As you might know, I’m the only person in my little family not to row. Though my older son no longer rows – only because his college doesn’t offer it – my younger son and my husband both do. My husband is the most devout of the three, rising well before dawn on most mornings to drive down to the Schuylkill River to row before work. Loyal readers might remember my husband as a triathlete. That was true for many years. But several years ago, he’d become weary of the long training hours and after his 5th Ironman, he lost the passion for the sport.
Rowing was a return for him. He’d rowed briefly in college as a freshman and it had made a great impression on him. Several years ago he started up again and ever since, it has been a dream for him to row on the lake where our cabin sits.
This past year, he made the leap to buying a single. For those of you uninitiated, boats can be singles, doubles, quads or eights. And it’s not actually that simple because there is sculling (when you hold two oars) and sweeping (when you hold only one oar). In sweeping, it’s not a double, it’s a pair – as in a pair of oars – and it’s not a quad, it’s a four. At least, I think I’ve got that right.
Anyway, he bought a single, which set in motion a series of plans necessary for him to row on the lake. For example, we’d need an addition to the dock because our existing dock was too high. Sculls sit right on the water, so you need a dock only about eight inches above the water. The dock needed to be in a specific spot because the boat is 26’ long. No, that’s not a typo. It’s that long. We’d also, of course, need a new roof rack because the existing one couldn’t hold both the boat and the cargo carrier. We’d need a place to store the boat at the lake. And – perhaps the most difficult of all of these — Tom would need me to rise early in the morning to help him carry the boat down to our dock.
The boat is feather-light, but so long that one person cannot navigate the trip around pine trees and down two flights of steps to the dock. Now, if you’ve ever met me, you might already know that sleep is my thing. I mean, not my only thing. I run. I write. I do other stuff. But I love to sleep. I haven’t generally been a “good” sleeper for most of my life and getting up early is generally a bummer for me because I don’t fall asleep easily.
But Tom couldn’t make his dream come true unless I woke early. On my vacation. On the first morning, he didn’t wake me early. We went out on kayaks together and he spent much of the rest of the morning gazing at the lake with the same longing one would see on the face of a child in a toy store at Christmas.
The second morning, I woke with him. In truth, it wasn’t so bad. I’d worried that wanted to wake at 5 a.m., as he sometimes does at home. But because the lake stays calm longer than the river, he didn’t need me until almost 6:30. I’ll admit, that’s a pretty civilized time to wake – rower or not. I decided to join him – me on my beloved kayak and he on his scull – and was rewarded by a peaceful and gorgeous view of the quiet morning water.