The Boat
( from the Book "Tidewater Folk")
The boat is alive with the breeze. She wants to run, I can feel her, old as she is she still wants to lift up her skirt and run first chance she gets.
Her and I are the same. Both of us born on this bay, this water and land melding together as one. This boat , the first of her kind was nothing more than a hollowed out log the Indians made. A thing alive that was God’s gift to the tidewater people. These boats, sure they’ve grown some , but the spirit of those trees are still in her keel.
As I watch those trees on shore bend and sway in the wind I think of the first nations people .They called trees the standing people. Sometimes, when sailing close to shore I believe the trees somehow can see the boat and nod in their approval at the beautiful creature they helped to create. They teach me too.
She isn’t fancy or modern and I’m sure no yacht club types will be lounging around on her decks. She is a comfortable home and she knows how to work with minimal attention from me . The sight and smell of the fresh oil and varnish below gives a warm glow and smell that is home to all who know her. Her hull is as familiar and as dear to me as my own wife. Each scar or imperfection shows the tough times we’ve gone through together.
Sometimes folks don’t understand the bond we have with these boats. I cannot explain this feeling that she is a living thing. She is an extension of my own spirit. She is a vital member of my family and she is well loved.
