An Honest Day's Work

The oldest captain in the Middle Keys backed his red Chevy truck to rows of lobster traps. His first mate Jim Dog, who is going on 57 and stands well over 6’5’’, hurled the traps into the back of the moving truck—cursing the entire time and drinking a beer as the morning darkness passed.
The sun started steeling the shade early, and soon there would be no shade at all. But the two men insisted on working in the sun so they could work toward the narrowing shade butting against the warehouse on 20th Street. This day, the men were in the back-aching, sweat-drenching business of moving 85-pound lobster traps in the hot sun.
Once the truck was full Jim Dog signaled work was finished with an enthusiastic holler that later turned into a loud, painful grunt. Then the team was off across the drawbridge. The bridge was usually up letting busy Saturday tourists on charters and sail boats through the harbor. There was no wind—a perfectly smooth day on the ocean, but the heat rose off the pavement of the bridge and it stuck inside the cabin of the Chevy. The truck missed when it idled, and when the wind was still sweat rolled off the crew. At one point, while waiting for the bridge to come down, Captain Frank looked over with a sad smile and said it was 59 years ago this day that he was married.
“Get out,” Jim Dog said.
Below in Boot Key Harbor, boats were docking for gas and the tourists were taking advantage of the calm water. Yachts anchored in the harbor and children fished with their families on the other side of the bridge. Several lobster boat captains were having an island party on Molasses Key just to the west.
“I wonder if you can see Captain Mark’s boat?” Captain Frank asked. “I can’t make it out.”
The crew was glad to finally get the last of the captain’s traps stacked at the fish camp. Their luck had been tested.
Captain Frank already paid Pedro in Miami to build lobster traps. But nothing ever came of the January order. The crew built their own traps instead and never got their money back.
Two days ago the concrete man forgot Frank’s crew was waiting for him at the warehouse. He had a bigger job and didn’t bother to call. When the truck finally showed up the next morning, Jim Dog was already drinking a Budweiser at 5:30 just before pouring the concrete into the bottom of the traps.
And to make things worse— eight days before the opening of lobster season--- the city has threatened to close the drawbridge the crew uses to cross the harbor. The rumor is that a man in his late nineties owns the island and wants to develop it before he dies. But so far, the old man has not been able to develop the property because of environmental concerns.
However, this summer— maybe sometime in early June—the biggest developer in the Florida Keys was seen touring the property where the fishermen work and where a radio station houses its radio towers and offices. Rumor is the developer offered $18 million for the land no one has been able to develop for decades. And in newspaper offices, the rumor was that developers have a golden ticket from Tallahassee to build an eco-lodge on the environmentally delicate property of the Florida Keys.
Moving the traps was a simple task years ago. But Captain Frank thought it was a complex victory just to haul the eight-pickup-truckloads of traps and strategically place them around his lot.
Frank paid the crew and then sat in a white plastic chair in front of a fan. It was hot; the heat index was 106.
Under a wooden canopy where the fans blow, Jim Dog sits on an old lazy boy chair and his dog Velvet— a short and fat cross between a Chihuahua and a rott weiler— usually lies next to him. Jim Dog said he could once again sit naked under the wooden canopy on the lot and no one from the road would see him because the traps surrounded the place. Then he laughed.
After a while, Rich and one of his friends from out of town came to the hill. Rich’s friend George had never seen a lobster business. Thousands of the wooden traps were stacked four high and sat in the blazing bright sun gathering dust in the haze of the heat. Several captains shared the fish camp, and each of them had a couple of thousand traps. Soon the traps would strategically wait in water and all the fishermen would hope their traps would be granted good fortune.
“This is beautiful,” George said. “I think everyone should be able to see this.”
“It’s an honest living,” Jim Dog grunted.
“And you get to see the neatest things on the water,” Rich said. “There’s some unusual characters out there. Like sucker fish with their suckers on top of their heads. Eels. Sea enchants. And things I’ve never seen before or knew existed.” Rich said all this while taking giant sips of Busch Light.
“It’s beautiful,” George reiterated. “Just plainly beautiful. You guys are out there making an honest living. I do that as an electrician, but it’s different.”
“Fishermen are out on the water,” Captain Frank said looking up. “That makes all the difference in the world. Go out there on a calm day when the catch is good… there is nothing better.”
“The feeling I get from it… the traps… the heat… the sun and the cool ocean breeze… the simplicity of it all… All it is are buoys, rope and a cage,” George said getting excited. “And being out on the water does make the difference. It’s awe fulfilling. The water is so dangerous and so powerful— but it’s beautiful,” He paused and looked up at a Cardinal chirping in a nearby mangrove tree. “There’s something oddly comfortable about it.”
The crew was silent and listened to the humming fan’s breeze. They felt the heat linger in their sweat drenched shirts.
“It’s an honest day's work,” Captain Frank said looking up again.

(This is part of my book.)