I’m stealing a memory. It belongs to my youngest brother.
The memory is about Gertrude, a row boat that Bill found submerged in our lake in Florida when we were kids. He and a friend somehow hauled her to shore, patched a hole in the bottom, and retrofitted her into a floating fort.
When they were done, Gertrude had an open-air cabin, diving platform, and glass-bottom bait well for detecting anyone launching an underwater assault.
My middle brother, David, and I delighted in attacking the boat, usually with friends as reinforcements. We’d swim out at night when Bill and his buddy were camping and commandeer Gertrude. Or during the day we’d run along the shore and pelt them with oranges until they rowed out of range.
Bill has spoken so often and so fondly of the boat over the years — today he sent me a photo of Gertrude — that I find myself imagining she was mine. I picture fixing up Gertrude and spending the night out on Lake Sybelia, lolling to sleep as the waves rocked her. I dream up tactics for repelling a sibling attack. Or think of cooking on their little grill.
I don’t need Bill’s memory; I have plenty of fond ones all my own — sometimes too many to keep at bay from here across the country in Portland. But Bill’s retelling of those times is like a siren song luring me in, though no dire consequence are lurking. Not that I can see.
Taking over the lead role in his story might enable me to remember what Bill claims to have forgotten: why he and his friend took Gertrude to nearby Lake Maitland one night and burned her until she sank.
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Hey, Michael!
I love the way you write. The last line of this one made my stomach hurt.
Thanks mouse. Much appreciated. When I visit my brothers in Florida next month, I may suggest a little swimming adventure: a search for Gertrude’s charred remains at the bottom of the lake. Imagine a recovered charred chunk of her hull and the photo inset in it. As I write, the aqua-scape sheltering what’s left of Gertrude comes into sharp focus, the vertical strands of plants stretching toward the sun, and the silence that awaits us down there. We spent an extraordinary amount of time submerged — so much that the images often flow back unbidden. Maybe there’s a wallpaper idea for you along this theme.
Hi Michael,
I have enjoyed your stories of Maitland and our WPHS Class of 68. I know that I read some of your postings about our class, but I don’t remember these stories about Maitland. I too lived in the area by the lake from 6th grade through High School. I remember when I went back to see the place after many years, there were many memories. I don’t know if you remember but my Dad landed his sea plane in the lake one day to come and pick me up. It caused a big stir in the quiet neighborhood including the local police coming down to give him a ticket because you see you couldn’t land a plane on the lake!!! I’m sorry that I missed the 40th reunion, but enjoyed seeing the pictures on the web page. I enjoy your stories and will return to read others. Diane Adams Whitmarsh
Hello Diane,
Nice to hear from you. (For some reason my blog has dated your comment as July 13, though I received your email today, Aug. 10, 2009.)
I vividly remember the sea plane “incident.” We were living in the big white house on the south side of Sybelia and saw the landing and the police. It was very exciting for us kids. I think we might have thought at first that the plane was crashing. For a long time we had been obsessed with finding the wreckage of a plane that was rumored to be in the wide and deep end of the lake.
Last September, I did an oral history interview with the Maitland Historical Society. I believe your dad’s unexpected lake landing came up for discussion.
I moved back to Maitland in 1982 after being out of the area since our graduation. Lived on George Avenue a few doors up from the lake for a couple of years. Nothing ever felt the same, though.
And speaking of the lake, I had a great email exchange with a man in Connecticut from whose family we rented our childhood home. You can find his comments at the end of this blog post: http://www.michaelbales.com/2008/05/31/looking-for-home/
All the best.
Mike