BROWN: Come with me to a faraway place
Let me take you somewhere different, somewhere far away. It’s 1960. I’m as young as my grandchildren are now and my father, who loves boats, has taken me to a marina in New Jersey where an ancient Crosby catboat is tied to a pier. She’s fallen into disrepair, gaps in her boards, paint peeling. It’s shivering winter and the ice around her cracks as we step aboard. Going below, there’s a foot of water in her bilge, covered with a scrim of ice. Not a good sign in a wooden boat. My father hammers through the ice with the butt of an icepick. Rolling up his sleeve, he plunges his arm ...