Walking the Harbor

At the last pier, there was a bench where we would sit and overlook the boat launch. Sometimes, we’d see people carefully backing their cars toward the water, guiding the boat trailer until there was enough draft to release the vessel, and sometimes we saw the process in reverse, as folks pulled their craft out and got them hitched up on the tow trailer again.

As a child, my first fascination was the boats, and that wonderful shippy-tarry scent that you only have in marinas. As I grew up, I appreciated walking the harbor for the opportunity to spend time with my grandparents outside of their house, away from the endless offerings of sweets and coffee. I had glimpses of them as they had been when they were young and falling in love. I heard stories that never got told at the dining room table. I saw the tenderness in my grandfather’s calloused hand as he reached to help my grandmother navigate a step

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