It's one of those facts of life. The kids grow up, they move out, the house gets quiet, and it's just the two of you again. Some couples have difficulty adjusting to the change, while others celebrate their empty nest-hood.
When our kids finally flew the coop, my husband Juan and I leaned more toward celebrating. It just never occurred to us that we should feel anything but a profound sense of relief and accomplishment. We had made it through 16 years of marriage and raising our kids – and we still liked each other.
Our family was the result of blending four active boys from two previous marriages in one small town where everyone knew everything about each other. Saturday jaunts to the park looked more like we had prepared for a natural disaster, packing a cargo van with enough provisions, water bottles, extra clothing and medical emergency kits for a small city. On Monday mornings, after a busy weekend, we'd watch the kids go off to school, Juan would go to his sales job at Erickson Marine, and I'd drive the half-hour commute to 3M in St. Paul. This was our life. This is what you do when you're raising four sons in Hastings, Minnesota.
When they were all grown up and out on their own, Juan and I had a lot more time to do what we loved when it was just the two of us: go boating.
The author and her husband count many "relatives" among their boating family.We had developed a large group of friends who shared the same love, and every summer weekend, we'd cruise the upper Mississippi or St. Croix Rivers on our 27-foot Formula PC, camp on a sandbar, raft up behind an island or stay at one of our favorite marinas. On one of those weekends, it occurred to me that although our kids had left home, our boating friends had become like another family – and it had grown. The love of boating had brought us together, but we also shared something that biological families share: Families take care of each other. And as Juan and I spent more time on the water, we saw endless examples of how our new family took care of its own.
FEEDING YOUR NEEDS
When Juan changed jobs to become vice president of sales for Bluewater Yachts, a Minnesota-based manufacturer of 50- to 70-foot motoryachts, we found we would be able to travel aboard and live on one of the company's boats. I left my position at 3M, and we started our South Florida-bound journey on a 1996 56-footer at Lock 2 on the Mississippi River on October 9, 2002.
Three days later was our 17th wedding anniversary, and we had spent 12 hours on the boat, some in the dark and all in the rain. After pulling into a marina, we were exhausted and hungry. The only restaurant we saw was The Duck Club at a private yacht club next door, with a "Members Only" sign. Looking like drowned rats, we timidly stepped inside to see if we could order some food. After hearing our sob story, a member of the club marched us into the dining room, showed us to a table, and firmly told the waitress, "Get these two whatever they want, and get it quick. They're hungry, and it's their wedding anniversary." Resembling a protective mother hen, her actions declared that the club's "Members Only" policy was being temporarily replaced with a mother's first rule: When your family is hungry, you feed them.
Shortly after this photo was taken, the author and her husband were welcomed to a warm, dry restaurant, despite it being for yacht-club members.FAMILY BUOYS YOUR SPIRITS
After crossing the Gulf on the 56-foot Bluewater, we docked at a marina north of Tampa. Two local boating families were curious about our boat, so we hosted them for an afternoon cruise to a nearby island reachable by a narrow, unmarked channel.
We explored the island for a few hours and headed back to the marina. Even though we had no problems navigating the channel on the way to the island, our local boater-guests misjudged the channel back to the marina, and we ran aground. Juan tried unsuccessfully to use the motors to try to free us, but it was now dark, there were three kids and six adults onboard, we were all hungry, and I didn't have much food, since we had planned to be back in the marina by mealtime.
I was getting more stressed by the second from the unruly children and angry with Juan for putting us in our predicament. Juan called Sea-Tow to see if someone could pull us into deeper water. The representative chuckled and replied that he was already aware of our position and waiting for our call, but explained that we might be able to free ourselves and save a bundle in the process if we just waited a few hours, since it was already low tide.
While I stewed on the upper deck waiting for the tide to come in, the two mothers made themselves at home in the galley and made sandwiches for the kids, and Juan found a movie to keep them occupied. One of the mothers then came to keep me company, and asked me to be more forgiving of my husband. Hers had run aground dozens of times, and that was just part of boating in Florida. We shared a good laugh, the tide came in, the boat came off, and all was well.
Seeming strangers can become fast friends when you share your experiences with one another.NOT JUST HUMANS
After pulling into a marina in Miami, we noticed a manatee near the stern of the boat. She was hovering at the surface just under the concrete dock, which was about five feet above the water. As we watched, she slowly rolled on her back and opened her mouth to catch the fresh water dripping from the faucet on the dock.
When we pointed this out to one of the marina staff, he told us that "Millie" comes into the marina every few weeks to fill up on fresh water. He then slowly lowered the hose into the water and turned on the faucet. Millie turned back on her belly, took the end of the hose in her mouth and held it there with her flippers, like a baby sucking on a bottle. For just a minute, I felt like a surrogate mother to a 150-pound baby with flippers!
When your family is thirsty, you give them water.
LAUGHING MATTERS
A few days after arriving at the Sunset Harbor Marina in Miami, we met Phil, who docked his large Post sportfisherman directly astern ours. Phil owned a condo in one of the buildings adjacent to the marina, but enjoyed coming down to the boat in the late afternoons for refreshments and a cigar. We quickly became friends, and Phil regaled us with stories of boating in his younger years, when he organized poker runs and bikini contests throughout Florida's mainland coast and Key West.
One afternoon he acted as our personal "boating guide" and took us on a water tour of Stiltsville, a shallow area off Biscayne Bay where vacation cottages were built on stilts. His stories entertained us for hours, even though some may have been enhanced for our benefit.
Families make each other laugh.
TIME TOGETHER IS PRICELESS
Having raised four sons, I was used to hearing the frequent teasing that goes on among siblings. My extended boating family turned out to be no different.
On a trip to the Bahamas in December, we stayed at Port Lucaya Marina on Grand Bahama Island, where we met some fellow Midwesterners, five guys from Chicago who were making their yearly fishing trip. We told them one evening that if they came back with fish the next day and shared with us, we'd be more than happy to cook it (we had a Jenn-Air grill on the top deck).
As we anticipated, they returned the next afternoon with five wahoo. While the fish were being cleaned, we listened to tales of how Fred's fish got away, how Tom's was the biggest and how Casey thought it was all a waste of time. As they poked fun at each other, I was reminded of times with my own boys, sitting around the table talking about who was fastest, who was smartest and who was best-looking. When your family enjoys each other, your life is full.
Boating enabled us to expand our family with people who have the same love of the water. The people we've met while cruising fed us, helped in a crisis, lent a hand, shared their stories and made us laugh. A love of boating and a willingness to help each other is what we have in common, and that's what makes them more than just friends.
In the end, it's like my brother once said: Friends are just the family that you choose.
