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In 1989, Jerry decided he wanted -- no, needed -- a  canoe.  We were living in Southern Connecticut on the Long Island Sound  at the time.  There were beautiful salt marshes, small and large rivers,  idyllic lakes.  What this meant was that everywhere we went we saw cars  with canoes strapped to their roofs.  And every time Jerry spotted one  of those canoe-carrying cars, he would say, "They have a canoe."
In  1990, we bought a brand-new Isuzu Trooper... because it would look  really good with a canoe on top.  One extremely foggy early morning in  summer, we went with our good friend Judy -- an avid hiker and camper  who was visiting from Seattle -- rented a beat-up aluminum canoe for  about $25 for the day, and paddled into the Connecticut River to see how  it felt.  The fact that the fog was so thick that we couldn't see more  than two-feet in front of us was a bit off-putting.  But, we appeared to  be the only ones on the river and it was quiet and serene.  We were  able to paddle around some of the small islands and marshes.  We shared  the water with birds we had only been able to see from a distance  before.  Coming out of the fog, we were stunned to find ourselves face  to face with a magnificent pair of mute swans.  When you're down at  water-level with a pair of mute swans you're struck by how huge they  actually are.  And how much damage they could actually do if they so  chose.  Which is why we paddled as fast as we could when the male rose  up off the water with his wings spread and his held high and back.   Huge.
We  paddled for hours.  The fog had lifted and it was getting warm, so we  decided to head back upriver to return the canoe and head home.  We  paddled out of a peaceful cove to find that the serenity we had  experienced earlier in the day was gone.  Powerboats and cabin cruisers  flew by.  The trip was no longer bliss.  Each time a boat whizzed past  us, we aimed for the shore to avoid being swamped.  I began to get a bit  frantic.  At one point, we shot into a tiny beach, paddling so fast  that the front of the canoe wedged into the muddy shore.  A snake  sunning on the shore was taken completely by surprise by our sudden  arrival.  It coiled and lifted it's head, ready to strike.  To avoid the  snake, I leaned my upper body so far back that the back of my head was  nearly in Judy's lap.  Jerry burst out laughing when he saw what I was  cowering from.  It was nothing but a harmless rat snake, he told me.   Harmless?  Not to the rats.  It was a snake.  It was ready to strike.   And if it could eat a rat, I figured it could do me some damage. 
But,  except for the rat snake, the attack swan, and the powerboats, I had to  admit I had a really good time.  The basic lesson learned was that the  Connecticut River wasn't a great place for me to be canoeing.  
So, I finally caved and we bought a canoe.  But, not just any canoe.  We  bought a 16-foot Mad River canoe in beige with taupe and wood trim to  match our white Isuzu Trooper with its taupe trim and taupe leather  interior.  It really looked great on top of the car.   
We had a canoe.
I suddenly became very frugal or, perhaps, penny-wise/pound foolish  (well, that really wasn't anything new for me).   Our canoe,  top-of-the-line paddles, life jackets, seat cushions, and additional  canoeing paraphernalia, to my great consternation, cost us approximately  $1,600.
The first time we took our own canoe into the water, we had a very  relaxing paddle through some salt marshes.  I have to admit it was  bliss.  When we were done, we strapped our canoe to the top of the  matching Trooper and I told Jerry, "Well, that trip cost us $1,600."
The  following weekend, we took our canoe out on Lake Quonnipaug in our  little town of Guilford.  The lake was picturesque and charming.  And  boats with motors were not allowed.  It was, again, bliss.  As we  paddled at the far end of the lake, away from the few summer cottages  and year-round homes, a snapping turtle the size of a Volkswagen Beetle  appeared to our left and swam directly under the canoe.  The tail was  still well to our left while the enormous head had already passed to our  right.  I was fascinated. Jerry's comment: "Paddle fast!"  Odd.  He  wasn't even the least bit concerned when I was nearly eaten by a snake.
The rest of our paddle was uneventful.  When we strapped the canoe back  on top of the matching Trooper that day, I told Jerry, "Well, that trip  cost us $800."
Over the next couple of years, there were some more blissful trips  around Connecticut salt marshes and along the Saco River in Maine, as  well as a rained-out camping trip in the Green Mountains of Vermont when  the canoe spent the entire time strapped to the top of the matching  Trooper.  In early 1993, Jerry was surprised to be offered a new  position in San Diego.  A huge moving van arrived and our Mad River  canoe, the matching Trooper, and everything else we owned, were loaded  and taken on a week-long drive across the country.
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