Folk in Lowell & boating in Boston.

Five years of folk.

I took a train to meet up with my mother and Riley in Lowell, where we donned our forest green volunteer shirts and began sorting through the compostable externalities of the Lowell Folk Festival. Mom and I have annually volunteered here for half a decade—Riley joined us for the shirt and a check mark beside her NHS volunteering requirement. Mom discovered a Mercedes Benz hood ornament amongst the discarded plates of ethnic food, and we all had a great time.

A good sail.

Patrick has not been paying his phone bill, so Reid, Jenna, and I lounged on the boat at Courageous for an extra 45 minutes as he found wifi in Seaport and called a lyft to Charlestown. One of the Courageous staff offered to ferry him out to us, which sounded like a perfect arrangement.

He ended up arriving before we’d fully rigged the J/22, but our friend, excited to join in our fun, tossed him the rattiest life jacket, called him a flake, and hilariously gave him a hard time.

We set sail just in time for the wind to freshen up. With two newbies on board, Reid and I did our best to keep the boat from tossing them around. I was itching to push the boat harder, but it was good practice keeping the boat at a comfortable heel despite the howling breeze.

Highlight of the trip was probably a police boat engaging in needlessly hot pursuit of a power boat on the harbor. The wake he produced while tearing into a 180º was clearly a display of his love for the job.

Life is wonderful.

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