It’s been windy here on the Chester River. I’ve noticed, because for the last two weeks I’ve been trying to get back out on the water and do some rowing, and every morning I’ve been thwarted by the weather. Until today.

I was roused an hour earlier than my alarm was set to go off by my youngest, neediest child. Apparently 5am is the best time to have a snack if you’re 5 months old and growing like a banshee. So after August was fed, I actually had time to skulk around, have some breakfast, finish an article I started reading 3 weeks ago, and even put on deodorant. Yeah, wow, right?! And then, of course, approximately thirty seconds before I had to walk out the door at 6:25, Alden popped out of her room and demanded breakfast. I pretty much threw some cheese and a banana at her as I ran out he door yelling, “Don’t wake up Papa!”

The boathouse is a mere two blocks away from the Barn. And this morning was just gorgeous.

As a member of the Chester River Rowing Club, I have access to a handful of single sculls. Obviously, I can only use one a time, so this morning I generously shared them with fellow rowing enthusiasts Ann and Sue.

It was just about high tide – high enough that the edge of the parking area/boat ramp had turned into a wide and shallow puddle. Ann was clever enough to bring boots.

Her cleverness, of course, meant that she got to do all the mucking around while I tiptoed around in my socks, not getting wet. As we carried our boats out to the dock, we noticed a great deal of activity in the puddle. It appeared that it was fry-day at the beach (or rather, on the gravel).

There must have been 50 of them in that puddle. I tried to shoo them back into the water, but no luck.

As early morning fog lifted and the sun started to shine, we headed off.

Today we headed upriver towards the Chester River bridge. As a novice rower, my boat of choice is a fat, slow, stable clunker. Someday I will work my way up to those lightweight slivers of nothing that the hotshots use, but for now I’m happy that I don’t have to worry so much about pitching myself into the drink at every stroke.
Plus, it’s yellow. Plus, it’s got a great name.

I’ve never rowed under the bridge before (as a novice rower, my risk of crashing while straining to see where I’m going is decidedly high). But today the water was calm, the winds were low, and the bridge didn’t appear to be doing anything tricky. So, under I went. I don’t know why, but there’s something thrilling about slipping under the drawbridge while big trucks go clonking by above your head.

It was a beautiful, beautiful morning to get back out on the water. If any of you out there are local or semi-local and are looking for a way to get some exercise or enjoy the river, check out the Chester River Rowing Club – they offer classes for beginners and racing and recreational rowing for the already-initiated.

And for those of you who have been worried through this whole post – the tide had gone out a bit by the time we got back, but it appears none of the fish fry got stranded in the gravel. Also – Alden promptly woke Matthew at 6:35. Pretty much as soon as she finished her banana and cheese.