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an ordinary love letter, to boats.

By local writer: Mary Kate Glimes

God bless the PWC. In my family, being on a boat is synonymous to being in paradise. A wooden boat, sealed with epoxy, built by my dad in the garage. The first boat I remember, though, being born in Florida I’ve been on boats since day one. That old green canoe, floating down the New River with our Sammie girl, in her lime green life jacket when I was barely old enough to drink but knew I’d marry this man who loves the water so much. The fishing boat that rests in my driveway, and more often on our green lake water. My little girl dancing and fishing and dang, I love her and this life we’ve made. A bright yellow jet ski that nearly killed my husband to repair, but sure runs nice now. My parent’s sea foam and white boat, big enough for me to lay down and fall asleep in the sun. My dad knows it’s my favorite place in this whole entire world. Because it’s his, too. Yea. It’s who this family is. Begging my dad for a boat ride because I need that cold wind hitting my face so hard that everything else doesn’t matter. Calling Chris on the way home and he’s got that Maycraft waiting for me in the water. Taking the dogs on the pontoon for a sunset ride. Jumping off the side on a sticky July day, stereo at full blast. Beers in hand. My best friends by my side. Friends who love the water as much as we do. Floating and fishing and perspective. And what you may have guessed by now, is that it’s less about the boats, more about the people. Everything’s that way I guess. Less about whatever it is, and more about who you’re with. But it sure is nice to fall asleep at night, memories from a day on the water, and feel like the waves are rocking you to sleep.


Image by: Bob Pohlad

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