My aged companion, Crisp, and I spied the old rowing boat.
“When we were kids,” she said, “my family rented a house that came with a rowing boat. Ours was called ‘Misery’ and for a good reason. Dad loved to fish, and each day he’d gather us kids, up and off we’d go. One day he announced we were going out to the third peg. The pegs were actually navigation markers to keep you away from grounding your boat. Dad always made a point of rowing, wanting to get there and into the fishing. We kids on the way back got a go. We ranged from incompetent to mildly incompetent.
One day out on the lake, a southerly hit. We had to row back against it. This was when ‘Misery’ lived up to her name. We struggled taking two strokes to make any progress, and by the time we reached shore, we were exhausted. Dad grabbed his bag of fish and was off to show it off to mum.