While stopped on a bike ride to
admire bleeding hearts, I heard a long-familiar sound. A brisk breeze caused
waves to slap against a pontoon boat moored nearby. That tinny, hollow knock of
water against boats is unmistakable.
My grandparents had a summer home
in a trailer park. Located on the shore of Green Lake in Wisconsin, the little
community had a long boathouse divided into individual stalls. My grandfather
rented one slip for his boat.
One light bulb provided inadequate
lighting. A narrow ledge across the front and along one side required nibble
footing. The water was always black. Scary black. What was down there?
And, of course, spiders inhabited
the closed space.
One year, the hoists didn’t let the
boat down evenly and the back end of the boat sank into that dark water. The
gas tank was undoubtedly contaminated. The way to empty the tank was to insert
a hose and suck on it to siphon out the watered-down gas. The task left my dad
with the taste of gasoline in his mouth. His remedy? Drink beer. Alcohol was
never found in our home, so that made a lasting impression.
All these thoughts come back to me
when I hear waves beat against boats. What sounds from your past do you
remember?
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