I’m constantly touched by my readers’ kindness. They’ve always been a tremendous support and if it weren’t for your kind and sincere comments I wouldn’t be composing weekly columns. Writing for two papers each and every week is a challenge at times, but just knowing my readers are looking forward to them is a touching inspiration, a heartwarming motivation.

Jane’s favorite fishing rod still hangs in its special place in my gunroom. On a sudden impulse I recently took it down. The hand that held that rod has been gone for seven years now, but without warning the touch of that cork handle she’d held so often brought her vividly to mind.

Tears filled my eyes, ran down my cheeks.

The day she first held that 6-foot rod, a Brass Pro Magna, she’d smiled a little quizzically that day as she took it from my hand, flexed it expertly, getting a feel for its characteristics and then laughed at my excitement.

I knew exactly what she was thinking: her fishing maniac husband had bought both of us yet another rod when the ones we had were perfectly fine. No, they were not, my dearest. If a fish hit unexpectedly, on a long cast or if windy conditions blew a bow in our lines, we were experiencing difficulty setting the hook. Our rods needed more of a “sock it to ‘em” attitude! Our new Magnas were stiffer, with more backbone, capable of casting a threequarter- ounce bait, but with a tip still flexible enough to toss a quarter-ounce lure as well. After installing her reel and threading the line through the guides I backed off a few feet holding the end. “Pretend to set the hook, honey.” She did.

“Harder!” I urged. She reeled down and reared back. The rod bent deeply, then stopped flexing, line and rod quivering, and I could see from the expression on her face she felt this rod’s ability to really drive the hook home. She gave me a big smile and, of course, we had to throw the canoe on and go fishing to test our new rods. We enjoyed a wonderful evening, catching several bass on spinner baits along with a nice pike.

Yet, the tender part of that memory, the soul-touching dart to my heart, was my wife’s attitude toward me and my enthusiasm. She would have been perfectly content to continue using our lighter equipment, but she was supportive of what she must have considered my obsessive passion for fishing.

Early in our relationship she recognized my addiction and instead of fighting against it, embraced it and in so doing embraced me as well. We began fishing together and, oh, the countless sweet memories, the precious times we shared — the highs of success, the agony of losing a large fish. No amount of money could replace those cherished days and exhilarating emotions we shared together.

There’s an important lesson there for all of us: tolerance, acceptance and understanding the passions and deeply felt interests of our spouses. Some of those deeply felt, honest compulsions are born in us, part of our DNA and, if harmless, should not only be accepted by the other, but encouraged. Only then can we grow to truly appreciate the inner essence of another without sparking the inevitable resentment fighting them would cause.

My heart was deeply touched, a lump appearing suddenly in my throat, when I once overheard a reader remark to her husband that she hoped he loved her as much as I loved my wife after reading one of my articles.

This deep emotion had two sources. One, joy that my words were powerful enough to convey the intensity of my feelings for lovely Jane, the other sorrow that so many of us fail to take the time, do the tiny things, the tender things to touch the other’s heart.

Love, like a tender and beautiful blossom, must be watered and nurtured constantly. Love should be ever growing and never taken for granted. The human soul is a lonely, often insecure entity and needs constant support. We need to be fearfully aware of that fact for Christ shall surely interview us in depth on that very question.

I was pacing the house, it was the middle of the day on Saturday. My wife and I had hit countless garage sales. That’s what she enjoyed and enthusiastically studied the newspaper, targeting those sales that would interest both of us. So, that morning I skipped fishing for her. Jane was excited, her special wallet bulging with small bills and change. Her fingers brushed my face, her lips touched mine as her eyes spoke her thanks as we left the house.

However, back at home I was bored. Jane glanced up at me with some asperity and told me to go fishing for heaven’s sake — my restless pacing around the house was driving her crazy.

It was early May, the bugs weren’t out and the streams were full. After some pleading on my part she agreed to accompany me and we stood for a second smiling at each other. Oh, those captivating green eyes!

We each caught the limit of trout that afternoon, but that wasn’t as important as the fact we’d done so together, the bonds that bound us stronger than ever before.

Wade Robertson