The Heart That Traveled 200 Miles
On a sailboat… by truck
I drew a heart on that boat because I was smitten and I felt bad for her.
She was sitting alone in a freezing boat barn on Islesboro in December—dead quiet, cold enough that winter seemed to have settled into the fiberglass itself.
No movement. No sound except the building creaking in the wind.
It was a little Bayfield 25—sturdy, salty, and very clearly between chapters.
I was there alone that day, filming. Canadian Ken was probably home sitting in front of his fireplace like a sane person. Even this cold was too much for the man from up north.
And at some point, without really thinking about it, I ran a finger through the dust on the companionway door and drew a small heart.
Not for the camera. Just because. Because the boat deserved better than sitting there, forgotten in the cold.
Then I packed up, left the island, and moved on. At some point I learned she had sold. I was delighted. The new owners would pick her up in the spring and bring her home to New Hampshire.
This week, I got a message. The new owners sent me a picture of the boat, on a trailer. The new owner had just gotten her home. Not sailed away, but hauled—lifted out, trucked off the island, and delivered inland to upstate New Hampshire.
And while going through the boat—sorting gear, taking stock, beginning that familiar what did I just buy? process—they noticed something on the companionway doors.
A small heart. Still there in the dust.
I had completely forgotten about it. But somehow, it made the trip.
From a cold shed on an island in Maine…onto a truck…across state lines…and into the hands of someone beginning their own story with her. On freshwater, no less.
You can explain a lot in boating with numbers—price, condition, hours, specs.
But not that. Not why someone connects with a particular boat.
And not why something as small as a fingertip mark feels worth mentioning when you find it.
And as if the week hadn’t already made its point, another message arrived.
A client of ours had just launched his “new-to-him” Cape Dory 36.
Most people try to buy a boat close to home. Not this gentleman. He came over in March with one goal: buy a boat and sail her home. He did find this boat, lived and worked on her while she was on the hard, and just launched last week. And now he’s sailing her home…to Norway!
Across the North Atlantic.
So in one week:
A boat that couldn’t move under her own power crossed a couple hundred miles by truck, carrying a tiny, unintended mark with her.
And another boat pointed her bow at the horizon and left.
Different stories. Same thread.
These boats aren’t just objects. They carry stories, hopes, mistakes, second chances.
Sometimes they carry a person toward the horizon. Sometimes they carry nothing more than a heart drawn in dust.
And somehow, that can matter just as much.
So here, on the first day of May, a little proof that boats still carry hope.
Here’s the video about this wonderful boat: