I was enjoying a coffee at the Crooked Lake Mercantile in Branchport, N.Y., at the head of Keuka Lake. My homemade row boat with its hand-painted camo pattern was on the roof rack of my Hyundai station wagon. Three signs had been affixed to the car. Each read:
THIS BOAT IS NOT FOR SALE.
THIS BOAT IS NOT FOLK ART.
PLEASE DO NOT BOTHER ME.
HAVE A NICE DAY.
Keuka Lake is one of the Finger Lakes, and the communities like Branchport are overrun with tourists from Memorial Day to Labor Day. At that moment, a young family was exiting their Mercedes SUV and admiring my boat.
Rick, the father commented, “What a great souvenir of our Keuka vacation. A traditional Finger Lakes row boat. And look honey, it would fit on our roof rack. Couldn’t you just see it displayed as an end table on our deck back home? And I think the kids could row it while we are here.”
Rachel, his wife, responded “But my myopic partner (somebody had majored in English at Sweetwater), perchance did you notice it is vehemently not for sale? There is no ‘maybe’ there. That is pretty clear, hey?”
“That’s the challenge. Besides, he added ‘Have a Nice Day,’ He did not need to add that. Before we leave here on Friday afternoon, I am buying that boat.”
I emerged from the store, and reluctantly engaged with the family admiring the boat. I made the socially mandated small talk, but with just the slightest edge of irritation. After all, I had signs specifically meant to prevent such conversations. Ironically, the signs were now used in the opening gambit from these folks.
“We see the signs. And we’ll go away if you want. But we’re really curious. Why the signs?”
“Well the boat is either on the water or atop my car. Like anybody else, I enjoy sitting here having a cup of coffee, or going down to the park to sit at a picnic table and work on some decoy repairs, or enjoying a quiet row for bird-watching below the museum. I got a little tired, some days, of being pestered by so-called folk art experts and gallery owners telling me what I’ve got. I know who built and painted this boat, and it certainly was not John Jacobs or one of his descendants. I mean, there are similarities to what John used to make, especially in the paint job, but this is not a Jacobs boat. I just get sick of people telling me I am the one who is wrong. It is not how I want to spend my time at the lake.”
“It is really striking. I do not believe I have seen anything quite like it. And it works?”
“Of course. This isn’t some museum piece. It is a fine boat. It rows well for a one-man boat, excuse me ma’am, a one-person boat. It can hold a couple dozen decoys come duck season. And if you get into a big pike or musky, that fish will give you a ride. It has almost no draft, so I can pole it through shallow marsh, and it is light enough I can load and unload it myself. It can handle two-foot waves, maybe more, but I have never taken the risk.”
“Are there others like it locally?”
“I am determined not to tell anybody who the builder and painter were. Collectors can be real nuisances. I do know that there are no others surviving. There may still be a few boats by John, his kids, his grand kids, but most have rotted away in somebody’s shed. A few of the last of that line were grabbed up by collectors, but most died a natural death. Well, sorry, but I need to get going. Have a nice day.”
On Tuesday, Rick and I crossed paths, and I provided a little more context for the boat: “You know, I got this boat originally for my son, when he was about the same age as your kids. A boy or girl has got to have a boat. You can’t get that kind of independence in a video game. You have to get your timing right, but you give a kid a row boat, a fly rod and a single-shot 20-gauge, they will be OK. Worked for me. And now, my son has returned the boat to me.”
Rick went back to their rental cottage (bigger than any house I ever owned) and reported this conversation to his wife. There was the recognition of how difficult it was going to be to get the boat, and a growing realization how important it is that they make the purchase.
As I sat with my decoys on Thursday morning, I was surprised to see that it was Rachel, the wife, this time: “I had to get out of the house. After two weeks, I get a little claustrophobic.”
“Grab a seat. It is usually peaceful here in the mornings.”
“Thanks.” After maybe five minutes of silence, she started in. “You know, Rick won’t stop talking about that boat. I think first he saw it as folk art, as you feared, but now he is going on about how important it is that our son gets his own boat. I guess we’ll be looking for one. You wouldn’t reconsider putting us in touch with the builder, would you?”
