“Bless This Boat and the Bird That Tried to Warn Us”
“Remember that time we went scalloping?”
I asked it with a smile.
The kind of smile that carries both fondness and trauma.
The kind that makes children in the backseat roll their eyes so hard you can hear it.
The kind of smile you wear when you’re still not sure whether the day was a memory or a near-death maritime comedy.
It was the summer of 2022, and we’d decided to rent a pontoon boat from a questionably charming marina in north-central Florida. The goal? Scalloping. The reality? Something… less elegant.
It began with a peacock.
I should have known.
The stray peacock in the parking lot should’ve been a sign, but I took it as quirky and maybe even magical. I grew up where weird animals aren’t red flags—-they’re just part of the background, but still, there was something about this bird.
Something feral, like maybe it used to belong to a woman named Becky before her engagement went south and she sent the bird into the wild as a symbol of heartbreak and unbothered revenge. I can’t say for sure, but I’m choosing to believe that’s the peacock’s origin story.
I feel that it really sets the tone, doesn’t it?
The “boat”
And I use the word “boat” generously.
It floated (mostly), and it moved (sort of), but the floorboards were patched with plywood and ambition, sealed with marine goop and duct tape that looked like it had been applied during a full moon by someone named Razzmatazz.
Still, it ran. So we did what all hopeful parents do—we went with it.
We reached the scalloping grounds with more optimism than wisdom. My husband and I hadn’t been in years, so we couldn’t remember exactly where the scallops were. We had a general idea, but didn’t want to park right next to another boat, so we moved the boat again. And again..
And then—
the engine stopped.
Not slowly. Not gently.
It stopped like a slap—jerking us so hard the kids nearly went airborne.
We were stranded.
Not in the “this is a documentary now” kind of way—we could still see land and were in relatively shallow water—but in the “how long until someone has to pee” kind of way, which, of course, quickly became relevant…and executed.
Snacks, screams, and S.O.S notes on Etch-A-Sketches
We waited over an hour for rescue, floating in a scallop-free zone with only Frito-Lay products and waning moral support to sustain us. I’m not saying the snacks saved lives, but I’m not saying they didn’t.
Eventually, the boat meant to rescue us arrived. The poor man tried to get our vessel running, but after some futile tinkering and maybe a whispered curse or two to compliment his nearly exposed backside, he tied our boat to his and began towing us back.
Just barely into our adventure back to the marina, another boat went by us at ludicrous speed and sent what looked like a tsunami of a wake in our direction.
And the impact literally ripped the rails off the front of our boat. Children screamed. Snacks flew. I contemplated whether this counted as a homeschool science lesson in buoyancy and chaos theory.
Our fearless hero (and his colorful vocabulary) jumped onto our boat and retied us to the back of his with the fervent gusto of an annoyed big brother dragging us home. The journey was long, loud, and at times uncertain, but we made it.
Barely.
Lessons from the drift
We returned weary and sun-drenched, scallopless and forever changed.
And while I’d love to wrap this up with a Pinterest-worthy photo and say it was magical—what it really was, was memorable.
And sometimes, that’s more important.
Sometimes parenting is letting your kids see you laugh when things fall apart (even though your desire to scream is fully justified.)
Sometimes it’s choosing not to panic when the rails come off the metaphorical (or literal) boat.
Sometimes it’s making the decision to see the adventure you planned absolutely wrecked and then choosing to embrace the adventure laid before you instead.
Why?
Because the kids are watching and in the mess, we’re showing them how to live with grace.
Final thoughts (and a gentle warning)
If you ever find yourself renting a “boat” in Florida:
Be wary of stray peacocks.
Bring extra snacks and duct tape (because you never know)
And never underestimate the value of silly selfies and S.O.S messages written on Etch-A-Sketches in moments of near-mutiny.
Because one day, when your kids roll their eyes and say,
“Remember that time we went scalloping?”
—you’ll smile.
Not because it went to plan, but because it didn’t.
And because somehow, in the mess and the mayhem, it became a story worth telling.
And while you may still be clinging to the scraps of your dignity—and what’s left of your kids confidence in your vacation planning—you’ll walk away with a few good local scallop charter recommendations, a stack of takeout menus, some great photos
and the kind of memory that grows funnier every time it’s told.