Once a Dock Girl...

Ron and I were novices at all things boats until we weren't.

There's something about being in the middle of the St. Lawrence Seaway in a little 22-foot boat that accelerates the learning process.

Ron quickly became an accomplished launcher, navigator, and docker--the three main skills necessary to captain a boat.

And somehow, being a dock girl came naturally to me.

That meant scrambling for ropes in response to Ron's barked orders. Throwing a line to loop it over the cleat on the dock. Pushing between the dock and the boat to keep them from making contact. Jumping off the boat to secure it to the dock.

We weren't always successful, but we were a good team.

Tonight I was at Speedwell Forge Lake--one of our favorite local spots to hang out when our penchant for a body of water got the best of us.

As I sat on the end of the dock, a couple of fishing boats were calling it a day.

The first guy was much like Ron, and his son-in-law was in my role. They easily got their boat onto the trailer. 

But the second guy was alone, and it's hard to be in three different places at one time. I offered to help; he said he'd appreciate it. As he slowly drove his truck and trailer up the ramp, I leaned off the dock to keep the back of his boat inside the wheel well of the trailer, just as he'd instructed me.  

Success.

Guys. Boats. Big trucks. Trailers. Helping. The appeal is still there.

Once a dock girl... always a dock girl.

P.S. I'm almost certain that Ron has been boating in heaven, and equally certain that I'll boat with him again. In the meantime, I wanted to say that you can take the rope out of a dock girl's hand, but you can't take the boat out of her heart, or the thrill of the ride, or the feel of the wind in her face, or the delight of helping. And being successful together.