Beautiful Blemishes

If you look for it, it is there.  A soft scratch on the starboard hull.  Mixed among the other dings and imperfections, it is hardly noticeable.  Yet my eye is drawn to it every time we visit, and my mind lingers on its birth with a smile.

Hurricane Irene is passed.  The long summer of our twins passage into college is gone.  Noah is at  high school.  Events has moved on with its flurry of self importance.  It is diffcult to capture them.   Photographs leave an indelible print, but also leave questions.

Mark is a loveable carefree soul who is now making his way in the world.  He is open and fair to people he meets which can get him into trouble.  His energy is diffused around many tasks and projects, and it is hard to focus him.  He does poorly in school when he should do better, and yet he knows the subject matter.   He has not turned in his papers even after completion, because he has already understood the subject.  Of course, this does not help his grades and irkes his teachers.

He is irresponsible and charming which is a dangerous combination.  We are so glad that he is close to home this year, and he seems to be happy and thriving but it is only his second month at college.  He is passionate about music, and I hope that his passion is not muted by some terrible structural interactions with his courses.  I am reminded of Mark Twain's "don't let your schooling get in the way of your education," but we also have to pay the bills and taxes.

Mark, Noah and I decided to go for a inner  loop of the lower Chesapeake.  It is a man's trip.  Ben was in Blacksburg and Reuben was an indigenous camp counselor in Vesivius.  We had higher ambitions, to circumnativate Delmarva peninsula, but left this goal for another summer.

We visit the Thai Pot in Kilmarnock as a starting point.  The Thai Pot was recommended by Bill Chapman who has the great job of organizing speakers to the Richmond Forum.  The "Pot" is in trouble of near extinction as it has very few customers.   It is a displaced restaurant that you might find in New York or in some metropolis.  The cook is excellent, the service is divine, and the silverware is polished.  All in mainstreet Kilmarnock.

Noah in his bravado, orders Thai hot curry, and we are regaled with laughter as his face contorts, and he drinks a gallon of water.  Next time, American hot.  We hope that the Thai Pot can endure,  and we try to support this enterprise.  The sticky rice and mango is a sweet apology to the Thai hot, and we leave with our tongues intact.

We are lazy to start the trip and so decide to test our dinghy.  The Liberty is a hard dinghy that we have pulled around when the boys were little.  Noah loved being its captain, and now he captains Song of the Wind.  Not used for several years, the little boat which we almosted named "Rife" is dusty but alive.  Mark and Noah start the motor and venture out Broad Creek.  I suggest that they go to Sting Ray Marina, but instead, they try to go to Stingray Point on the Rappahannock.  They run out of gas, and paddle back.  Almost home, they remember the reserve gas can in the boat, and refuel.  They look like pirates.



Waiting at the dock for them to return, it is a sensation of hope and joy for the upcoming trip, and then worry when they are overdue.  My eye strains for their shape, mixed with shadows, and when I see their forms, my heart lifts.

We go across the Bay to Cape Charles Town Marina.  It is brand new and also very old.  They are trying to compete against the fancy BayCreek Marina which has transformed Kings Creek.  Cape Charles is a working man's "Harbour" and does not like to be called a "Marina."  This fact they really emphasize to recreational boaters like us.  They use channel Six like a Harbour and not a marina.

They are across some old railroad yards that were once used to transport goods and service to the Eastern Shore ferry ships.  It is a beautiful piece of land, but overrun with brush and weeds.  A walk across the yard invites an attack of chiggers.

We brave the infestation, and make it to Kelly's Irish Pub!  A wonderful place that is comfortable and real and inviting.  This is a clean well lighted place after a long voyage.  They serve wonderful libations for the old, and cool hamburgers for the young and old.   We leave with happy hearts.

Cape Charles sunsets are a taste of California.  The red orb sink into the water.  We face West to the continent as we are on the Eastern Shore.  We retire with an episode of Dexter that leaves us with disturbing dreams.

Leaving Cape Charles, we venture out into the Atlantic Ocean through the Fisherman Island Bridge.  They have constructed a new double bridge now, and our old maps just denote bridge under construction.  Optically, we look too tall, our mast 57 ft high.  It is high tide.  We call the Coast Guard station, but they just drily recite the old datum.  The clearance is 75 feet.  There are some fisherman, true to form, near the bridge openning, spectators for a passage or a demasting.




We easily pass through, and Mark finally wakes up, having missed all of our consternations.  It is a good way to a young adult, sleeping through problems...

The Atlantic is peaceful, and we roll through the swells from far away.  We swim behind Song of the Wind, and adopt the bathing practices of Robin Knox-Johnston, who would dive off the bow and swim to the stern to catch a dragging line.  Our harbour was Ruddy Inlet, but they are charging four dollars a foot there, and that is too much for our pockets.   So we turn back into the Bay and make for Hampton.

I forget now where we earned that scratch on the starboard hull.  Our memories are similar to ocean swells that arise from afar but break into waves depending on the topography of the moment.  We are cruising through life's swells, and bracing for the next wave.  It is a joyful ride.  Our trip continued on to more wonderful dinning places, and we returned home intact.   Jack Mable has extorted that we cannot post a picture without a story, and so this story is for you Jack.  This is a story with many smiles raised by waves of imperfection.