Excerpt
Our move to 4680 Deercreek Road ushered in a new era. Being financially in charge, I not only realized we could afford a new house, but an upgrade to our 16-foot boat. So, with additional proceeds from my Dad’s Estate, we traded our first offshore experience for a 21-foot Glastron cabin cruiser. What a thrill to be looking down at the water rather than sitting on it at the mercy of marauding water skiers and the wakes of other boats.
Colleen christened the boat “Vivimos” … “We Live” … and Bub designed shirts in his graphics class with a life preserver and the name of our boat imprinted on the front. The former Marine, a professional camper, conducted the unloading of our boat and establishment of camp like a time-critical military exercise under enemy fire. Nonetheless, Vivimos ushered in the best summers of our life.
Bill invested in high-tech tenting equipment that would expand to three rooms and a veranda with a zip-in net. One time the kids and I had gone out in the boat. Bub had become adept at handling it very early. We noticed an approaching storm and got it docked at our camp site and tied off just before the skies opened, accompanied by high winds. We decided to hunker down in the boat rather than closed up in the tent with Dad’s smoke. While we watched, the wind neatly lifted the tent off the ground, exposing Dad sitting in his folding chair, beer in hand, still reading. Beer did not qualify as alcohol according to Bill.
On Father’s Day weekend, Bub and Colleen were to arrive at our boating rendezvous in Colleen’s car because Bub had to take his drivers test. Dad, John and I had arrived earlier, and were launching the boat. Dad was on shore, unrolling it from the trailer into the water with John and me in the boat. I was to turn the key and activate the engine as soon as the propeller was submerged, keeping it in neutral until Dad parked the car and trailer. As I was doing this, John said: “Mom!” I said, “Not now, John.” John said, “Mom, there’s water coming into the boat.” I said, “We’ll deal with it later.” John said, “Mom, there are fish in the boat!” That got my attention.
Our good boating buddies, Stan and Donna Beyer, were launching on the next ramp. Stan assessed the situation, and leapt from their boat to ours in his new ostrich skin boots. Taking control of the boat, he yelled at Bill to back the trailer down, getting us up onto the ramp before we sank. We were taking in water because Bill had forgotten to put in the plug.
We were methodically bailing when Colleen and Bub arrived. As veterans of a dysfunctional family, they waded into the fray without a word, but Bub’s first bucket of water somehow caught his Dad squarely across the chest. We all did an intake of breath. Dad shook himself off, and the world did not end.
Donna and Stan said they would proceed to our usual camp site and save us a spot, so it was with surprise that we encountered them around the first bend. Stan had his fishing pole out and Donna was doing her macramé. Bill said: “What are you doing?” Stan replied, “Any damn fool can see I’m fishing!”
By the time we had towed the Beyers’ disabled boat back it was dark. Walking along the dock after helping Stan tie up, Dad had not seen a steel cable, and as he stepped onto our boat, blood was seeping through his slacks, which were not only torn but wet from the dousing his son had given him. Bub rose from the back of the boat and lobbed a plastic bag at his Dad. “Happy Father’s Day, Dad!” From the sack, Bill pulled out a pair of black shorts. After he’d changed into the dry shorts and I’d attended to his wound, we settled into sleeping bags aboard our boat, which was tied up at the dock.
It was soggy on deck. Without a sleeping bag for insulation, Mitzie started going from one sleeping bag to the other to find a warm, dry spot. She stepped on John’s stomach, and he started to laugh. She stepped on Bub’s face, and he started to laugh. Finally, Colleen grabbed Mitzie and drew her into her sleeping bag, but by then John and Bub were laughing so hard they couldn’t stop. Colleen began laughing as Mitzie’s cold wet paws permeated her warmth, and then I joined in. Dad couldn’t help himself from participating. Explosive laughter rent the air as our boat rocked from side to side.
By the end of that summer, we had brought so much cooking gear to Flaming Gorge we had a hard time preparing a meal at home. Sometimes we took along one friend of each child, and then a couple of different boys when Colleen began dating. The first one was a handsome Persian, and after the weekend he sent me a huge bouquet of flowers with a card that said: “Thank you for such a lovely hospitality.” Both his mother and father were medical doctors, and he planned to be one too. Then there was Mike. Colleen asked me years later how I could have let her date that beer truck driver. I said: “If I’d said one word against that beer truck driver, he would have become my son-in-law.”
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