The Ship of a Dream

She’s not much to look at; her features have long since been weathered by time. She’s old, and no one bothers with her much anymore - she’s outlived her usefulness to the world, cast aside like a worn glove. She’s lived in Cape Vincent for over 20 years. She was a hard worker and did what was demanded of her, as best as she could. Men used to take her out quite a bit, and enjoy her company; only the occasional visitor comes by now.

 Her name is Anna, and she unfortunately sounds like too many older people in society.

      Only Anna is a boat - She’s only about thirty-eight feet long, and technically, she’s a “Block Island Trawler” - a purse seiner - in other words, a fishing boat. That’s not exactly a romantic moniker, like “Allure of the Seas”. Her paint is peeled, and her mechanicals are shot. She isn’t historically significant to the area - her type was born in Rhode Island or Connecticut, and certainly not a river vessel you’d typically find on the St. Lawerence. She was brought here to be the marine equivalent of a contractor’s truck - a mechanical mule that would serve a prettier vessel. But this is only part of Anna’s story.

      You see, Anna left the water over 20 years ago; she lays on her keel at the Anchor Marina, slightly listed, looking uncomfortable, like someone lying on rocks. She can’t get comfortable, and her body - formerly strong oak timbers - is rotting away from the ravages of wind, water, cold, and heat.

  What is it about the Mona Lisa’s smile, Michelangelo’s Pieta or a piece by Bach? You like it, but you don’t know 𝘸𝘩𝘺 you like it. There is an inherent 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 about it that we are drawn to.

     There is that 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 in Anna.

     And that’s why people are so enamored with her; why they write about her, venture on private property to photograph her, and create paintings and carvings out of wood.

     This writer, having unknowingly trespassed to see her, gets it. She’s big enough to be impressive, but small enough to be manageable; in rough shape, but probably repairable. She seems like a sad old dog, staring at you behind a cage door, asking to be saved without words to speak.

     𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 is Anna.

     Some don’t want her around anymore; she was never part of our history they say, and where do you think you’re going to put her? You’re not going to block my river view!

     Others want to do 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 with her, but what that is has found no consensus; maybe fix her up a bit cosmetically and put her on display somewhere; take her wheelhouse off and put it in a restaurant, sell her engines and fuel tanks, and scrap the rest. Where is the money to fix her up and repair her? Is being made seaworthy out of the question?

     People are inherently drawn to things getting fixed up, restored, and made useful again; we’re not a totally throw-away society - yet. This writer, a frequent visitor to YouTube, has seen videos of restored objects with 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 of views. It seems to both satisfy and please people.

     What’s going to become of Anna? I would say whatever enough people want - including the owner, Ronald J. Trottier. If I could work my will, I would have her restored to seaworthiness, and I would put her back in the water, and she’d be a treasure and credit to the community, an asset. She’d be an inspiration to others, showing that you can come together as a community and make something good of a rotting situation. Perhaps even charging for short rides to keep her in good shape for future visitors.

     How cool would 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 be?