ANNUAL RITUAL

APRIL 18, 2021 – Most “lake people” nowadays have a light-weight aluminum dock installed by easy-to-manage sections or by its own big wheels mounted under the front. In either case, most lacustrian dwellers hire out the task to a friendly, local service for a not-so-friendly fee.

I don’t know of any research into the possible link between the popularity of aluminum docks and a drop in demand for chiropractic services. What I do know is the gratification derived from “self-engineered” installation of an old-fashioned dock made of weathered (but treated) lumber and 2-1/2”-pipes. Yesterday, I installed our “old-fashioned” dock, and the victory brought its usual satisfaction.

“Putting in the dock” has always been part of life. In my earliest years, I watched my dad, grandpa and our shirt-tail relative, Carl Hanson, install the dock. Later, I observed more closely my dad complete the task alone. As a young teenager, I actively helped my dad. Within a few years, I did the lion’s share of the work . . . while Dad supervised. Eventually, he merely observed from a chair and in response to my requests, hiked up to the cabin to fetch a tool I’d neglected to bring down at the outset.

The shoreline was challenging—steep and boulder bound—but Dad had engineered an ingenious system for sliding a heavy staircase down the bank and another clever way of assembling the heavy dock frames and decking.

Farther down shore at the Red Cabin, we have easier access—level ground that yields to a cutaway in a tree-guarded berm created by decades of spring ice floes. Adapting much of Dad’s basic design, I built our own dock out of treated lumber.  In time it acquired the same camouflaged appearance of Dad’s old dock at Björnholm.

As I’ve become Dad—with a back requiring respect—I’ve made further improvements to lessen the load and streamline assembly. For the most part, these modifications are undetectable once the project is completed. This year I experimented with a wholly modular design and with grand success. In the process I increased the years that I will be able to enjoy my annual engineering ritual.

I’ve slowed down for safety, though. Always lurking are myriad dangers to hands and back, but what makes me most cautious is the thought of slipping or stumbling in my hip-waders as I carry something over the slippery, stony lakebed immediately close to shore. Move too fast, slip and slide and you’re in the ice-cold drink, which then fills the waders and holds you down, submerged, while you gasp for breath and struggle to unsnap the wader straps and remove yourself from mortal danger. That exaggerated fear alone is enough to make me extra cautious.

It’s impossible to install the dock without thinking of Dad. I imagine him standing beside me or sitting nearby on shore, watching every move, offering suggestions, affirming my decisions. For the entire time we’re engaged in practical chit-chat. I know Dad would be as thrilled by the finished project as am I.

(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)

© 2021 by Eric Nilsson