Nymphs on the End of Bobber
Regional language and traditions are funny. My mother used to call a big rain storm “a frog strangler.” David swears that people from Oregon don’t carry umbrellas, they wear hoods when it rains. In Montana, they don’t like to have license plates because they don’t want government to track them (mind you they carry their cell phones everywhere and are installing Amazon’s Alexa in their kitchen).
I am sitting in Ruby Creek, near Ennis, Montana. David is conversing with the locals about fishing. He came back to tell me how exciting it is that there will be hatching tomorrow so he doesn’t have to fish with “nymphs on the end of the bobber.” He continued talking as if he had just said something remotely understandable.
I get it. It is easy to embrace jargon and think everyone around you gets what you are saying. I recently learned at Spitfire that we need to up our management game. See I am already dropping jargon. For those that know me know that I read very fast. So in a few days I had read 14 management books. I started talking in a completely foreign language. The word catalyst figured prominently. I would have whole conversations with David where he would tilt his head like a dog does when they are watching the puppy bowl during the Super Bowl halftime.
I have snapped out of it. David claims he caught some fish but no one saw him. We are now in Bozeman at a little cabin on the Wild Creek. I hope that is just a name and not a promise.
Adventures in LuLu 