ON A “NEARLY EVEN KEEL”

JUNE 18, 2021 – Today is our 38^th anniversary, but who’s counting? Actually, when you stop counting, years accelerate, and one day you wake up to a number that’s significantly more than half the years of your life (so far).

The story of how and where we met and married is as good as any. It all took place at Björnholm, our family’s lacustrian retreat in northwest Wisconsin. The opening scene was in June 1982. I was drying out after sailing, while others were lounging about or working on projects. Outside in front of the cabin sat my mother and my grandfather (Mother’s dad), who was visiting from New Jersey.

Our place was—and remains—quite secluded. On the Fourth of July, people’s activities can be heard, but they are never seen, and only once in a blue moon does anyone wander onto the property. One such blue moon occurred that June. Standing inside I heard voices I didn’t recognize. I moved to the front windows to investigate and saw a couple of young women. One (the correct one, as it turned out) of the two, I thought, deserved immediate attention, and so I slipped casually out the front door to make her acquaintance.

Identities were quickly established, and on the promise derived from favorable initial impressions, the subject woman (“Beth”) and I continued conversing after the others had drifted away. In the process I developed the idea to take “Beth” sailing.  A few minutes later, I put the idea into words. A strong breeze, however, was producing impressive whitecaps, and when Beth took stock of this, she declined my offer. What I didn’t know was that she had been an eyewitness to my embarrassing mishap about an hour earlier.

I’d been out on the water alone, sailing my little boat to its outer limits—and beyond. In other words, I’d capsized and of all places, straight out from Beth’s family cabin. I’d sailed hundreds of times all over the lake but capsized only four or five times—that being the last occasion (so far). I experienced some difficulty in righting the boat, but when Beth’s two older brothers (I later learned) offered help, I sheepishly declined.  (A good sailor doesn’t flip his boat except on purpose, and that flip hadn’t been on purpose.) Ultimately, I turned the boat upright, climbed aboard, and sailed off to home port. And Beth’s young niece egged her unattached aunt to hike down the shore in the direction of Björnholm . . . to investigate.

Back to the conversation with Beth . . .

Undaunted by initial rejection, I decided that the best tactic was to keep talking long enough for the wind to subside and the waves to lose their crests. Conditions eventually improved, whereupon I raised the question again . . .

A voyage ensued—one on a nearly even keel.

Almost exactly a year later, we were married in the exact spot where we’d met. And now . . . it’s 38 times around-the-sun later.

Here’s to many more . . . on a “nearly even keel.”

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

© 2021 by Eric Nilsson