Special thanks to John Lightle for providing “Kiowa Boathouse” for our writing prompt.
John Lightle is a Texas writer, poet, and photographer who spends many hours sitting on his woodpile contemplating. When away from his frame shop, he schleps his artwork among area art shows. The job takes him across the countryside, occasionally overseas, photographing the quiet resolve found within the golden hours.
An afternoon thunderstorm pelts the corrugated metal roof that precariously covers a vintage mahogany Chris Craft. The cruiser was a gift for leisurely sunset jaunts along Naples’ inland waterways. But since its owner drowned mysteriously last summer, the boat keeps it secrets close as it sways alone in the hoist.
This is a vivid and moving story, Heather. Even boats have secrets of their own! It’s amazing how much story you were able to convey in such a short space!
I bridled at Jerry’s boast about his boathouse. I know dogs have them. That’s deserved. Love the pooches. But does any watercraft, no matter how yar, really warrant having an abode of its own. Brick and mortar, well wood mostly. When so many of our brothers and sisters do not.
We don’t live in an area with an ice cream truck, but the frenzy was still alive and well this past summer. My kids had fun seeing the trucks swing by the beach. 😄
Julie and I sat in the boathouse, fishing poles ready. She sat in a chair and had her cell in her lap. I heard a yelp as she got a bite and looked just in time to see her jump up, cell phone dropping between the slats into the lake.
The sunsets are nearly always beautiful at the lake house. Reds! Yellows! Purples! I sit and wait, almost every night, for the show that only nature can produce. Sometimes, there is nothing. Have I wasted my time then, waiting? No. I think of those other times, and times to come.
That summer was tantalizing and scorching hot. A radiant glow caressed my aching being. I was lying on the hammock and Summer of '69 was playing in the background.The sensuous reversal of numbers left me parched. 'Hey Summer, can I pour us a glass of wine, once you're done?!'
Okay... I am shamelessly cheating here. I have no 50-word story about a boat house. But here is a 110 word story about a boat house that will surprise you. Sorry Justin. Please forgive me, I couldn't resist... https://sharronbassano.substack.com/p/love-rise?
I remember this one, Sharron! Lovely. At the end of the day, there are no real rules here. But even if there were, you’re allowed to break ‘em whenever you want! 😄
Capsized (Fiction)
The word was goodbye, but I couldn’t say it.
It split my heart in two to give it breath.
So, I swallowed it down, like so many lungsful of water, brine, and vodka.
I stood in the boathouse, barefoot, dripping, waiting.
Knowing.
The party was over long before we capsized.
Ooh, Meg! Love this! Heart wrenching.
Thanks, friend!
If Boats Could Talk (fiction)
An afternoon thunderstorm pelts the corrugated metal roof that precariously covers a vintage mahogany Chris Craft. The cruiser was a gift for leisurely sunset jaunts along Naples’ inland waterways. But since its owner drowned mysteriously last summer, the boat keeps it secrets close as it sways alone in the hoist.
This is a vivid and moving story, Heather. Even boats have secrets of their own! It’s amazing how much story you were able to convey in such a short space!
Oooooo, Heather. Brilliant!
Hi Sharron. Still enjoying reading your amazing work....and checking in on 50's by the Fire! Hope your world is still full of kindness!
Right back at you, Heather Thanks
Unboathoused (fiction)
I bridled at Jerry’s boast about his boathouse. I know dogs have them. That’s deserved. Love the pooches. But does any watercraft, no matter how yar, really warrant having an abode of its own. Brick and mortar, well wood mostly. When so many of our brothers and sisters do not.
Excellent work, Scott! Ditto what John said.
Very kind as always
Scott, you went a step deeper and captured the irony of the boathouse. Good work, Mr. MacLeod.
Many thanks
Ice Cream Frenzy (Summer Memoir-1960))
The Ice cream man, Mom!
That little bell would tinkle, and chaos broke out in every kitchen within ear shot.
MOMMMM!!
He’s HERE, Mom!
MOMMM! He’s HERE!
Mom used to swear to God that she was going to change her name. But, some days, peace was worth that dollar bill.
We don’t live in an area with an ice cream truck, but the frenzy was still alive and well this past summer. My kids had fun seeing the trucks swing by the beach. 😄
Orange creamsicle, please! Fudgsicle, too! What a memory you elicited here, Sharon!
Thanks, Sharron! Drumstick ice cream for me!
Our Kingdom by the Sea - memoir
Our tiny kingdom
Surrounded by a swiftly moving current
Languishing
sweaty, sun-baked bodies
Secluded scrub-treed island, hidden in plain sight.
King of the Mountain-full of mystery and intrigue in the prime of our youth
And ignorance
Muddy banks, tiny feet, strangled heartbreaking wail.
Silence.
Our king falls.
I’m so intrigued by this, Deborah! Excellent work!
Thank you!
Your writing brings back such fond memories, so vividly, Deborah! Thanks!
Thank you!
The Phone Drop
Julie and I sat in the boathouse, fishing poles ready. She sat in a chair and had her cell in her lap. I heard a yelp as she got a bite and looked just in time to see her jump up, cell phone dropping between the slats into the lake.
Oh no! Lesson learned, I’m sure. 😆
Sunset --fiction
The sunsets are nearly always beautiful at the lake house. Reds! Yellows! Purples! I sit and wait, almost every night, for the show that only nature can produce. Sometimes, there is nothing. Have I wasted my time then, waiting? No. I think of those other times, and times to come.
Beautiful.
Summer of '69 ( fiction )
That summer was tantalizing and scorching hot. A radiant glow caressed my aching being. I was lying on the hammock and Summer of '69 was playing in the background.The sensuous reversal of numbers left me parched. 'Hey Summer, can I pour us a glass of wine, once you're done?!'
Very atmospheric, Sunil! This is great!
Hah! Great story. Speaks to an Era...
Era and Eros:)
Oh and what a time it was...
Okay... I am shamelessly cheating here. I have no 50-word story about a boat house. But here is a 110 word story about a boat house that will surprise you. Sorry Justin. Please forgive me, I couldn't resist... https://sharronbassano.substack.com/p/love-rise?
I remember this one, Sharron! Lovely. At the end of the day, there are no real rules here. But even if there were, you’re allowed to break ‘em whenever you want! 😄
Anarchy rules! No. Just kidding. But when you said "boathouse" I went over to the dark side. Won't happen again...
🤣
Excellent! I think you can be forgiven the excess words. But just this once!
Er... ah...thank you, RI. I don't know what got into me.
This one STILL makes me shiver! Yikes, Sharron!
The Visitor, non-fiction
I loved summer nights at the boathouse with toes dipped in the water. Peaceful and quiet, wind whispering in the trees, and birds bedding down.
Until the tranquility is interrupted. My sister screams, trying to escape an intruder. A cockroach flew down her shirt.
I laughed, because it wasn’t me.
Thanks for sharing this fun slice of life, Susan!