The annual fishing trip is coming at me like a fast ball down the middle. Knees bent. Feet spread. Weight on my back foot. Knob of the bat facing down and slightly rearward. Right elbow cocked high, parallel to the ground. Eyes glued to the ball.

I sucked at hitting a baseball, so I hope that this is not a foreboding analogy of what our fishing trip will be like. You never know, though. We’ll take our best swing, and maybe we’ll knock one out of the park this year.

This past weekend was warm enough to tease us into taking a practice run. We stopped by Arnall’s Grocery on Washington Street in Newnan to buy a couple dozen minnows. As far as I can tell, Arnall’s sells absolutely no groceries except for maybe a cold drink to go with your red wigglers.

You know you’re in the right place when the teenage girl asks you, “Crappie minnows or shiners?” She handles the dip net with precision. No flinching. And she wipes the fish slime on her jeans.

Everyone has their own version of a “sign” as to when the crappie will be biting. Some say it happens with the appearance of the first spring flowers. Others say that they don’t bite until the dogwoods bloom. Our sign was pretty clear. Marion’s neighbor let us know that he had caught a bucket of fish earlier in the week.

We had a 30 minute window on Saturday afternoon. So we wet a line in the lake behind Marion’s house. You know you’ve got it bad when all you have is half an hour and you drag out the fishing rods anyway. We caught four or five and put them back. It was enough to let us know the fishing was right.

So, on Sunday afternoon we dedicated a couple of hours to fishing and catching. We were not disappointed. A total of 16 nice sized speckled slabs, not counting the smaller ones we threw back. Fried fish on the plate for supper. It was the perfect warm up for Lake Kissimmee.

Preparations for the trip began over a month ago. Marion started as far back as Valentine’s Day when she gave me a new fishing rod. Nothing says “I love you” quite like a 7ft. medium graphite rod. Which, of course, prompted me to go out and buy a new reel to go with it.

It is written, “Thou shalt not put an old reel on a new rod.” Some truths are ancient and irrevocable.

Sunday evening we spent time going through all the gear she keeps in her garage. We sorted the spinning rods and jigging poles. Went through the tackle and consolidated what we needed into one box. A couple of folding chairs. Filet knives. Buckets. Bug spray. Sun block. An extra anchor for the boat. Two coolers and plenty of Ziplock bags.

Marion made sure to throw her life jacket on the pile. She can’t swim and I always promise Charlie that I’ll make sure she has her life jacket with her. That’s the least I can do.

Today I’m at my house trying to get all my ducks in a row. I thought about making a written list, but I’ve taken the approach that every time I think of something which I know I should take, I go get it immediately and throw it in a pile that I’ve started on my bedroom floor.

No way I’m gonna forget anything this year. Not even underwear.

Although this will be my third trip to the Grape Hammock Fish Camp in lower central Florida, I still have very few responsibilities other than to get myself ready. Marion and our friend, Romona, do all the real work to make this adventure happen. Joe and I are along for the entertainment.

You see, the girls make all the reservations a year in advance. They booked the cabin and the boat for this year last year before we left camp. Joe and I looked through the T-shirt racks in the camp store while they looked through the calendar and make the deal.

The girls work out the menu for all the meals we’ll cook. They do all the planning. They do all the shopping. They always bring some of their own pots and pans and baking sheets, because they know that “the ones at the cabin are crappy.” They think about what we’ll need to take in the cooler every day we’re out in the boat. They remember things like ponchos, Ibuprofen, and phone chargers.

Joe and I load the truck…under their supervision, of course. Okay. Honest truth. Marion will be up in the truck, and I’ll hand her what she asks for as she works out the puzzle.

Getting myself ready is not as complicated as all the other preparations. My first priority is to get all my pill boxes filled by day of the week. Good grief. I never saw myself as the old guy with a boat load of pills to take. One for the blood pressure. One for the bladder. One for indigestion. The rest are vitamin supplements. I even made a trip by the pharmacy yesterday to make sure I have everything.

“Do you have your pills?”

This is the one question I know Marion will ask me. She doesn’t ask about my fishing tackle. She has enough that I can borrow anything I might forget. She doesn’t ask about sunscreen for the same reason. In fact, I don’t even bother to pack sunscreen. I just make sure I have my meds.

The one thing I can offer is that I will do the driving. Not because I’m better at it but because I don’t mind being behind the wheel. It makes me feel like I’m contributing to the trip after all the effort the gals put into it. Plus, if I want to, I can stop for a milkshake after we cross I-10.

I knew that when I retired, I wanted to have some travel adventures. I wanted to take advantage of the freedom and opportunity to do some of the things I could never do while working. Of all the things I’ve done since I put the tree farm behind me, this trip is the one I treasure the most.

The fishing is great. I love the feel of being out on the water. The freshly cooked meals at the cabin are always superb. The late nights playing Mexican Train are memorable. The early morning sunrises are incredible.

But it’s the spirit of sharing life with friends that means the most. There’s a real joy that comes to a man’s soul from finding something that brings such a deep sense of satisfaction. Living is not about existing. It’s about doing life with others whom you love and appreciate.

“Do you think anybody else is having as much fun as we are,” Marion will ask.

“I hope so.”

We’ll head out Thursday before daylight. By Thursday evening, I’ll have a line in the water.

The sun will set west of Brahma Island. The gators will be croaking from the grass line.

I can hardly wait.