Indian Summer
Indian Summer, the warm days that follow the season's first frost, that point in fall when the maples have remarkable hues of orange and red. More accurately, Indian Summer, the point in time when the smart and able among us head south to where summer goes for the winter.
Don't get me wrong, I have long loved winter. I am a twice-a-week hockey player who has been at it long enough that I recall a time when NHL players used skates made of kangaroo skin. I am an enthusiastic skier whose first skis were made of ash, the accompanying poles cut from bamboo. (Yikes, I am getting old.) Yes, I have been celebrating winter for a long time. Still, a mature life is one of constant learning, is it not?
Several fellow writer friends from Write On The Water are now anchored in warm waters down south – Mike tied up in Lauderdale, Christine writes that she is headed to the Caribbean, and Michael is down there at the end of the road tethered to a mooring known as the island of Key West. These folks are living proof that a southward escape is possible. What's more, a vehicle of escape is in my possession in the form of a fully-found, 28-foot sailboat owned without lean or mortgage.
Is it possible that this life of extended summer is mine once I make a quick cost-benefit analysis, once I take stock of the relative merits of this decision? Is this but a simple weighing of the pros and cons? Maybe. It's worth a try, isn't it? Here goes:
Pro: Lots of friends will want to come visit us if we head south for the season.
Con: The boat has barely enough room for salt and pepper shakers, let alone guests.
Pro: The extended season on the water means that I will have the whole year for catching up on varnish work.
Con: The southern sun is so harsh I'd be up the mast in the bosun's chair every other week (which is an image roughly equivalent to seeing a middle-aged man in tights auditioning for The Wallenda's Flying Circus).
Pro: Life aboard the sailboat would become an expression of true independence.
Con: True independence means my wife and I, plus the kids when they are home from school, will be sharing a head that's so small you can't shut the door when sitting or stand without crouching over.
Okay, enough of this pro and con baloney. I love my day job, most of my family and friends are in New England, and our boat appears to be too small for wintering down south. I guess it's time to service the snow blower, clear the gutters, and rake the leaves.
But I can guarantee you that my protagonist is heading south for the winter season in my next book. After all, what good is an escapist journey if the author can't go along for the ride?
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