Commentary by Ward Degler
It was perfect sailing weather. The weekend finally brought two days of blue skies, puffy summertime clouds, temps in the upper 70s and a light breeze. It was sheer bliss after uncountable days of unspeakable deluge and drear.
To be fair, the rain did generate prize-winning gardens. And weeds, of course – I found one crabgrass plant that was bigger than my wife’s Buick.
Meanwhile, my little sailboat has waited patiently in the back yard. Then came Sunday. I hooked up the boat and pulled it out of the resting place where it had been sitting for months.
Vines had grown up around the wheels. Carpenter ants had made nests in the sail locker. The tires were nearly flat. Accumulated grime made it hard to tell what color it was.
Air in the tires, an eviction notice to the ants and a good washdown put the old girl back to shipshape and Bristol fashion condition, as my Bostonian grandmother used to say.
Out on the water my granddaughter and I pointed the boat toward the north end of the lake and relaxed while the wind pushed the little boat luxuriously through the water. Then came the ants.
My guess was they had been living under the boat. I suppose ants just naturally get testy when you try to drown them. Once inside the boat they began exacting revenge.
I read somewhere that ants bite with formic acid, the same stuff bees and wasps enjoy using. In seconds we were swatting our arms and legs and flipping the little devils into the water.
We won the war, of course, but not before we were covered with itchy, burning bites. It reminded me of my first encounter with fire ants in Florida, an experience that was as embarrassing as it was painful. Let’s just say escaping the ants resulted in getting caught with my pants down while being chased by an angry alligator.
After two trips across the lake, we headed for the dock, ready to call it a day. That’s when the wind died, the sun got hot and we remembered our extra water bottles were in the car.
A whisper of wind pushed us slowly toward shore. Ducks swam alongside wondering if we had anything to eat. A sleeping gull opened one eye as we passed by and then nodded off again.
When the boat was out of the water and strapped down for the trip home, my granddaughter and I looked at each other. We were miserable, dripping with sweat and puffy with bites. Would she ever go sailing again?
“How about next weekend?” she asked with a smile.
