6001-R1_CIC_October2018_Calendar_Web

Marty’s Memories: Casco Bay at Night by Marty Trower

There’s something about taking chances, stepping out of a safe space. The next moment, or hour, could remain comfortable, familiar, or it could change you. For me, these opportunities came from others and I am ever grateful to them for showing me the way. I remember the earliest time this happened to me, and of course, it was on Chebeague. It began at the dining table at our cottage on Hamilton Beach, the same table I use now. I must have been about ten. My mother, father, and I were just finishing dinner; it was late and dark. I don’t know where my sister was. The images of my parents reflect in the dark windows that look out over the water. My mother and I are thinking about clearing the table to do the dishes, and my father will be going into the living room to sit in his usual chair by the round table at the window, to read. There comes a loud banging at the back kitchen door. I jump up and go to it to find the small, hunched form of a radiant Ginna Toohey. The Tooheys are our best friends, and we own a wooden cat boat together, the Islander . A huge sail bag is hoisted on her back, and she calls through the screen door, ”Have you seen the moon? Come on, let’s go for a sail!” My mother starts to protest—what about the dishes? My father is thinking he’d like to finish that magazine article he was reading. I am stunned and thrilled by this proposal and run out to look at the moon. It is big and white and all over the water. There is a light breeze that

I think will be enough to move our heavy boat. To my great surprise and joy, my parents agree to go! My best friend Maggie is with her mother, and we hop with excitement as we pull in the haul-off, untie the punt, and row to the Islander . The bulk of our sailboat looms off in the distance, sitting fat and sturdy at its mooring. We are loud at first with our excitement, all of us talking, but the grownups remind us that our voices carry far and loudly across the water. We are quiet now, but there is little other sound out there in the cove, just the splat of our oars in the silvery expanse of a high tide. The other boats at rest at their anchors swish slightly as we pass near them. We are overwhelmed. The Islander has a huge wooden mast with circles of thin wood around it that we use to attach the sail, hoisting it into the silent night. The sails are thick canvas and are usually a bit yellow. Tonight they gleamwith the white and happiness of a perfect smile. The mooring buoy splashes into the swelling water, and we ease off into the bay. The wind was light. We didn’t sail far. We didn’t say much. We didn’t stay out late. We just took a chance that we might see or feel something different, something outside ourselves, something that we would remember for a long time. I have never sailed in the moonlight since that night. How glad I am that our parents took that step out onto a limb and left us with such a lovely memory.

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OCTOBER 2018 CHEBEAGUE ISLAND COUNCIL CALENDAR