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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