I was a young girl in love with adventure, in books, from the widow, in my mind. However there were a few times when I threw caution to the wind, allowed the adrenalin to pump and jumped into the real thing.
In this case it was a wooden skiff that my dad used to trail along his yacht of 25 feet.
That yacht was wooden, with an indoor engine and could sleep 4. They never called them bedrooms. It had a galley and you went down some pretty steep stairs to get to the inners. It seemed like he was always sanding and corking and caulking the boat which he named after mom; The Dixie Ann. I believe the gleaming wood on the deck was a rich mahogany from the Honduras. Many hours of labor were spent on the boat with my brothers pitching in as it lay on its dock in our back yard.
Dad belonged to the Edgewood Yacht Club and went on many outings with other boaters. They would tie up each others boats out in the ocean and party. When they had special functions at the Yacht Club he would dress up and look ever so handsome and important in his uniform.
Meanwhile Ron and I were given permission to take the skiff and row to Rocky Point Amusement Park. It was the only amusement park in R.I. and was located overlooking the Narragansett Bay in Warwick. Now that sounded like a real Robinson Caruso adventure and I allowed myself to take the chance. My over active imagination conjured up all sorts of what if’s but I will leave that alone. We were told all we needed to do was hug the shore and we would see Rocky Point at the top of a cliff. Good enough directions for us. Did we have life jackets? I doubt it though I don’t remember. Did we have a compass or any navigational skills? Absolutely not. We only had this burning desire to go to Rocky Point Amusement Park without adult supervision. There certainly was the taste of freedom in the summer breeze.
We packed a small lunch, had a few coins in our pocket and started out. Ron did the rowing. I was the look out man. The waves were mostly calm although further out you could see white caps. Sometimes I would take a turn at rowing but it made my arms so tired. I have been told I have a tendency to delegate; a polite way of saying I’m lazy. The ocean air was so invigorating and the spray left the taste of salt on our lips. My hair was tossed about with full abandon and my eyes scanned the beautiful waterscape with smug fascination. We reveled in our freedom. Our trip was without incident. When other boats would go by, somewhere in the distant, we would wave. We were in their class now; boaters. What seem like forever got me thinking what if we missed the place. We could literally be out in the Atlantic Ocean with no land around. I swallowed my fears.
It appeared just like dad said. We heard the hum of carousel, the buzz of people and a cacophony of sounds that spell fun.
We rowed up to the sandy beach below. We then realized that we had to leave the boat to go enjoy the fun. What if someone would take it? We looked around and saw an old lady, a whiskey bottle in her hand, sitting in a similar skiff. She was totally dry docked since the tide had gone out. We pulled up our boat as far as possible and walked over to her. Her lipstick was smeared, and her eyes were as faded as the gray on her head. Her face looked like the map we didn’t have with lines crisscrossing in every direction. She wore a one piece bathing suit and her legs were full of bulging blue lines known commonly as veins.
Her appearance was out of the range of our experiences but we said with the innocence and trust of youth, “Would you keep an eye on our boat?” She laughed a yes and with that we cast away our concerns and went up to have our fun.
To be continued
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