An escape plan is a natural temptation in a political climate that’s as rancorous and divisive as ours has lately become (not that I’ve ever needed any kind of excuse).
I took a detour and slowly drove through the local boatyard yesterday. The sky was low and gray, the trees were bare, and boats were everywhere: Shrink-wrapped, on jackstands, flank-to-flank they stood, their normally submerged regions exposed to the winds and weather.
As anyone who has experienced a period of boatlessness will tell you, being without one doesn’t mean you think about “yours” any less. It’s a little like phantom limb syndrome: Approaching storms make me wonder if I should add a few more lines; an early cold snap causes worry about whether I should haul out.
It’s hard not to love autumn, especially if you live in the Northeast. The fall air is crisply cool and tinged with the scent of wood smoke, but it’s still warm enough to sleep with a window cracked.
Doing what you love for a living is a great blessing, but it also has its dangers. This thought surfaces every boat show season, but a good chat with myself quickly rights the ship: Don’t overschedule. Go in with a game plan for what you want to see. Leave time to explore. These three rules have prevented what once felt like a kid’s visit to a giant candy store from becoming a marathon run down a dock-lined gauntlet.
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