Carrie Toots Her Own Horn

This is the beginning of the adventure for Carrie on the boat as she has been dropped there while Michael flies to work meetings and I beat back Covid and John travels with Danny and hunts for Irish Eye’s new home down south.  I have lived on the boat off and on for the past month, making friends with the local boaters and modifying and re-modifying the boat set up to accommodate four adults on our maiden voyage from New London, CT to Charleston, SC.

As we wind our way towards our bon voyage date John and I are very sad to leave this marina where we have really enjoyed our stay and have made many friends.  I am not sure if Carrie wanted to ensure that it would be an easy departure or if she really made one of the biggest boating faux pas imaginable by accident.

It was a beautiful, quiet July 5th morning.  One could hear the occasional car, the not too far away train, and the mesmerizing sound of the mast lines moving in the light breeze.  The loud booms of fireworks and the wild laughter of late night drinking were no longer there as the water lapped the sides of the boat.  Carrie sat quietly, listening, sipping her fresh coffee, contemplating life on the water.  It was a beautiful, quiet July 5th morning and most boaters were in their cabins sleeping off the reverie of the night before.

I want you to focus on the ‘were’ in that statement, because the ‘were’ is why there will be plenty of people to push us from the dock the day we depart.  I love my sister, she is wonderful, adventurous, and wild and always so much fun.  She is also a tad bit hyper.  So, although most normal people would rest on this wonderful dreamy morning, Carrie needed to get shit done.  So she got up from her resting position and decided to move things around, maybe get more coffee, maybe she was re-arranging furniture.  I am not sure, because, thankfully, I was not there.

I was not there when whatever she was doing knocked her off balance.  I was not there when her elbow decided to take on a life of its own.  I was not there when my sister set off a fog horn on a beautiful, quiet July 5th morning when most boaters were in their cabins sleeping off the reverie from the night before.  I was not there when my sister’s loud and abrupt yelling from being completely caught off guard by the horn flew out of her tiny mouth. I was not there when our nearby neighbor who was slowly walking by our boat towards the public bathroom probably nearly pooped his pants.

I will be there, however, when we leave the docks for the final time.  And as the crowd of other boaters cheer us on, I will know it is not for us but for themselves: They will finally be safe in their cabins and can sleep through the morning.

Captain John’s Limerick

There once was a sailor named Carrie

With her boat by the New London Ferry

Early one morn’

She fell on her horn

And the neighbors all thought it quite scary

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