I Know How to Make it Rain!


I think I know how to make it rain.  And snow.

This is how I once spent much of my time.  The hat and the head attached to it, are mine.   Plum Duff, the girl in the picture, is probably the very best SAILING sailboat I’ve ever had.  I’ve had many boats, much bigger.  Many, much smaller.  She was just about perfect.  Those palm trees in the background are lining a parking lot on Shelter Island, on a blustery WINTER day on San Diego Bay.  Once upon a time, I sailed several thousand miles a year on that bay.  Most any time I had a hankerin’, I’d just shove off.  Never too cold.  Never too hot.  Sometimes you don’t know what you got, until you ain’t got it.

Somewhat more recently, this is what winter boating looks like, to this particular sailor.  Except, this particular winter day happens to be the 10th of April.  Further, I should no doubt take ownership for the unseasonable white stuff.  Because, a couple hours earlier, I was all rigged-and-ready to shove off to an area lake, for a tow and be towed drill, and photo op.  Both of my current Frankenbuilds were going to demonstrate the concept, at least, that spawned their individual and collective design processes.

OK. “Design process” is a bit heady for the actual procedure.  I really never know what these boats are gonna’ look like, until it see ‘em out of the shop and on the trailer.  Sometimes, not even then.  Sometimes, I have to study photos of the boat(s) in the water to really get to know what it is that I’ve just built.  Maybe you know somebody like that.

Just the day before, it was really looking like we might have some semblance of spring weather hereabouts.  I think the temps were skyrocketing all the way up to about thirty-eight or even forty.  The snow piles were receding like a late-Pleistocene glacier.  I was about as giggly as a kid who’s absolutely sure he’s getting a pony for Christmas.

I had a couple guys lined up to both help with the double road towing duties, and with general crewing and photo assignments.  The one available lake (without ice blocking the launch ramp) would require about a 60 mile round trip.  Plan was to meet up and head out pretty early in the morning.  Then, it started.

Gully-washer rain.  Winds in the forties.  Snow.  Mea culpa.  Mea culpa.

Gypsy Wagon got moved back under shelter.  Miss Kathleen’s shelter, in point of fact.  The photo op got postponed to another day.  Another month, perhaps.

Miss Kathleen got re-parked for the time being.  Then, the sun came out.  The snow melted.  It started getting warmer.  There may be a message here.  Ya think?

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