Six Months Later

To close the circle on our New Year’s disaster, we sailed back to Avalon. Summer in Avalon is a study in craziness. Every stereotype, every hyperbole you have ever heard applies. It is crowded; it is loud; what happens in Avalon…The first couple of days were actually fairly docile, and we were going to leave by the weekend and chug up to the Isthmus. That was the plan until we checked the weather which called for winds gusting from the west at 25 mph. So we decided to stay. On Saturday afternoon a sudden blow instilled such déjà vu that Mark quickly got the dinghy motor off and back onto the boat, put the wheel back on, got shoes on while I closed things up and got ready to get out of “Dodge.” The “blow” lasted only about a half hour, maybe less. We got a couple of sprinkles, and that was it—a subtle reminder that we are not at all in control. We can only be prepared to face that which we can’t control. On Sunday we watched the great exodus that is usual for those having to go back to work. One fowled his prop, another coming in next to us almost hit us. Those with loud engines tuned them up to impress us all; those with dogs urged more barking. Avalon in the summer.