Family, Vacations, & Boating

   Written by on July 31, 2013 at 5:26 pm

By Management

rural legendsIn all fairness, especially to my mother who really does have a clean house, you must understand that I have A.D.D. when it comes to cleaning house. I’m easily distracted and can bounce from one activity to the other without a moment’s notice and not remember what I was doing in the first place. So while it may sound as if I accomplished a lot, the fact of the matter remains that most of the house did not get cleaned—a window pane here, half a floor there—but enough to make me feel as if the house would be in good shape in case a burglar broke in.

So while the hubby may have his complete seven-day ensemble packed in his overnight ditty bag, circa 1973 military surplus, he makes up for his lack of wardrobe by packing every conceivable item that might be of use while we are gone. Crab pots, got them. Fishing nets, check. Frog giggers, check. Lead weights for the fishing nets in several sizes and weights, empty milk jugs to mark the location of the crab pots, and reed baskets to throw our catch in are all brought out of the barn. When I pointed out that no one in our crowd even likes crab legs, hubby responded, “Well, you never know when this stuff might come in handy for the kids.” What kids? Surely not ours! They’ve watched you pull this stuff out for 20-some years and we haven’t used them, yet. “Well this is something my dad always did with us and you never know when someone will want to have the memory of crabbing on the back waters of the sound.” Yeah, well what I suspect but have yet to get confirmed is that his dad pulled them out of their barn for 50-some odd years before us with the same excuse, but I keep that comment to myself. “Besides, this year we’re going to take the boat. There will be plenty of room to take this stuff and lots of different places to seine for fish and put out the crab pots.”

Two thrill-seeking men married to two sensible non-risk-taking women. I’m not sure how we ended up with these guys.

Boat? I ask without trying to sound too alarmed. Why would we take the boat? We haven’t learned to sail the thing yet. I’m really not too interested in taking the boat out on the water with you. I’m thinking this is WAY beyond our skills right now. “It’s going to be great! We’ll just put in under the bridge and float along on the Intracoastal Waterway for a while. Hey, remember that restaurant on the water you liked so much years ago up in Southport? We’ll just take the boat and tie up right on their dock. It will be fun!” But Southport is two hours away from where we’re staying! “Oh, but by water it’s just around the corner! We’ll be there in no time; besides, the kids will love it. You know the son and his bride are going to want to take it out exploring.” I realize he has a point; the son will enjoy taking it out exploring, but his bride will definitely side with me. Two thrill-seeking men married to two sensible non-risk-taking women. I’m not sure how we ended up with these guys. We agree to a coin-toss. Heads the boat goes, tails the boat stays.

We haven’t made too much of a spectacle of ourselves, yet. The boat seems to hold its own among the bigger, faster boats. We’ve been on one of those three-hour tours and didn’t get shipwrecked on some remote island, although we did find an island that had potential. We’ve learned how to handle the wake from those pesky jet skis, now referred to as bumble bees. Whole swarms of them come buzzing up around us and fly off in the distance.  The truly scary part of boating is that the operators of the bumble bees have less experience than we and only know where the throttle is. I comment to my skipper that I’m not comfortable worming our way through the maze of canals at low tide when we don’t know where we’re going. To which he replies, “Oh, it’s fine. You just have to know your boat and its capabilities.” Do you know our boat? “No, but how else will we learn?” Do you even know where we’re going? “Sure! There was a little girl in a pink bathing suit playing in the yard next to our dock. When we see her, we’ll be there.” Wait! Why did the music in my head just get louder? A three-hour tour. A three-hour tour.

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