Local Yokel

I'm a danger to myself

Local Yokel, 2020

Back in the olden days of 2020, I was experimenting with my camera and Photoshop by dressing up as various characters in portrait sessions and adding in fake wallpaper behind me. While rummaging for props, I came across my ex-husband’s tackle box, my fishing pole, and a vest my current husband had hanging in the closet.

Opening the tackle box and whiffing the smell of decaying plastic worms, brought back memories of the Before Times of the 1980’s when I was a fresh-faced young 20-something playing house. The only camera work I did back then was taking snapshots of camping and fishing trips, parties, cute cat photos, and eventually a billion photos of our kids.

Fast-forward to 2020…

Second husband, different town, kids are grown and on their own, and I have some time to be creative despite still having a full-time job. I found that I really preferred to play with my camera when I was alone. I learn best when I’m free to make mistakes, a lot of trial and error, without embarrassment.

I decided to hang lots of the old lures on the vest and around an old canvas bucket hat. I dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans with a small braid in my hair. Grabbed my fishing pole, hid the camera remote in my left hand, sat in Grandpa’s old wooden chair, set my glasses on the floor and gave a friendly smile! Simple. Right?

Except when I leaned over to put my glasses on the floor, a big fishhook stuck itself in the leg of my jeans and I couldn’t get it unhooked. I couldn’t sit up. I yelled for Kevin who was upstairs at the other end of the house. He was on his computer listening to music with headphones. No response. He never heard me.

I’d have to go to him.

I carefully stood, very bent over, vest chest securely and closely attached to my lap, knees bent, butt sticking out, and hobbled forward to the basement stairs. I yelled for Kevin up the stairs. Still nothing. By now I was laughing at my predicament! One step at a time, trying hard not to rip a hole in my pants, up I went. Slooowly across the length of our ranch home, all the way to the computer room on the other end.

“Kevin! I need your help! Can you get this fishhook out of my pants?”

“What did you do?!”

He couldn’t unhook it, so he went down to his workshop in the basement to get a wire cutter. Back up to me waiting in the office bent over like an idiot, he snipped the hook. I stood up with relief. We were both laughing but yes, I was embarrassed.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been home, it might have occurred to me to try unzipping the vest and slipping out of it. D’oh!!