I like ferries. This has been true for many years.
As a young child, I remember taking a ferry across to Martha’s Vineyard. You could smell the ocean, feel the breeze. Even as a kid there was some subconscious pull – watching the world go by, heading from one place to another – that gave me a warm feeling inside.
This past week, several members of our family ferried from Rockland, ME to Vinalhaven Island. We planned to e-bike the island. The weather was spectacular – crystal clear, a slight breeze, virtually no ripples in the water.
Setting off, you watch the world fall behind. I think that is part of the pull – the sense of watching the terrain recede, and then the anticipation of heading off to someplace new and worth exploring.
Us humans are explorers. I think ferries play to that. We prepare for the unknown, riding along, pondering what’s coming next. We anticipate. It feels good.
At the same time, you take in images of the world going slowly by. That is another big reason ferries hit my nostalgia button. You’re not catapulting around in a gasoline-fired engine, hurtling through stop lights, in traffic, worrying, paying strict attention to everything so that you stay safe. In that environment, you don’t appreciate the views, the surroundings outside your vehicle.
On a ferry, it’s all about what’s outside the boat. You’re watching birds, checking for porpoises or puffins or whales. You watch the fir trees sway in the wind. Seagulls ride the wind currents and you marvel at their ability to coast without flapping their wings. How far can they glide? Seaweed swirls in the water below. You smell salt and fish.
Back in 1982, when I bicycled across North America, I slowed down and ferried through the San Juan Islands off the coast of Washington state. It was bucolic, a pause in my trek that allowed me to step back and drink the Pacific Northwest environment. What a rush.
Last year, our son set up a ferry ride from Milwaukee across Lake Michigan to Muskegon for an annual golf outing we hold with his cousins and my brothers. We left very early in the morning. As land receded, it kicked off the start of a voyage, one that not only included the boat ride, but what was to come later in the week as we golfed, sat around the fire pit, shared stories and decompressed from life’s worries.
A ferry contributes to that feeling. Somehow you are released. You’re not the driver, so you can let go of those concerns. You can roam the boat, park your butt where you get the best views or just hang in the fresh air, breathing through your nose the smells wafting across the water.
A ferry means a change of scenery. You’re going somewhere, letting go and moving forward.
“Slow down, you’re movin’ too fast. Gotta make the mornin’ last.” Ride the ferry.
As a young child, I remember taking a ferry across to Martha’s Vineyard. You could smell the ocean, feel the breeze. Even as a kid there was some subconscious pull – watching the world go by, heading from one place to another – that gave me a warm feeling inside.
This past week, several members of our family ferried from Rockland, ME to Vinalhaven Island. We planned to e-bike the island. The weather was spectacular – crystal clear, a slight breeze, virtually no ripples in the water.
Setting off, you watch the world fall behind. I think that is part of the pull – the sense of watching the terrain recede, and then the anticipation of heading off to someplace new and worth exploring.
Us humans are explorers. I think ferries play to that. We prepare for the unknown, riding along, pondering what’s coming next. We anticipate. It feels good.
At the same time, you take in images of the world going slowly by. That is another big reason ferries hit my nostalgia button. You’re not catapulting around in a gasoline-fired engine, hurtling through stop lights, in traffic, worrying, paying strict attention to everything so that you stay safe. In that environment, you don’t appreciate the views, the surroundings outside your vehicle.
On a ferry, it’s all about what’s outside the boat. You’re watching birds, checking for porpoises or puffins or whales. You watch the fir trees sway in the wind. Seagulls ride the wind currents and you marvel at their ability to coast without flapping their wings. How far can they glide? Seaweed swirls in the water below. You smell salt and fish.
Back in 1982, when I bicycled across North America, I slowed down and ferried through the San Juan Islands off the coast of Washington state. It was bucolic, a pause in my trek that allowed me to step back and drink the Pacific Northwest environment. What a rush.
Last year, our son set up a ferry ride from Milwaukee across Lake Michigan to Muskegon for an annual golf outing we hold with his cousins and my brothers. We left very early in the morning. As land receded, it kicked off the start of a voyage, one that not only included the boat ride, but what was to come later in the week as we golfed, sat around the fire pit, shared stories and decompressed from life’s worries.
A ferry contributes to that feeling. Somehow you are released. You’re not the driver, so you can let go of those concerns. You can roam the boat, park your butt where you get the best views or just hang in the fresh air, breathing through your nose the smells wafting across the water.
A ferry means a change of scenery. You’re going somewhere, letting go and moving forward.
“Slow down, you’re movin’ too fast. Gotta make the mornin’ last.” Ride the ferry.
