I present Exhibit A:
And there it is.
A beautiful boat.
Floating peacefully.
Motionless.
Unused.
Serving its highest and best purpose as an aquatic lawn ornament.
I know this boat well.
In fact, every Rhode Island boater knows this boat.
Because every one of us has owned this boat.
Not necessarily this exact boat.
But this boat.
The one that spends more time posing for photographs than producing wake.
The one that sits patiently through weeks of cold fronts, fog, drizzle, northeast winds, thunderstorms, small craft advisories, and family obligations.
The one that costs approximately $73 every time you look at it.
Now, for those unfamiliar with Rhode Island boating, let me explain the process.
In March, we become optimistic.
This is our first mistake.
The weather reaches 58 degrees for seventeen minutes and suddenly we’re ordering impellers, waxing hulls, changing oil, buying safety gear, and speaking confidently about “getting an early start to the season.”
By April, we’re standing in boatyards wearing winter coats while telling complete strangers:
“This year’s going to be different.”
It never is.
Then comes May.
The boat goes in the water.
The marina sends the invoice.
Mother Nature immediately sends a nor’easter.
Coincidence?
I think not.
By Memorial Day, Rhode Island boaters begin a ritual known as Weather App Addiction.
Symptoms include:
- Checking five different forecasts.
- Comparing wind models.
- Learning the difference between NOAA, Windy, PredictWind, and wishful thinking.
- Canceling boating plans three days in advance.
- Watching the forecast improve on the exact day you canceled.
By June, things get even worse.
The weather becomes beautiful.
Monday through Friday.
At work.
Then Saturday arrives with forty-three-degree fog, twenty-knot winds, and a small craft advisory written personally for your zip code.
The boat remains in its slip.
Again.
Looking magnificent.
The only thing aboard with significant sea time is the algae growing on the hull.
Which brings us back to this photograph.
Look at that water.
Glass calm.
Mirror reflections.
Not a ripple.
Not a breath of wind.
A boater’s dream.
And where is the captain?
Not on the boat.
Of course not.
He’s standing on shore with a camera.
Because after one month of Rhode Island boating season, many of us eventually reach the same conclusion:
Photography is cheaper.
Wildlife doesn’t require winterization.
Birds don’t need bottom paint.
And when the weather turns ugly, the egrets don’t charge a dockage fee.
Yet here’s the funny thing.
Every Rhode Island boater knows exactly what’s going to happen next.
One perfect July evening will arrive.
The sky will turn gold.
The wind will disappear.
The bay will become liquid glass.
The temperature will settle into the seventies.
And suddenly every cold morning, every rainy weekend, every outrageous fuel bill, every marina invoice, every repair receipt, and every hour spent waiting for decent weather will be completely forgotten.
Because boaters suffer from a remarkable condition.
It’s called Selective Maritime Memory Disorder.
The cure doesn’t exist.
The symptoms are permanent.
And judging from this beautiful little skiff resting peacefully along the Narrow River, I’d say the owner is suffering from a severe case.
Just like the rest of us.
I’d love to share my posts with you. If you subscribe, they’ll come straight to your inbox—most days, like a little note from me to you. It means a lot to know you’re reading along.
Browse my complete art portfolio and shop for prints at imagesbygacioe.shop
Leave a Reply