The snow kept falling, and the early spring sky tried to turn the droplets into rain; but nature won out, and the farther north we drove, the droplets turned into ice. Â The kind of ice that stings the skin, with a wind that cut into your ribs, far too hard. The driving involved white knuckles, while the water broke under the pressure, causing the waves to swell, and rock. It was far too rough for the Regatta to go on, here in this far, far away place. So, we gathered up our son, who had slept on the floor of the marina for the last two nights, and took him home for a rare, during-the-semester-visit, and fed him soup.
The best part, is hearing how grateful he is for a shower, a meal, a bed to sleep in, and a place to wash his clothes.