How It Began

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, there is a book.  I imagine it as one of the first books I read.  Probably when I was 10-12 years old (4^th-5^th grade), I read this book of mostly words and a few occasional line drawings.

The book is about a young boy, probably 10-12 years old in fact.  He lives in Maine on the coast, in a harbor that is open to the Atlantic and yet shielded by some rather large rocks on one side of the entrance.  The story is about this boy’s summer adventure, with his dog and a small wooden sailboat.

I am living in Cincinnati, Ohio at the time.  I know nothing about oceans and harbors and fish and boats.  The only large water I know about is the Ohio River with its tugboats and barges and the occasional powerboat. 

This book is part of my summer reading.  What I remember is this young boy from Maine learns to sail in a boat, which is about 8 feet long and 4 feet wide.  It’s been built by his father, who works on a large fishing boat.  And the young boy has adventures every day.  There’s getting started, putting up the sail for the first time and the boat moving around inside the inner harbor.  There’s learning to tack the boat and moving in and out around the anchorage.  There are the seagulls and their loud greetings and the dog sailing with the boy.  There are cloudless days with gentle breezes.  And there’s the big adventure.

The boy decides one day to sail out of the harbor, to the edge of the Atlantic.  The adventure starts out well enough, but then (as you would expect), the day turns as the winds become edgy.  And the clouds gather overhead and threaten rain.  Before the boy recognizes what is developing, he finds himself in a rain squall and needing to turn around.  And the big adventure includes waves and rocks and the faithful dog, lying in the bottom of the boat.  And, of course, the boy figures it out enough to get back to the inner harbor where his parents await.  And in the end, all is well.

I swear I read this book one summer.  I believe it is the first book of mostly words and few drawings I ever read.  Over the years, I have thought about this book.  I would love to find it, but I suspect it is out of print.  And for the life of me, I can’t remember the title or the author, or the name of the harbor and seaside village, or the boy’s name or the dog’s name.  I just remember this book and the world it painted and the sense of curiosity and joy it created in me.

I’ve actually tried to find it on Google.  No success, of course.  But, if you get curious and take a look for this book and find it, you’ll probably find me.  Even if I’m living in the mountains of New Mexico, you’ll probably find me.