A tribute to boat builders and beer: Read the oldest posts first

Didn't feel like writing on the Wolftrap story tonight so I did this for the boat builder instead.

. Sooo! about noon I got in the pickup truck drove up to the corner and bought a six pack of Imported dark beer and an equal number of light to mix. I went back to the boat and went back to work. Today my work all morning, has been to sit in the shed and look at the cockpit. I couldn't seem to figure out what to do with the seats. I opened a dark beer and a light beer and poured them into a cold tea pitcher and started drinking it . Sure was good. I drank and studied my problem. After a time I sawed a piece out of a frame and moved the stringer out in the middle into a little more curve. That's the one that the cockpit coaming attaches to. Then I cut out a temporary coaming and nailed it to the stringer with a couple of finishing nails. I set down on the other side of the cockpit to study my handy work and realized the tea pitcher was empty. Going to the shed I refilled it with two more beers. Now setting in the cockpit I felt a little more was needed. I went to the band saw took a piece of wood a couple feet long and sawed a pretty curve.into its edge. I climbed up into the boat had a couple more drinks of beer and contemplated the sheer beauty of the curve. Satisfied that an old world artist could do no better I drove a couple screws through the coaming and the stringer into the beautifully sawn wood behind them. All of it pulled into that fine curve and I found myself nearly over come by it's beauty , a kind of oneness between the coaming, the curve, Kate.and my inner soul. I had several more drinks.

I picked up a piece of sandpaper had another drink and began to sand. Had another drink and sanded some more.using finer and finer sandpaper until it began to take on a kind of sheen. I had a couple more drinks and got up to go to the shed for a refill. I had a couple drinks and considered offering one to my drill press who just stood there on her four legs, seemingly speechless. I guess she already had some.

I went out ter Kate and climbed the stepladder with a pitcher in one had and the ladder in the other. You see, the bladder, ladder that is, must have been drinking too as it was quite wobbly. Went to the usual place, one goes to while sailing, the stern, to pee. To far to the door and I didn't want to pee in the sawdust ,so I went to the bow and barely was able to wet the grass behind the shed. Sure ain't the pressure there, there once was.

The cockpit sole moved drunkenly. I slipped and dropped to a sat on a seat not to spill even a dab. Now there is a strangeness about a boat in a shed that is afloat on water where there ain't any. The boat didn't rock it kind of waved as the water did and that made my eyes go all funny. So to straighten my vision, as beer is sometimes prone to do I had a couple more drinks.

I picked up the fine sandpaper and gently caressed my beautiful coaming. Then it struck me the sand paper and the wood were one with my sole, excuse me soul. I felt a deep need to achieve perfection as had been done with the curve in the coaming it's self..

The sunlight bounced off the water around me and wriggled all over the inside of my cathedral ceilinged shed.

I had seemed to have been sailing a while and from the looks of things I was way to far from the house to get back to it. I had another drink or two and looked to the distant horizon, a place I longed to be, so as to pear at another distant horizon. There must be some secret there.. I laid down as we sailed upon a vast Blue green ocean. Suddenly in my mind I saw beyond and beyond! I gathered up another drink or two in all of my hands. All them horizons was followed by a revolution, revalation I think, I saw that. there are some that simply sand with out the combination Zen, beer, the inner being and sandpaper. They surly never achieve the insight that we hoo-doo do. I alone in my altered condition, know the pride God felt when he made Eve and placed her in the Garden of Eden. for the joy of Adam. God must have loved Eve for he made her perfect and beautiful but how much more he must have loved Adam to give her to him.

I alone in all the world. As the night darkened and the stars were snuffed out like burning candles and I sailed off into blackness of a starless night, I realize the powerful Zen of sandpaper and beer had failed me. I had not understood it all. How is it I may by felling, sawing, sanding and glueing build a thing of beauty and turn it over to another? A lovely thing worth more than gold that contains a piece of my heart. Is it she I love, or my fellow man to whom I have given so much for a thing so fleeting, as a bit of wealth.

Doug