There are days when moving pixels around — that is to say writing — seems a little too abstract. The good news: my boat shop is just a couple blocks away. It’s a three or four minute bike ride to the land of lumber and sawdust. The physical world, beckoning.
As you can see from the photo, it’s the world of kayaks and canoes. Mostly kayaks as it turns out, and within that generally replicas of native hunting kayaks from the far north. These are made out of a few sticks, then covered with nylon fabric and two-part polyurethane. They’re light and tight — a joy to paddle. If you twitch the whole boat moves. You feel connected to the water. Beautiful.
I’ve been building boats for … well, I’m not really sure. Twenty five years? Every now and then I’m obliged to sell a few, since I keep running out of space. If you study the picture, you can see the problem. Boats stacked on top of boats. And this doesn’t speak to the pair of folding kayaks stuffed into the far corner. Nor the pair of boats that live in my garage.
In terms of rampant materialism, it’s embarrassing. I feel I should have one or two. Not ten. But they’re so easily had. A couple hundred dollars to make from scratch. Less if you buy someone else’s stalled project and finish it off.
In the event that the apocalypse is watery, I’m your man. Look me up when the river has risen to your knees. I’ll be ready to go.