Simplify, Simplify...
01 January 2007
The first month of 2007 found us transplanted from the metro area of Washington to far quieter surroundings -- up to our ears in a new adventure. After several years of trying to crowd in weekend trips to the beach, or day-trips to find any water larger than a mud puddle, and after a flurry of last minute details, my Bride and I uprooted ourselves and escaped to a modest home on a quiet unpaved street in Colonial Beach, Virginia.
Having tolerated nearly a quarter-century of frustrated living in (or near) the Washington Beltway, hammering and being hammered by unforgiving asphalt and concrete, and serenaded with the cacophony of emergency sirens and honking horns 24 hours a day, Colonial Beach was like finding a serene pasture next to a large river -- which is pretty much what it is, albeit a pasture loosely geared to the low-key, weekend tourist and about three thousand full-time residents.
Oh, I still had to trek to 70-plus miles to work each weekday morning and I still rode (motorcycle) to Washington; however, now as I loaded the bike for work rather than the incessant scream of police sirens, I heard the soothing moan of the buoy guarding Carters Lumps several miles away in the Potomac shipping-channel. Moreover, when we returned home, hand-made signs invited us to buy perch, or croakers, or squid for bait, or fresh, hot crabs -- and a small official-looking sign alerting us to watch out for golf-carts, the preferred (and legal) mode of transportation for many townfolk. Deanna quickly labeled the carts Whomobiles, after their look-alikes from Dr. Seuss.
On some weekends, Deanna and I didn't move any faster than our bicycles would carry us and didn't go any farther than the river a block away or maybe for a short ride to scout out a local garage-sale, knick-knack shop or another local marina. There were several to choose from back on Monroe Bay and it didn't take too long for us to make a superficial inventory the boat yards -- not yet admitting we were looking very seriously at any of the boats.
Deanna, a fairly seasoned house-boater from her years living near Lake Havasu in Arizona, had a strong mechanical streak as well. She was not at all untested when it came to boats and boating and had enjoyed many, many days aboard her boat. On one occasion she became frustrated waiting to get the carburetor repaired on an onboard generator - finally, a visit to the local NAPA for parts and a few instruction resulted in an operational generator - lesson: as always, learn to do it yourself. However, back in Colonial Beach my Bride and I had not yet reconciled what type of boat we were truly interested in, or even admitted that we really were interested -- that was to come sort of by accident.
Accordingly, for our first six or seven months in Colonial Beach we simply relished the passing of the seasons, spring flowers, the peace and quiet of the Beach and the nearby water activities of the tidal Potomac as well as doing some random exploring of this historical County -- once the home of Monroe and Lee, the birthplace of George Washington and later used as a summer getaway for the likes of Alexander Graham Bell. However, for us, it was becoming a new home, a home where the big traffic event of the day was when the mailman came down our gravel road.