They made me back onto the boat. First time. If I have my way, it's also the last time. I got new glasses last week, and my peripheral vision hasn't quite caught up to the new state of affairs. Boat guy stopped me at one point and said, "You've got two inches on this side. You got about twenty feet on the other side."
"How about I pull up and start over?"
He seemed to think that was a good idea.
Regarding the topic of place in literature, you can see how someone who grew up in this neighborhood would construct a worldview different from someone who grew up in Des Moines or Atlanta. No cornfields. No mass transit. No buildings blocking the view or the wind or the sun.
The water was rough enough that we approached Middle Bass via the east side of South Bass. Only the second time I've been on a ferry when that was necessary.
Growing up, I always loved the ferry rides when the water sprayed over the deck.
(My camera lenses work better after a splash of lake water.) In the background are the remains of the old Lonz's marina.
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