Mary Jane

Hold the gate! Dee shouted to Dave. He was deaf in one ear but always managed to hear when she was close by. His deep green eyes would light up when he saw her, and he was always the first to wave with his beaming smile when they crossed paths at the marina. Today was no different. Scanning his security fob and waiting for the click to release the bolt, Dave waited as Dee raced towards him with a wobbly wheelbarrow piled high like a double ice cream cone.

Dave lived on his pristine 1997 Bayliner fishing boat called Mary Jane. The boat was 21 years old but was meticulously maintained. Dee wondered if it was named after someone, ‘maybe his wife?’ It was the way he cared for it, so painstakingly, like it was the love of his life.

‘Tide’s real low today. Watch yourself on the ramp,’ Dave said as Dee slipped through the gate. She cracked a half smile and gave a quick nod as she passed, not noticing the cane in Dave’s right hand and the weakness in his stance, her eyes focused on the steep ramp ahead.

Dave was considered the marina watchdog where Dee moored Hummingbird, her red and white 1983 Catalina sailboat. Sitting each day on a folding lawn chair in his cockpit, Dave would read old books and boating magazines left in the marina laundry room or he’d listen to the local classic rock radio station. Hotel California was his favorite song and each time it came on the radio he would sing the chorus with passion, ‘Welcome to the Hotel California. Such a lovely place…’ adding to the symphony of seagulls and the percussion of halyards pinging against the masts throughout the dock.

Forever friendly and social, Dave was always ready to lend a hand to the transient boaters coming in. Dee avoided Dave’s eyes when he was nearby, knowing he would see that as an invitation to pop over for a visit. ‘He’s a bit annoying, always wants to chat’ she would tell her coworkers at Sunshine Plant & Feed, the local plant store where she worked. ‘I have better things to do.’

Unlike Dave, Dee hated small talk and most people. Fiercely independent, Dee was raised by her Dad, a quiet man who loved gardening, sailing and bird watching. He particularly loved hummingbirds and thought that was the perfect name for a sailboat. ‘Hummingbirds are capable of travelling great distances and are symbols of joy and good luck,’ he told Dee. Her most coveted T-shirt was a gift from her Dad the year he passed. Now stretched out of shape, with fraying edges and faded from years of wind and wear, the words on the front were still legible: ‘INTROVERT. BUT WILLING TO DISCUSS PLANTS.’

The marine weather report said highs of 12 degrees and light wind. ‘A perfect day to work on the boat and get ready for the season ahead,’ she thought.

Unzipping the dodger and climbing into the cockpit at the beginning of the season has a unique smell. It’s the musty, salt air, seaweed smell that gathers on a boat over a long rainy West Coast winter. As Dee unlocked the galley door she paused to listen for the heater buzzing in the cabin below over the distant sound of Dave’s radio 4 slips down. With her gear unpacked she cracked open an IPA left in the fridge from the previous season and started to deep clean the cupboards in the galley.

This was Dee’s favorite time and place, where the world disappeared, and she could focus on Hummingbird and the boating season that lay ahead. But today was different. The owner of the plant store had called an unexpected staff meeting that morning to announce that they were downsizing the feed sales division. Dee was on the list to be let go at the end of the season.

Once the cleaning was done, Dee locked up the galley hatch and zipped the dodger, taking stock of the upper deck and what to clean next. As she walked away she felt a deep sadness at the thought of having to let Hummingbird go. It made her feel safe, loved, like her father was there with her, in the wind, soaring free.

Her slip was old, unstable and rotting at both ends. It listed to the left, creating a lip where it joined with the main dock and each year it would get worse. It was always a challenge to navigate, with or without a loaded wheelbarrow. As she passed by, Dave shouted from his cockpit ‘Hey! I talked with Mike and he’s finally agreed to fix your slip’. Mike was the marina manager. Nice enough old guy but he sure was cheap when it came to marina maintenance. As Dee carried on she hollered back, ‘’Thanks Dave!’ and then mumbled to herself ‘Seriously, why does he care so much?’

When Dee returned to her boat the following Sunday there was a FOR SALE sign on Mary Jane and the railing to Dave’s boat was locked. The galley was dark and the usual lawn chair in the cockpit was gone.

That’s odd’, she thought. ‘Why would Dave sell that boat?’

Weeks passed and each time Dee went down to the marina, Mary Jane sat empty. She made a mental note to ask Mike, but never got around to it. Algae started to grow on the bow and around the railings. A couple of ravens had set up camp on the dodger roof, leaving crab legs and shells as evidence of their feasts.

Come mid-July, after a 2 week trip to Desolation Sound, Dee pulled Hummingbird into her slip expecting Dave to pop his head up and yell ‘Need a hand?’ For years, he was always there when she docked. It took a minute to remember that he hadn’t been around for awhile. It wasn’t until her boat was tied up and the engine off that Dee noticed Dave’s boat was gone.

‘Humm, must have sold,’ she thought, feeling a sudden sense of sadness.

As she walked up to the marina office to get a wheelbarrow to unload, Dee realized that her slip had been fixed. When she glanced back to confirm, she imagined Dave and how he would have cheerfully waved to her with a thumbs up, proud that her slip was now the nicest in the marina.

When Dee returned there was an envelope sitting in the cockpit. Her name was written

on the front in shaky handwriting. Dee paused looking around to see who was close by that could have dropped it off. She sat down and turned on the radio. ‘You’re listening to The Lounge, music with style. Here’s one for the summer sun, The Eagles with Hotel California’. Thinking of Dave, she opened the envelope. Inside was a letter, a certified check for $20,000 payable to Dee and a black notebook.

The letter read:

Dear Dee,

It pains me to write this letter to you because I know that the day you read this it means that my boat has sold and that I am gone.

I watched you over the years tend to your boat with so much pride and admired your keen interest to learn about boat maintenance. But mostly, I loved watching you return from your trips ragged from the wind and salt air always glowing with the same smile I have known too well myself.

I heard about the plant store downsizing and that you’ll likely lose your job. I’d hate to see you lose your boat too, so I updated my Will requesting that the proceeds of the sale go to you. I know you’ll use the money well.

I also requested that you receive my boat journal. This cherished notebook was a gift from my wife Mary Jane. It’s filled with stories of our favorite boat trips, secret anchorages and wonderful adventures, plus many lessons and tips on boat maintenance. But mostly, it’s a journal of a life well lived.

Remember, people can give us roots too, not just plants.

With fondness & respect,

Dave & Mary Jane

Dee sat in silence, numb with shock and disbelief. Holding the black notebook in both hands, she ran her fingers over the hardcover and rounded edges. She then pulled back the black elastic band that bound it together and tucked the certified check inside. Flipping quickly through the notebook she discovered densely written journal entries and the occasional sketch, pages with folded corners, some stained or watermarked and barely legible, others with business cards or newspaper clippings taped to the page. Suddenly the word Hummingbird caught her eye. Dee paused and began to read:

***

June 5, 2004

‘Today an interesting young woman showed up at the marina solo in a sailboat called ‘Hummingbird’. Winds were blowing hard and her landing was a bit bumpy coming in so I offered to help tie off, but she was sharp in her refusal. Not a talkative one. A tough nut and I bet she’s stubborn too. Her boat needs some work. I think I’ll be her friend.’

‘What a kind man,’ she thought. ‘Why was I so hard on him?’

Suddenly, Dee’s phone pinged and she paused to check the text. ‘Hi. I’m Alex. Just dropped off an envelope on your boat from my Dad. I’m new to town. Just bought a house by the marina. The yard’s a mess and I’m looking to hire a gardener. My dad said you might know someone?’ :-)