My first memories of the ocean all have one thing in common, the rocky coasts of Kennebunk, Maine. This sleepy vacation town looks just how you would expect it to. Old wharfs, lighthouses, lobster boats, and seagulls as far as the eye can see. Almost every weekend of my elementary school summers were spent in this coastal paradise. Lucky for me, my grandparents lived there and had plenty of room to spare for visitors. Although not Maine natives, they tried their best to fit in. My grandfather played the part mostly through his ownership of a small Boston Whaler center console boat. It was mostly a solitary effort, just him and the ocean. That is until he decided to bring me along one day.
I was hooked almost instantly. I fell in love with the ocean over the course of that first summer. It wasn’t long before my grandfather taught my how to drive the boat. I could barely see over the steering wheel, yet there I was bringing the boat in and out of the harbor. My grandmother really did not like the idea of her second grade grandson driving around a boat, but my grandpa backed me up. We were a team. The two of us explored every little cove for miles on either side of Kennebunk. On time we almost got boarded by the secret service for getting a little too close to former president George H. W. Bush’s home.
These were the stories that we made together. Like old salty sea dogs we came back to tell my grandmother of that day’s adventuring. Out there on the water I felt like the king of the world. No teachers to tell me what to do or grownups to tell me I was too little. Just a grandfather teaching his grandson everything he knew about the ocean. Laying the foundation for a lifelong passion that would only continue to grow.
Now the Kennebunk house has long been sold and the little Boston Whaler has been on blocks for years. But to me it all still feels like it was just yesterday. Those summers made me who I am today.