“Sorry, won’t go there.”
“Well, listen, I know Rick will be going home disappointed, and I was wondering if I could maybe buy one of your decoys as a consolation gift.”
“Jeez, am I going to have to put signs on my decoys too?” I said with a smile. “These are not decoratives. These are working decoys. In fact, you can see that a couple of these have marks from being hit by shot during the hunt. These aren’t really pieces for the mantel; I mean, they even smell a bit like the lake. I wouldn’t feel right.”
“No, no, I want the real thing for him. You’ve seen the shite they sell in these shops. I want to give him a genuine article. He is not getting the boat he wants, but at least he’ll have one of your decoys.” Oh, she was good. Did you notice how she slipped in the bit where I should be feeling some guilt about holding on to the boat so tightly?
“I wouldn’t even know what to ask. Why don’t you just take one? You are nice folks.”
“No, we insist. Ah, well . . . I don’t want to insult you, so tell me if I am way off on this. How about $100 for this male mallard?”
“A drake, he’s a drake. If you are sure, I guess I’d take that. There is a lot of hand work that went into that deke. That seems fair.”
“Thanks so much. It was great meeting you. And if you ever decide to sell that boat, we would give it a good home.” Yes, she was good. She was setting me up for one final push. She knew they were winning me over, wearing me down, bit by bit.
I spent Friday afternoon at the Crooked Lake Mercantile again. I was inside getting a coffee, when I saw Rick, Rachel and the two kids again looking at the boat. I guess they couldn’t find a place to rent a cute little puppy for the morning. They were also looking at the signs. Somebody had taken a sharpie and added to each sign “MUST HAVE. $2800. Please call. Jimmy 404-432-6607. “
Rick found me at the coffee counter, as I was just getting ready to leave. “Hey, there he is. Saw the boat out front. We wanted one last talk before we head south.”
“I have to tell you, that boat is some sort of magnet today. Collectors. Bloody collectors. Probably wouldn’t even put the boat in the water ever again. That kind of money is tempting to a retiree, but I would not do that to this boat.”
“Listen, you’ve been so nice to us. And I really hesitate to even ask this. But Rachel and I really responded to what you said about a boy getting a boat, a fly rod and a gauge. And we very much love this boat. It is exactly want we want, what we need. I know you would think it crazy to spend that kind of money (a nod to the $2800 note) for a row boat, when we could get one for a few hundred dollars at Sears. This is the one we want. As part of the deal, we would promise to return the boat to you if it ever is retired.” Well, I knew that was completely unbinding and unenforceable, but I appreciated how hard they were trying.
“Rick, I would not take $2,800 for that boat, even from the Smithsonian. That is just too much. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I don’t think you realize the value of this boat. You are probably remembering when you bought it. Things have changed. There just aren’t handmade boats being crafted these days. People are not hand-painting their boats anymore. You’re underselling this craft. We would be honored if you would take $2,000 for the boat. It will make our vacation if you say yes.”
I had guessed the offer was going to be $2,100, but no need to quibble.
“I’ve got to call my son on this. It was his boat.” I moseyed away to make the call and have a heart-felt conversation.
“This is not an easy decision. But I’ll do it. $2,000.” I delivered this with a big smile and a hearty handshake. We transferred the boat to the SUV, I got my cash, we thanked each other, and the happy little family headed home to Baltimore.
When I returned to work on Monday, I pinned one of the “THIS BOAT IS NOT FOR SALE” signs on my cubicle wall. My editor, John Jacobs, asked me about my time up at Keuka.
“Any luck?”
“Oh yeah, I caught a big one.”
“What are you doing for the rest of the summer?”
“Well, I’ve got a boat in the works.”
“Seems like you always have a boat in the works. You know, most people just go and buy one.”
“It’s not the same. There really is something special about making your own boat. A sense of accomplishment.”
Credit: Source link
