Intro to Me: My dad says I came out like a trout...

...which is a pretty unromantic way of describing the process of childbirth. After sharing a couple whiskeys with friends, the topic of his daughters' behavior in utero would somehow inevitably come up in a way befitting Godwin's law. "The girls are just as they were in utero," he begins. "Helena is timely, quiet, organized, and the first to an event, while Caroline is dawdling, making noise, and taking her time." He continues, with some variation of: "Helena popped right out, like a trout. She didn't cry. Caroline was all turned around, and way up in Val's chest. It took over an hour for her to be placed in the bun-warmer with her sister." While Caroline found this character assassination particularity annoying, I fixated on the fish in the room...

I don't like trout. My uncle kept trout in a toylike, man-made pond in the forests of Olean, New York, and would invite us up to go fishing during the summer months. He had us walk down the muddy slope at dusk, arriving at the water right as the mosquitoes did, making the activity even more grueling (if that's even possible). If you are a fishing enthusiast, this blog will not be for you.

Trout can be beautiful, boasting vibrant reds and oranges, blues, and greens. Not my uncle's trout. They were nondescript creatures that were insulting to my 12-year-old vanity. Covered in mud and welts, I returned to my uncle's cabin and announced to my father that he was not allowed to characterize my birth in such a manner to anyone again. He laughed, raising one bushy eyebrow and responded with his tagline for most of my behavior: "Rude, Crude, and Fashionable, Helena."

I've done some preliminary research on trout. Here are some facts to acquaint you: They're common freshwater fish; their coloring varies based on their environment so they may blend in with their natural surroundings; for this reason, they are incredibly hard to categorize into subtypes based on color and patterns; apparently while most fish have swim bladders that connect to the esophagus to assist breathing, trout rely solely on their gills for oxygen (in case you're visualizing a human bladder here: stop. A swim bladder is filled with gas, not urine, and aids a fish's buoyancy so they may happily float along); they have a varied diet; they are best served baked, or charred, with some fingerling potatoes.

I, like many, have camouflaged myself to match my surroundings, to go unnoticed by my predators, and to feel at home in the space I inhabit. I hope this blog will introduce you to the environments I have inhabited.