Pass It On

A while back, an online California poet friend, Jon Bohrn, spent hours working with me to revise a difficult poem. His generosity both touched me and brought back many good memories as well.

When I traveled for six months by small sailboat in 1977, there were many occasions to help a fellow boater, or for them to help you----slipped anchors in the night, food, fuel, a row to shore. There was never any question of NOT helping, even though you both knew the odds of meeting again for repayment of that favor were low. When the 'thank you' time came, the reply always was 'Don't thank me. Pass it on.'

The people in that floating community of boats traveling down the East Coast and into the Waterway at the Delaware Bay had a way of living that I admired and admire still. They truly lived the kindness principle.

Late one October afternoon, reaching the mouth of the Chesapeake, headed for the cut into Norfolk, the winds and sea became quite rough. We had to seek shelter before the harbor which was hiking distance to more food. Low on supplies, I crabbed all day, only to snare one medium sized sad-looking crab. At the end of that day, a power boat limped in and anchored near us. Since power boats usually traveled from one marina to another and plugged in, that was a surprise, but we hailed our hellos. They had no dinghy, so we rowed over. They had no food, either, hoping to make the same harbor we had been bound for.

Of course they were invited for dinner.

I boiled that pathetic crab, threw in our last three cans of vegetables, some water and made 'crab' soup. You needed a microscope to see the crab, but we pigged out and everyone's bellies were full. Later, we rowed back to their boat for a glass of scotch, then sat up on the captain's deck and watched the stars. An evening to remember. The next morning when we arose at dawn, they were gone.

Jon, this time YOU made that pot of crab soup. Thank you and many hugs from a former boater,  hoisting sails now as a poet. May the winds blow gently at your back and all of your sunsets be golden.

July 4, 2001

Read past Musings

Return to Homepage