When you get engaged kayaking through Mongolia and you’re a lover of making the ordinary slightly less ordinary, you wind up here, at the kayakiversary. Each year around the 13th of July, we celebrate. We celebrate the quirkiness that is us, the excuse to do something ridiculous, and the joy that is a blow up boat bobbing in a body of water.
Our first kayakiversary took us from my office, down the Charles, and into Boston. We drank a bottle of bubbly (though thankfully this time it did not need to be chilled in the river); we paddled and paddled and paddled; we ate dinner; and then we hopped on the T with our boat and our paddles. We were happy fools. Such happy fools.
Kayakiversary two we had a three month old little boy on our hands, so the adventure of the previous year seemed rather ambitious. Instead, we blew up the boat, popped it in the Manchester Harbor, and paddled out to Sand Dollar Cove. Again, we drank ourselves a bottle of bubbly, reflected on where the year had taken us, and embraced an afternoon of sunshine all to ourselves. And then we carried the still-inflated-boat through the streets of Manchester, amidst numerous odd looks and giggles, up the hill, and into the backyard for its freshwater bath. Any port in a storm.
Which brings us to this year. Our kayakiversary should have happened last weekend, but when you have a boy with a horridly contagious virus, you tend to stay away from people. Or at least from people you know. Anyways, we shifted a week, and this Saturday we hauled the boat down the hill, blew her up, tossed her into the harbor, and away we went. Happy fools on the open seas in a blow up boat (no one ever said we were the brightest bulbs).
In our euphoria of parenting freedom for the afternoon, we had not a care in the world. Until we heard an authoritative voice holler, Yellow kayak! Yellow kayak! Show me your life preservers!
To which my magnificent husband hollered back, Our seats are inflatable!
Right. So the Harbor Master pulled us over, and immediately the shame at the thought of having to call my mom for a ride home crept in. We hadn’t even opened our champagne yet!
But sometimes the world is kind, and this was one of those sometimes. After a brief lecture and the loan of a couple of life jackets, away we went, happy fools once more.
The bubbly popped; the fools relaxed; the boat stay inflated.
And thus a tradition was born.