
I can perhaps be forgiven for humming the theme from Gilligan’s Island as we walked along the dock, returning safely to our sweet Branford abode. The old friends from Iowa set off on a one-two hour tour around the scenic Thimble Islands in the Long Island Sound, when the weather did not start getting rough but our small motor boat hit a hidden rock way out in the water. We kept going without incident, enjoying the scenery, the houses improbably perched on narrow slabs of rock and forest, until we got near the shore and our dock.

The motor crapped out.
We started drifting until it was wisely decided to drop anchor. Then we had about an hour to figure out a rescue plan before I needed to drive to Tweed airport in New Haven to catch my flight back to Chicago. A Sea Tow service couldn’t get there fast enough.

Just when I began seriously contemplating swimming sans proper swimsuit to shore (about a 15 minute swim…), neighbors Max Roberts and Jeff Hoyt came to the rescue, towing our boat with their’s. We quickly made it to shore, I did final packing, Nell made me a delicious sandwich, and we added another tale to tell about our storied friendship. And here I am blogging on the plane home, thankful for good friends and good neighbors too.














