He and his friend Don Mac had a sailboat that they sailed on a small inland lake near Gobles. It was easily the largest boat on the lake. The two Dons would take the boat out and tack back and forth across the water, often tipping the boat on its side as the wind caught the sail. (In sailing terms it's called heel). More often than not they would tip completely over -- definitely too much heel. It was considered a badge of honor to end a sailing session with the boat on its side.
Mom would sail with them occasionally and if it happened to be an outing with too much heel we could hear her "whooping" across the lake. Trust me. It was not a "whoop" of pleasure. It was Mom's way of screaming. Given the fact that Mom could not muster more than a dog paddle in the water, one would have to assume she never learned to swim properly. Looking back I can say with some confidence water terrified her. But Mom was always up for whatever Dad wanted to do.
I believe I also have written about the time Mom traveled to Kansas to visit my older sister and while she was gone Dad purchased a 21 foot sailboat for sailing on Lake Michigan. Mom, ever the frugal housewife, was not impressed.
We named the boat Willy -- after Mom whose middle name is Wilhelminia -- and painted Willy on the back of the boat. Depending on Mom's reaction we were going to add the words "Surprised," or "Sweet" before the word Willy. Mom's reaction to seeing the boat in the driveway was not printable and the boat remained just plain "Willy."
But Mom never stayed angry with Dad for very long and by the end of the summer she had learned to rig the sails and man the tiller. She and Dad had some marvelous adventures on Lake Michigan.
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| Willy sailing. |
Dad purchased the boat the summer before King and I married. I went out with them a few times that summer. There is something quite peaceful about being miles from shore with just the wind pushing the boat along. If one goes out far enough the water becomes an amazing blue. We would sometimes drop anchor and swim off the back of the boat. Mom never joined us in the water.
King never took to sailing. He managed to take one sail with us and never stepped foot on the boat again.
It was October and he and I were home from college for one of my high-school friend's wedding.
The day after the wedding Mom, Dad, several of their friends, King, my younger sister and I packed a picnic lunch and headed for the dock where Dad kept the boat.
For Mom, there was nothing better than showing her love by packing a picnic basket full of food -- sloppy joes, potato salad, lemonade and a pan of homemade brownies. We would eat her picnic lunch all the way out the channel, stow the leftovers below deck and head to the open waters for a day of sailing. . . At least that is how it generally happened.
This particular day the lake was rather rough. I'm guessing the swells were about six feet high -- rather rough sailing for a smaller-sized boat. We were all pretty busy helping Dad keep the boat on an even keel. I crawled to the front to untangle some lines and turned around, took one look at King and said, "Gee, you look kind of green." Anyone who knows Mom knows what a mild-mannered woman she was. In an uncharacteristic move Mom whapped me across the legs and said, "Keep still." (Mom never said shut up). Poor King, who had eaten more than his fair share of sloppy joes, potato salad and slabs of brownies, was deathly ill. In fact, I think it took him at least three days to feel human again.
I believe that was the last time King ever sailed. I'm not certain if he's even ventured out onto the water in an inner-tube since then.
But Mom continued to sail with Dad for the next several years until one day when they were several miles out and the shore line had disappeared from view that Dad looked at Mom and said, "Willy, if I had a heart attack could you sail this boat in to shore?"
Dad lived another twenty-five years, but it kind of put a damper on Mom's enthusiasm for sailing. They sold the boat the next summer and although they might tell you it was because it was becoming a rather expensive hobby (slip fees are VERY expensive) I suspect Mom's fear had a lot to do with it as well. They purchased a travel trailer and spent the next few years as snowbirds, heading south for the winter months. Mom found the highway a little less frightening than open water.
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This is my last blog about Mom and her struggles with dementia. Mom remembers us now. She knows who we are. Dad finally came for her last night. I'm sure he took her by the hand and said, "Come on Willy, lets go for a sail."
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