The Boot
My brother-in-law, may he rest in peace, ended up at the bottom of our lake.
It’s a long story…
Rick was unique in every aspect of the word. I don’t believe he ever signed a W-2 form; he was too entrepreneurial to work under fluorescent lights. Instead, he pursued a number of income-generating schemes; most of them worked out; his three daughters graduated from excellent colleges.
Rick was an ardent believer in supernatural phenomena and was into people like Edgar Cayce. We often talked about meditation; he relayed experiences of alternate realities. He was always interested in my practice, which must have sounded boring to him.
Rick loved fish; we had that in common as well. He had a seventy-aquarium set up in his basement, complete with a custom-designed central filtration system. The setup put many retail shops to shame. He was good at this hobby, successfully breeding exotic tropical species that were sold to local pet stores.
Every summer, Rick and his family visited our lake-place in NW Wisconsin. The fishing is fantastic in the Spring and Fall, but not so great in the summer after water temperatures climb. Rick wasn’t fazed by that and was always eager to venture out early in the morning.
Our son Bryan, who is also an avid fisherman, often went with him. There was a not-so-subtle competition between them on who would catch the most fish. Bryan spent a lot of time on the water, so it wasn’t really a fair contest. We were always a little afraid that one of them would end up in the lake after a heated debate on fishing techniques and locations.
Perhaps you’re wondering how Rick wound up on the bottom of the lake?
There are trophy Musky in the lake, and one day, Rick set the hook on a fish he was certain would land him in the local newspaper. He reeled feverishly, his fishing pole bent all the way back upon itself. Several people on shore noticed, and soon a gallery assembled to cheer him on.
When the fish finally surfaced, it was like no fish anyone had ever seen. In fact, it wasn’t a fish at all, but an old Sorel boot. Rick proudly held it up to cheers and laughter. He brought it back to the cabin; we snapped a Polaroid and pinned it to our framed “Board of Honor,” which documented the largest catches.
When Rick passed away, my son Bryan, upon learning he was cremated, said: “We ought to pour his ashes into an old boot and throw it in the lake.” I got a chuckle out of that, but told him that was disrespectful.
Rick’s wife Jan and their three daughter’s families visited our cabin last week. They brought Rick…., and an old boot. I guess my son wasn’t the only one with unconventional internment ideas.
All twenty of us assembled on our lakeshore; I read a beautiful letter written by one of Rick’s friends, and we then piled onto kayaks, paddle boards, and our pontoon boat and headed out into the lake.
When we reached a spot that was deep enough and remote enough to reduce the odds of another fisherman repeating Rick’s experience, a few words were said, and Jan lowered the boot into the water. Ashes to ashes; boot to boot.
And that’s how my brother-in-law ended up at the bottom of our lake.
Rest in peace, Rick!
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What a great remembrance!
When my husband Paul died, I wanted to scatter some of his ashes in Hawaii where we were married. I had gone there by myself but some friends and their two daughters decided I shouldn't be alone then. So I divided up the ashes, we walked into the beautiful ocean, and I said a few words. As we were scattering the ashes, the 9 year old said "Lucky Paul, he get's to swim everyday!" The 6 year old turned to me and said "I have too much Paul."
Love this story.