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Today was one of those days coined after the phrase “Indian Summer”. The sky couldn’t be more blue and everything is gold. Using the words orange, red, amber and gold can’t even begin to do justice to the cotton wood trees down by the river. But man, are they gold!

Reminds me of when we lived in New England. Before we were married, we lived on a boat just off the Dighton river in Massachusetts. (By boat, it was just a hop, skip and a jump from New Port RI). We had an end slip, so our view of the river (which was fresh and salt water) was unbelievable. The colors in the fall were so vivid, it was like a trip on acid.

Every year on Columbus Day weekend, the Boat Yard throws a HUGE clam bake. The people there have their own language. For instance, they would add the letter ‘r’ to words that typically don’t have an ‘r”… or remove the ‘r’ to words that did. For example… the word “quarter” would turn into “quata”", or instead of saying “I saw it”, it came out “I sar it”. Also if something was really frickin’ cool, it was “wicked cool”. But no doubt about it, those boatyard folk, are incredibly hospitable, charismatic and fun. If you’d proved your worth (downing 6 or 7 shots of the captain would be a good start), they’d give you the shirt off their back!

In the morning of the Clam Bake, the men would prepare massive amounts of food, layering everything just perfect before covering it with a tarp to cook for hours.

Steamers, lobster, white fish, chorizo sausage, potatoes and stuffing. It was out of this world! It was tradition the men would prepare the food, as was the tradition, the women would be in the shop doing shots of rum. Just a bunch of old salts and sailors, shooting the shit and Captain Morgan, telling big lies from about 8 in the morning until…. whenever. Luckily for me, having been conditioned to a higher altitude… I could keep up.

We were on a job there, and stayed on that old, beautiful 36 ft. wooden Kris Kraft until I was scraping ice off the insides of the pilot house windows. By then it was December. I had turned 30 a little after we arrived in August. I began to learn the boat yard was truly one of the centers of the universe. I believe it still is.

During that five months, I had experiences that made me feel it was why I had been born. Though we shared a rather small V-berth, I’ve never slept sounder than being rocked to sleep by the sounds of the ocean gently washing the hull of the boat. I learned how tie a bowline knot… that “port” wasn’t actually a wine… and through a couple of “wicked” storms, I found out just what “getting your sea legs” was all about.

I also learned how NOT to dock the boat at high tide. Let me tell you…. you can really get some guys attention when a 30 year old chick, from Colorado is coming up the river to dock the boat with half million dollar yachts sitting on either slip of yours. I can still see the terror in their eyes.

Up to that date, I’d discovered more about myself in that 5 months, then I had in my entire 30 years put together. I’ve never felt more grounded than that summer, fall and winter we spent on the water.

We used to go back once a year. Then it dwindled to every so often. Now it seems we travel back there only in our memories. But man, is it ever gold!

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