Logbook: Season of Change
It’s a strange thing, to tell your marina manager a secret that not even your closest friends and family know. My pulse raced, I hemmed and hawed as I dialed the number for Essex Island Marina. Stacy picked up and pleasantly asked how everything was going. “Ugh, good, well, yeah, really good, but I’m actually calling because I’m going to give up my slip this year. We’re going to take the year off from boating.” Uttering those previously unthinkable words felt almost like an out-of-body experience.
“It’s for a good reason though, we’re expecting our second child in July, right smack in the middle of boating season.” She congratulated me and let me know that they’d be happy to welcome me back in 2025.
2025. That felt like a decade away. At the time of that call, Karen was only a couple months pregnant but marina bills wait for no one, and my first slip payment was coming due. I wrestled over the decision of whether or not to put the Bertram in for the summer on a daily–if not hourly–basis. Last summer had been so rewarding. I’d work from the boat a couple days a week, I’d sneak out for early morning rides, which had the boat running well. Young Connor was really taking to the boating life and everything it had to offer. Maybe I could still work from the boat and bring Connor down to fish and swim in the pool; the marina had become something of our summer home, I hated the idea of giving that up. Ever the supporter, Karen gave her blessing for me to do just that, if that’s what I wanted to do.
But on the flip-side of that coin, I knew she would not be comfortable sleeping crammed in a 28-footer while 7-plus months pregnant. Nor would she be comfortable bringing a newborn aboard with Connor and Salty. What’s the famous line from Jaws? I think we’re going to need a bigger boat.
Sleeping over on the boat is one of my favorite things about our pastime. Falling asleep to the rocking of the boat and waking up to the peacefulness of a quiet marina. It’s second only to being able to escape and enjoy quality, focused time with my family. Neither would be possible this year. I knew we wouldn’t be able to use the boat like we would hope to, even if I was reluctant to admit it. Plus, leaving the boat in the driveway would help our bottom line; diaper prices rival fuel bills these days.
Keeping the boat in the driveway has mostly been a blessing for that very reason, but in some ways, as of late, it’s also been a curse. As I write this, winter is fading to spring, the days are getting longer, the sun is shinning a little brighter and I can practically hear the Bertram whisper, “Pssst Dan, its time, get this coat off of me and let’s get going, there are places to go, people to see. Come on, brother.”
I avert my eyes and pretend not to hear it. It’s kind of embarrassing really, to be as blessed as I am, with a second child on the way and feel kind of sad to be missing a summer on the boat.
That feeling started to melt away when I began to think about projects that I needed to tackle, but without the pressure of rushing to get the boat waxed, bottom painted and prepped to drop in when spring rolled around. Maybe I could finally sort out those electrical gremlins or create that custom sunshade I’d been thinking about for the cockpit. I could finish off the interior upgrades and make the Karen Marie more suitable for a growing family of four plus a dog. Those thoughts and ambitions haven’t gotten me over the idea of missing a summer but I’m getting there. And I do believe in the old cliché, that absence makes the heart grow fonder.
We’ll be back on the water soon enough, only this time as a family of four. I can’t wait for the comeback tour.
See you on the water, Dan
[email protected]
@danhardingboating
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This article originally appeared in the June/July 2024 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.
Source: https://www.powerandmotoryacht.com/column/logbook-season-of-change
