As a boy, I recall, with deep fondness, summers on lake Pontchartrain. For many summers and many days of those summers, it was the first stop of the day. My intent was to catch fish from the silt strewn rip-rap that the Parish placed in the desperate hope to fight erosion. The Parish’s effort is mostly a success, I guess. In some places, people had
constructed piers that barely cleared the water. Most of the sun bleached structures where missing boards, or the boards were loosely attached requiring care to not plunge a leg through. In retrospect they were likely dangerous and in today’s world frowned upon. When I think about, almost everything I did as a kid would be considered dangerous today; it probably why my youth was so much fun.
Some days, stagnant, humid days, with little to no wind a distinct aroma would arise. Its hard to describe the scent. It was a combination of rotting plant life, combined with poorly treated sewage and maybe some chemicals to cover the scent up. If you had to brand the scent, I am sure the name “Metairie Canal Smell” would cover it. Not the somewhat enticing smell of Charleston “Pluff” mud… But on those days and with that stench, it often seemed easier to catch fish; possibly because the silt stirred up by dredges wasn’t pushed to the south shore and the fish felt like eating. I caught redfish, croakers, trout, some crabs and lots and lots of hard head catfish. I loved fishing there.
Other summers, my family either went to Grand Isle so I could get sun burnt and chase fiddler crabs. Or lose items to the surf. One great summer we rented a house in Little Woods over the waters of the lake. I loved that too. Picture full houses, built on pilings over the lake with a long walkway back to levee. We would spend time paddling an old pirogue, fishing from the back porch or swimming just off the house. Each night bats would come out by the hundreds and fly over the water. It was a magical experience for a 10 or 11 year old.
I guess being from sportsman’s paradise, I have always been drawn to the water. B
ut standing on the shore, unable to see the other side drove me to ask, “What’s over there?” My imagination would wander as I looked to the horizon. In the distance and if I was close enough to Orleans Parish sailboats would lazily drift into view. Puffy cloud like sails powered the boat through the slight chop that is often present. I wanted one. It was clear, having a boat could get me to the horizon.
Twenty or thirty years later I have had a few boats and the horizon is not closer. I still
want to know what’s over there. Anywhere. But its a lot harder getting the boat moving in the direction of the horizon than I thought it would be. I have prepared for years. Boat handling? Check. Electrical work? Check Check. Engine Maintenance? Of course. Navigation including Sextant and Dead Reckoning? Absolutely. I prepared with charters, multi-day passages and deliveries. I
have spend time on the water sailing, power boating and paddling. But cutting the lines is a lot more difficult than accruing skills.
Why?
So.
Much.
Stuff.
Through the years, like so many others, I have collected many things. You may be surprised that most have nothing to do with boats. I have a house, a storage building and a garage filled with things. Some of the things have a use and sentimental value, such as wood planes handed down through generations. But much of it, I have no idea where it came from nor do I use it.
The effort of letting go of those things has proven challenging. In some cases I have erected barriers to sending them on their way. For instance, I have a set of home office furniture that I paid a lot of money for and is still commanding a high price today. So, consciously I know it won’t fit in the salon or aft cabin, so it has to go. But I set a price that was high and it won’t sell. Now, I hear you thinking, “Just lower the price.” Agreed. And it will creep down. But that is really an example. An example of how not to let go. Its not just things, but shore side habits that I have collected through the years.
All prevent me from changing what must change to realize the dream of going sailing. Really, it has nothing to do with sailing. If one wants to take their life in a dramatic new direction, they can’t do it by keeping habits, material goods, and possibly even people, from the prior direction. Cut the lines, right?
So what happened to that office furniture? I gave it away. In the context of my future it had no value.