A story about a family picnic. Copyright 2008.
Excitement exploded between ten children and their loving parents for darling dad had just agreed to take us out on his fishing boat. Mum organised the large box of mixed sandwiches and we ran wildly down to the wharf.
I was thrilled with my effort as I hastily clambered over tea-tree Cray–pots to get the best spot in the ship’s bow. From this vantage point I was to become mesmerised by the fluffy, white frothy-foam, dancing happily, as we sailed through the effervescent rocking waves, leaving a wide trail of ripples in our wake. I deeply breathed in this salty sea air that I loved and grinned widely as my brothers caught couta from hand lines at the stern. Peace enveloped my mood as I got a sense of how lucky I was.
Engines churned as scallop and Cray-fishing boats passed us painted in an array of blue, orange white and green. I watched entranced as they bobbed their pathway to deeper seas. My dad’s strong hands propelled our wooden boat into a calmer bay where he let my elder brother drop anchor. Dad lowered the dingy down and after climbing in, encouraged each child to jump one at a time into his loving arms.
We all had a turn at rowing to shore. Some struggled with one ore while the youngest sat on dad’s knee, hand enveloped by his. We had a playful swim and then when we were thoroughly famished, greedily deprived the feverishly squealing, squawking sea-gulls of any crumbs. The sandwiches rapidly demolished with glee, we returned home. I treasure this memory, aided by the pretty sea-shell and the smooth blue-grey stone picked up and taken home as a memento of the happy occasion of our family picnic.