FEED My MIND: Adventure. Learn. Live. Write.
The boat is a late 80’s model Chris Craft beauty. She’s got a 350, 8 cylinder GM OMC under the cover and they don’t make them like this anymore. Tan with red and black seats, we get grandfathered in to carry twelve across the water.
And we carry.
Took it up to 50 last Saturday morning, cut through the glass of the water, broke the surface with the bow raised, just to fly, to leave the world behind for a little while, engine opened up with a throaty laugh at the shore, a cry into the dawn that asks for applause rather than pity.
The boat has all the friends on the lake. She is the head-turner. Parked on the lift or anchored into the sandbar the stares are not for my bikini-clad self. The appreciation for the simplicity of power, for the care and keeping of an aged machine, the subtle value of going old-school, whatever it is, the draw to the boat brings an energy exchange that sparks conversation and brings waves of recognition.
We are known. We are seen. We are what others are not. And this is the way we like it.