He wore leather gloves.

The vessel stopped three times for us to drop our lines. We numbered ten and as such were allowed to keep two Red Snapper each. I heard that Jeremy threw back over 100 fish. The fish were as thick as flies on a horse turd.

When the last whistle blew, I had a four pound Amberjack on my line. My husband pitched in and we got that beauty in. The Trigger fish we caught were fighters. We caught Mingos and Grouper and Mackerel.

Nobody got sick! That in itself was a miracle. The sky was Smurf blue out there. We went out about nine miles. I will always remember the dolphins that skimmed along beside us. Jeremy said they scare the fish away. On a trip like that you see colors you didn’t know before. Each fish was colorful as a quilt. The water and my father’s eyes are that deep. The ocean  must flow in his veins.

Now, we are back in the Kentucky foothills. I shake sea salt on my spaghetti. We have fish in the freezer. Life is good. I dream of dolphins.