Saturday Evening

After a delicious evening meal Saturday evening, we were sitting on the porch relaxing. Himself had had his shower back in the timber and I was looking forward to mine but one of the projects I had outlined for myself today was pulling the run-away dock out of the pond. I told Himself that I was going to put on the mud boots and see if I could get the dock to shore before I went and showered.

So I donned the boots. Himself said he’d better come along in case I needed help and I waded out into the pond. I pried the dock up with a pole but could hardly budge it as there was still one pole attached to the dock and embedded in the muddy bottom of the pond. After working at it several minutes, Himself offered to go get the 4-wheeler and maybe we could get a hook on it with the tow line. I was in deep enough now that water was running in the top of the boot and the boots were getting stuck in the suction of the soft mud bottom. I was floundering, my broken toe pulling against the quicksand. I had to reach down and literally pull the boot out of the mud with my hands. Then Himself came and threw me the line and I hooked the dock. After trial and error and ungainly action in the pond, we wrestled the dock to shore. We gotter done.

Afterwards, sitting on the porch, relaxing and talking about how to fasten the recovered dock to shore, we had a brainstorm. We’ll build a new dock 8' or 10’ square so fishermen can take their chair and tackle box down to fish or I can take 5 or 6 grandchildren down to look and sail leaf boats. Or Himself and I can just go down and kick back! We will build a new dock. After all, Himself is a professional dock builder. Practically.

Now, if we are going to build a new dock, why did we go to all that trouble to wrangle the old dock?