The Other Woman

Spring is here. Fishermen that I've never heard of are seeping out of the cracks and launching their boats. We have to share the dock again, which takes some getting used to after practically having the run of the Harbor all winter.

The other change is that there's another sternlady in the Harbor. Another woman. I'm strangely intrigued by her presence. I guess that's how the guys reacted to me when I entered the scene last November. I feel comradery towards her, like we're in a secret sternlady's club. I have to say it's a relief to see another woman on the water.

Interestingly, I find that I'm comparing myself to her, which I don't do with male fishermen. She's pretty tough. She has a big shiny black Dodge Ram 1500 Hemi truck with silver flames on the sides. Pretty cool. She parked beside me yesterday and dwarfed my green Camry with peace bumper stickers. She's stalky, tough and wears bright tie-dye shirts. I gotta admit, I feel a little immasculated by her. I feel like a girly-girl.

Yet I know it isn't productive to compare myself to others. I survived a winter of fishing, of which I am rightly quite proud, and I daresay did my job well. I may be petite and lady-like, but that's not to say that I'm weak or squeamish about digging my hands into rotten herring. An old co-worker at the oyster farm where I worked a few years back used to call me "Mighty Mouse." Little, perhaps, but quite capable for my size, thank you very much.

Maybe next time I see her on the dock, I'll say "Ya know, your nails would look great in fusia." Just kidding. . .