Mr. Toad, why did i choose this name for my com.pac 23/3

[mrtoad]

the following is from a sailing journal i am writing - many years ago after spending nine days sailing on the north carolina coast - returned home, typed my notes - seven pages - after years of rewrites - now the journal is 112 pages - the title page reads - - - the following is true and some is even factual - - - please note, this has not been edited and a few lines in the last paragraph are paraphrased from Wind and the Willows


   Mole, who had never been in a boat before in all his life, had said to Water Rat as they rowed across the river that it was so nice.

"Nice? It's the only thing," said the Water Rat solemnly, as he leant forward for his stroke. "Believe me, my young friend; there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing," he went on dreamily:  "messing – about – in boats; messing – about in boats – or with boats." In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't, whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there is always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not."

   This often quoted passage from Kenneth Grahame's The Wind In The Willows aptly describes my attitude toward boats and sailing. I mess around, dream, plan, spending the day visiting and talking, fixing, cleaning, talking some more. I like to sail, especially when I can sail or motor to a restaurant across the lake and have lunch. 
I do not care to race. Racing is artificial sailing. It is replacing Egyptian cotton with Mylar, brass with titanium; it is spending more time with rules than with tillers, replacing the stars with a G.P.S.  It is a by product of industrialization and the appearance of a class that does not appreciate the "wobblies."
The last time I raced with the club members (Lake Norman Sailing Club), all the others had returned to their slips before I had arrived and had gathered at the finish line (an imaginary line from the mark to the shore) as I, under full sail, drifted across the line. I was not only last but I was two places behind the last boat. To be totally honest and to be fair to all concerned– I am not last all the time – occasionally there are boats that "dnf" and I always finished ahead of the "did not finish".
   That race day, as I crossed the finish line they gave me boisterous cheers, a nice blast from the horn and a ringing round of applause. This does not erase the fact that they had eaten all fresh shrimp by the time I got to the party
Finishing behind last did not matter then and does not matter now – eating the food mattered. It is not going fast – just the going – or better still the planning to go while dreaming about the destination, the place that can exist only in the mind. It is sailing with my tanbark sails while all others are white. A well planned distinction. It is form over function.  It is tuning the rigging and all the while tuning the mind – it is feeling a rhythm of wind and wave and knowing there is a corresponding rhythm of soul and purpose. The rhythm of the universe. The journey to Ithaca.
The Tao of Toad – linking to past – it is sitting in the cockpit and holding the rudder and feeling the hand of every man who sailed from the harbor the first time seeking a new place and an adventure – it is quietly slipping into a cove with your lady, searching for solitude and sensing every pirate that similarly slipped into a cove seeking safety – it equates a clean and waxed topside, well oiled teak with, hiked over – romance of wave and surf – equating the touch of a lover with touch of the wind – the sound of orchestra with the music of bow plowing through water – it is form over function. The marriage of sea, weather, yacht and sail, past and present with one's soul, The Tao of Toad. The Journey to Ithaca.
   My boat name, Mr. Toad is also from Grahame's book. I relate to my little green friend. When I was a small boy, we came home from church, and while my Mother prepared lunch, we watched Disney's It's A Wonderful World. After watching Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, I read The Wind In The Willows. I have admired Mr. Toad from that day forward.  Mr. Toad, a dreamer who bought a nice horse drawn canary-yellow gypsy caravan, and had plans to spend the rest of his days traveling – that is – until he spotted a bright red motorcar. He made the bright red motorcar his the next day, but the motorcar was soon replaced by an airoplane. That's me. Not so much the reckless spending of my resources, but the all-consuming dream that reinvents itself with abandon.
   If I really were "Mr. Toad", I would kick back on my lily pad – late in the evening as the sun was setting and dream –  dream about other places where the sun sets - dream about things that could be – lean back, arms behind the head, careful not to crush my nice floppy hat – Emmylou playing softly on the stereo – maybe a small trolling motor (electric, of course – no industrial noise allowed on the pad) to maneuver (steered by a foot control) about the pond – place myself in the shade – only moving when the sun relocates the shade - this pad needs a bimini – sitting on seat cushions (that could also be use as a floatation device) that are color coordinated with the muted green pad - put my feet in the cool water and just relax – thinking, mulling things over – an occasional sip from a cold glass of sweet Southern ice tea – plan – look at sailing catalogs – think – where is an appropriate place to put teak on a lily pad? – make a sketch – make a note or two – and plan for pad improvements – plan for the next adventure - how could I make this the most admired pad on the pond - consider the next gadget – form over function – do a cost estimate – write out a detailed order – no stamps necessary - its just a plan, a dream – and tomorrow I'd come back to this place early in the dew of the morning – sit with my face to the rising sun – take the single server French press and brew a fresh dark Columbian roast, brewed with a hint of chicory, to be enjoyed in the comfort of my old friend, "my ceramic blue mug from Burgundy," take out my paper and pen, sit down, get comfortable, enjoy that first slow sip, take a deep breath and take in the fragrance think for a second, and with the drink of coffee drink everything  from my surroundings into my consciousness,  , or maybe the chamber maid would come carrying a tray, with a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talks to me, and with no uncertain voice; speaks of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender, listening to the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.
   And then, I would start all over. Yes, that is what I would do, for that is who I am. Rdeal i.e. Mr. Toad.

[Bob23]

   Just wonderful! 2 things are evident: We are in good company. And you are in good company.
I'm an avid MAIB reader and subscriber. The brave Mr. Hicks even dares to publish some of my stories! I seem to have always enjoyed swimming upstream, going against the flow, bucking the herd...you get the idea. I seem to be in good company here and at MAIB.
   Keep writing...keep the dream alive!
Bob23

[jthatcher]

thanks for sharing your writing..  great thoughts.. I have to ask my wife to read this.  she has been very supportive of the boat idea, but i am not sure that i have adequately described to her the "magnetism" that i experience when i am around boats..   when i was a kid, my uncle brought an old wooden rowboat that was well worn out to our house.. i am still not sure how that came to be, but  we put it out back under the apple tree in our yard, and i spent countless hours sitting in it, rowing the air, and dreaming about the day that i would have my own boat..    although i had a power boat on the lakes of new hampshire for a number of years,  I consider Adagio to be the first "real" boat in my life, situated in a spot ( Barnegat bay) from which I can explore the world...  or at least the east coast..  or maybe new jersey..  well, truth be told.. i have only really been out of toms river and into the bay, proper, once so far, but that is beside the point!  jt

[rwdsr]

It's wonderful to read someone who can put into words what I haved been feeling since getting into sailing two years ago.  Two things happened this week to cause some drastic changes in my life.  Number 1, I retired for the 2d time last Thursday, and (2) the same day, the Admiral fell at work and shattered her ankle.  I have been at the hospital in Nashville with her ever since.  So - There is going to be some real ups and downs for me in the coming days.  Thank God for all you guys and this website to stay up with while I can't sail.