APRIL 29, 2025 – Today was a red-letter day. By sun-up, yesterday’s disagreeable weather was a distant memory, as was the dock salvage operation conducted on the cusp of nightfall. The only downside to the morning was the temperature at a stubborn 39°F. The relatively chilly air, however, was calm, and as I remarked to Jeff, “When it comes to dock installation, I’ll take calm and cold over warm and wavy.”
I whipped up a batch of pancakes served with a side of blueberries and walnuts and an ample supply of butter and real maple syrup. We dawdled, exchanging legal war stories while hoping the mercury would climb a few degrees. By late morning, however, the thermometer seemed stuck at 39, so we decided to get on which our mission: re-installing the dock.
The sun smiled upon our efforts and warmed us up to a state of genuinely good cheer. Loons calling close by were icing on the cake . . . Oops! Wrong idiom—the “icing” part, at least, but consistent with the favorable conditions, the work went swimmingly. In my waders, I worked in the water while Jeff brought the parts of my modularized dock system down the steps and handed them off to me. He also helped guide me in siting pipes and frame sections, refinements that are far trickier and more time consuming when I’m working alone.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw . . . The Barge. The barge is a common sight at this time of year in lake country. It’s an industrial size flat-top vessel equipped with a 300 hp outboard engine, a standing console, and most critically, a gigantic hydraulic forklift that can hold a one-ton boat lift and set it into position with the precision of a laser beam. In the next instant, I saw that the barge was lifting our lift from its winter resting spot on the steep bank of Blueberry Hill a few hundred feet from the landing. I then realized that the barge operator was planning to haul the lift another couple hundred feet down the shore to the Björnholm dock, not west to the landing, where it was supposed to be located. That the barge crew was on site at all surprised me. Given the challenge of defending the dock at our landing from the elements—first ice, then wind–I’d not yet called the marina to schedule installation of the lift. As was now readily apparent, the marina’s lift and dock installation schedule is on auto-pilot.
I splashed my way toward shore, pulled myself up and shouted to Jeff that we needed to intercept the barge crew to re-direct them back to the landing. To enhance my attention-getting, I slid down the berm, stumbled across the field of stones that extend out from the shore about 10 feet and yelled like a lunatic as I waved my arms like a maniac. Miraculously, the operator saw me, and throttled his engine. Like a shipwreck survivor spotted by a rescue boat, I felt a surge of ecstasy: the installation crew’s appearance had miraculously coincided with Jeff’s and my presence at the landing. Had all gone according to plan on the tree-planting front, we would’ve been off in the tree garden, wholly oblivious to the arrival of The Barge. And if the ice floe two weeks ago hadn’t radically bent the last two support pipes, requiring installation of replacements, and if yesterday’s windstorm hadn’t blown out the next section of dock, I wouldn’t have been in the water, reinstalling the pipes and dock and wouldn’t have seen the barge. I wouldn’t have been able to divert the crew from installing the lift at the wrong end of the property.
Breathless, I explained to the operator where I wanted the lift to be installed but that I could guide him to the exact spot where it needed to be placed. Dressed like a northwoods lumberjack in winter, the early 30-something guy told me he could give me a ride. He extended his hand to pull me out of the water, and I flopped onto the deck. Three minutes later (not enough time for what quickly developed into an interesting conversation with the operator and his assistant, both of whom were bright, likable, and salt-of-the-earth types) the barge was 50 feet out from the end of the landing dock. I slid back into the water, splash-walked to the end of the dock and pointed to the precise location for the front right post of the lift. With a professional’s touch, the operator gently lowered the lift into place. After inspecting clearances, I requested an adjustment of a foot in one direction and 18 inches in another. The operator met these refinements with nonchalant finesse.
Bingo! I was ecstatic and expressed my deep appreciation and gratitude.
But then it occurred to me—also on the list of high-priority projects was installation of our new dock immediately in front of the Red Cabin. Before Jeff and I could blink 10 times, the rest of the installation crew had scrambled down along the shoreline path and were on site to help the barge guys put the new dock into position. After I explained where I wanted the shore section to rest, the group went to work. In under 15 minutes, the job was completed to my satisfaction.
Again, I expressed repeatedly my thanks and delight to the whole crew. I’d been able to single out the crew boss and the team effort that he cultivated. In full earshot of each crew member, I said, “You sure have a fantastic group of people working for you, and that tells me that you’re a great boss.” He allowed a smile to come through from the deep hood of his down parka.
After a late supper and our usual unrelenting conversation about myriad subjects, Jeff shuffled off to bed in keeping with his disciplined adherence to Poor Richard’s sound, time-honored proverb. Donning my down jacket and ski hat, I grabbed the astronomical binocs and ventured outside . . . to the newly installed front dock. The clear sky formed a perfect stage in the round for stellar wonders. After making my usual “wish upon a star,” I held the binoculars to my eyes and scanned the heavens. It was my first view through those lenses since my cataract operations last month. What greater magnificence is there than that celestial brilliance, I thought, except the awestruck reaction to it by an earthbound human being?
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
