Hope, Boats, and the Promise of Spring
Spring could not have come at a better time. Winters don’t bring much drama here in Sarasota, Fla., but there’s a chilly mood upon the land, and I’ll be glad to finally be rid of it. Spring, no matter the latitude, brings with it new hope. There is nothing quite like the first breath of May in northland, when a grey fog gives way to warm sunshine, and the promise of June suddenly becomes real. I remember well spring in my former home state of Rhode Island—cherry blossoms, red-wing blackbirds, and the faint whiff of summer when we finally shook the tarp clear of our O’Day Javelin, Misty. There is a reason why we’re alive, and spring reminds me of that. I don’t pretend to know what it is, but I’m sure of what it’s not. It’s not to moan about missed chances, lament financial losses, or measure ourselves against marks set by other men. A sailor, above all others, knows that good fortune is like the wind. Today’s warm westerly will be tomorrow’s nor’easter, and we must make the best of each. I can curse the foul tide at the top of my voice, but that won’t make it turn. Turn it will . . . but in its own good time.