For Peter, a good man to have along on life's voyages...
Pushing the plane before him, he watched the wood grow into tight curls that released a tangy fragrance he loved. Inhaling deeply, he paused to gaze out over the water, nudging his hat back to swipe at his brow. The midday sun that glinted on the wind-ruffled surface of the bay felt good on his face too, making his skin tighten as the sweat was lifted away. Raising his face to the sun, he could feel the weight of its rays holding him to the ground in a reassuring way.
The wind shifted slightly, tossing a lock of hair across his face. He hoped it would come from the north-east by sundown - that would be good. That would carry his boat and crew down the bay in style.
They would be here soon, he could feel them coming. Would they all show up, he wondered. He had put out the ‘call’, not knowing who would answer. Some people stood idle, waiting for it, eager to begin a new adventure. Others were absorbed in their lives and in need of a little prodding to become fully aware of the message. And there were those who were so distracted by events swirling around them that they would not feel the faintest inkling. He felt a little sad about that, it was going to be a great voyage.
Bending to his work again, he continued to caress the gunwale with the plane, the shape in his mind’s eye slowly emerging as the long, even strips rose and fell away. He worked with careful, deft assurance, wanting the boat to be equal to the crew, mates that he had selected carefully, for life on a boat was spare and relationships exposed. You needed people you could depend on when you were far from land, and good souls to celebrate the wonders and joys as well.
Larkin was sure to come. How could he pass up such an opportunity for fun and adventure? His boundless energy and lust for life would be welcome. It was likely that Raul would make it, too, buoying them up with his gentle, accepting nature and irrepressible optimism. And he was sure Jake and Seth would join him; he and his brothers always stood together.
Setting the plane down and brushing away the remaining chips, he crushed a few in his hand and held them to his nose, breathing in the aroma. God, I love that smell, he thought as he tossed them over his shoulder for luck. Gazing down the graceful lines of the craft, he felt moved and pleased by his work. Everything was tight and clean, the result of careful, focused craftsmanship. And yes, a little ‘by guess and by gosh’ and maybe a curse or two. Setting the keel had gone beautifully, but shaping and placing some of the ribs had been challenging, sure as his name was Michael Grier.
Glancing out at the water again, all black and blue with cloud shadow, he noticed that the breeze had picked up - you can always count on the wind freshening late in the day this time of year. He was looking forward to the freedom of being at sea, at the whim of the elements, letting things unfold naturally.
Putting the plane away, he hunted for some sandpaper, musing on who else might show up. He hoped Janine would come with her loving, nurturing way. She knew what to do in a storm, too, and did not shirk. Perhaps Naomi would join them – her steadfast honesty and deep wisdom would help to ground the crew.
Thinking about his father, he paused, blowing away the wood dust and running his rough, dry hands along the surface. It would be great if he could come along. He chuckled. That old man has forgotten more about boats and yondering than most people learn in a lifetime. And if he came, so would his wife Jin-Jin, just as salty but not as crusty. And could that woman ever cook!
His Mother likely wouldn’t join them, but she’d send along something useful, maybe some quilts. He guessed someone had to stay home so they’d have a body to send postcards to.
Better get a move on, he thought, they’ll be here any time now. He slapped on a coat of varnish, hoping it would dry in time. They’d have to put on the finishing coats while under way.
The wind was still brisk, maybe even stronger, and set the surface of the lake in crisp, high relief under the long, low rays of the late afternoon sun.
Hearing his name called, he turned and saw them coming over the rise behind his house, laughing and jostling each other, the energy high with anticipation. As they drew near, there was much hugging and back slapping. A jug of wine appeared, and they tossed off a toast before moving the boat down to the water and making ready to depart.
Stowing their gear, they clamored aboard and cast off, hoisting sail in the freshening breeze. The wind was really ripping now, and the sails cracked as they filled on a broad reach that carried them down the bay at the head of a creamy wake, bright in the fading light of the sun.
As the evening stars began to leak through the darkening sky, he looked around at the people sharing this journey with him, feeling he had chosen well. There was even room for one or two more likely mates should they run across someone worthy. He tossed his head back and laughed. God, it’s good to be alive and hull down!
Kevin Love, c. 2007
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