Our boat, Carrie Rose, lives a solitary life on a mooring at the mouth of Montrose Harbor in Chicago for most of the summer. As we approached the middle of October and boats begin their fall exodus, the harbormaster asked if I would like to move to a berth. A berth is a nice place to be when doing chores: winterizing engines and plumbing systems, and once-a-year maintenance such as changing oil, cleaning the bilge and replacing fuel filters. It is easier to walk rather than row up to the boat with all the tools and the gallons of fluid necessary to complete the work. I understand that these are mundane concerns, but for a mechanically minded boat owner (read geek) the process can be exciting. First we have to get the boat to the dock. Again, this may seem mundane. That is unless you have ever tried to put an inherently un-maneuverable craft into a tight space. It is like asking a suburban teenager to parallel park on the corner of Belmont and Clark. We who spend our time on moorings find parking in a berth intimidating. On the best of days, without wind and waves, things can go wrong. Many a relationship has ended at the end of a misapplied dock line. And then, once we are firmly attached to the dock, there is another sobering realization. We have neighbors. Neighbors with kids and dogs and music systems playing the best of the 1970’s, neighbors that can walk right up and talk to us. On a mooring most conversations take place with one party treading water in their dinghy while the other sits comfortably on their boat. Such situations lend themselves to concise discussions of relevant subjects. On a more uplifting note there is unlimited electricity. This comes in handy when the temperature drops to 38 degrees. We have two space heaters and a down comforter, but these only just keep up with the seeping dank cold. A dock also makes a good transitional space to acclimatize before spending winter on the flat stable earth, and in that, it is to be blessed. The last...
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