Being a Winter Texan, Ol’ Dutch and Miss Trixie find ourselves South of the Mason and Dixon line in the good old U.S. of A. For those of you who were playing hooky the day they taught about that in school, it was a designated border between the North and the South during the days of the Civil War. 

But it actually goes back to a long-standing land dispute between the Calvert families of Maryland and the Penn families of Pennsylvania way back in 1763. A fur piece back there in time to be sure. But it took on added significance in the war between the States and the question of whether the State was a free or slave State. 

The one thing Ol’ Dutch has noticed at least around our winter abode is just how good the economy seems to do around here. It appears that the rest of the country can be in a slump, but J.R. Ewing and the Dallas bunch seem to go on with life like nothing has happened. 

Jobs seem to be plentiful and well-paying for the most part if a person wants to work. There is one catch to getting and keeping a job down there, and it involves actually showing up every day to work. I know. Unreasonable, isn't it? 

Most of you know that Miss Trixie and I work in Colorado during the summers with Mountain Man Rafting and also helping fishing guides shuttle their rigs up and down the river. And Ol’ Dutch is not immune to buying and selling stuff if I can find a good deal which is fun to an extent. Not “having” to work is way different than depending on a side hustle to make ends meet for sure, and I do appreciate a good pension that 32 years of railroading brought me. 

This past week I have been shopping for a new truck and so have been out and about talking to salespeople in dealerships. I always enjoy that to some extent as everyone has a story to tell, and I love to hear them. Well, mostly. 

Last Friday I wandered into a GMC dealership and was greeted by an older gentleman named Ivan. Or something like that. I have never been good with names, and it doesn't matter. We looked at a truck together and he asked me what I do for a living. 

I told him I was retired and he quickly said, “me too.” Come to find out he retired from the Post Office after 40-some years of working. That's 40 years of getting up early and working day after day in all kinds of conditions and weather but with the expectations of a good pension waiting at the end of his career and freedom to do what he wants for a change.  

Ol’ Dutch asked him why he was working and he ashamedly admitted that “the wife” made him get another job after his retirement came through. I just shuddered at the thought of putting up with that old battle axe every night when he gets home after 12 hours of trying to sell a car. Geesh. 

I can recall when I first took my long-deserved pension that the then wife #1 told me that “you are not going to fish and hunt all the time. You are getting a job.” 

Now I don't know about the rest of you retired folks out there but Ol’ Dutch had about enough of a job after all those years of 24-hour, 7 day a week on call train rides. All I wanted was to sleep every night in my own bed, get up when I wanted, drink coffee until late in the morning and do whatever the day brought. 

This of course was met with stiff resistance from my other half who was set on ruining what was left of my life. It turned out OK I guess as I did end up hunting and fishing whenever I wanted, sleeping late, drinking coffee until late in the morning and living where I want and when I want. 

And she had to work 7 more years than she would have had to if she stuck around with Ol’ Dutch. Which is pretty much what she deserved all in all. 

And because of her exodus from Nirvana with Ol’ Dutch I did meet Miss Trixie and the rest is history as they say. And her gorgeous self is a woman that not only lets me hunt and fish but encourages me to do so. And they say there is no God.  

Kevin Kirkpatrick spends his days fishing, hunting, ATVing, hiking or making people laugh. His email is Kevin@TroutRepublic.com. Additional news can be found at www.troutrepublic.com or on Twitter at TroutRepublic.