Wintertime on the Great Prairie
Issue 46 : Jan/Feb 2006
Parade rest! The voice shouted at me from long ago and far away. Haulout on the northern prairie is a melancholy time. There was a light frost on the finger piers, but the parking lot was still warmed by the earth. Boats stood in formation on their stands or in their cradles in two long rows. There would be more rows. Armies of yard workers and owners were gathering in the early morning mist to bring more boats ashore, winterize, fit covers, and add to the formation. “Parade rest!”
Assume a slightly more relaxed position, stay in formation. Rest. Await the next order.
As I walked down the row of sterns, perhaps the analogy failed. Instead of the uniformity of troops on a drill field, I saw a riot of shapes, colors, and forms. How could there be so many ways to make a rudder, transom, or keel? There were the underbodies. The parts that were kept hidden below the water throughout the sailing season. In underbodies, at best, form follows function; at worst, form imitates form without sufficient reason. But in either case, the details varied from one boat to the next. There was no dominant form, no uniformity. But they all stood so very still — for a group of boats — pointing south . . . waiting, resting.
Along the rows I could see different levels of preparation and involvement by the owners. Some winter covers were marvels of architectural inspiration and ingenuity. Some were professionally made form-fitting works of art. Some would clearly not withstand even the first winter gale. There are a lot of ways to skin a boat. The winter would test them all as the boats stood in their own company without their crews. Stay in formation . . . rest.
I knew that the spiral of the seasons would move on and that most of the owners and yard workers would be back in the spring to reverse the process. Perhaps there would even be mist in the air and frost on the finger piers. The rows of boats would still be there, waiting.
My thoughts went back to that drill field so long ago, to the formation of young men who would be sailors, all optimistic that the spiral of the seasons would include them in the coming rites of spring. Youth writes its own promises for the fates to keep.
“Parade rest!”
Assume a slightly more relaxed position, stay in formation. Rest. Await the next order . . .
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