Bubb Jones didn't care when he worked in the shop. In a harsh Maine February he wore an old oiled sweater that he used to wear when he worked on the fishing boats out of Presque Isle. Bubb figured that, if his hands could work on the boat, they could damned well work in the shop. Just the oiled sweater, no coat and, God knows, never gloves.
Most of Bubb's woodworking was about traps and those traps were Spring and Fall, but he had the odd occasion to work on something more substantial - like Ricky's mast.
Ricky was Bubb's son and he had been dismasted in the last good blow of the Fall. Ricky was just ten, and his mast was only eight feet high. His boat was really a pram, although Ricky would not admit of such a small description, that his Grandar had got for him - just before Grandar had passed on.
Bubb didn't agree with the boat. He thought that it had too much sail for such a young one as Ricky and he'd said this to his Father - Grandar - (you know how that goes.)
Grandar had bought the spry pram for Ricky, knowing that it's mast would not hold the sail and hoping that he would be the one to show him how to deal with the result.
Unforutanately, Grandar passed before Ricky was dismasted.
On that fine June day, with Ricky sitting on the upturned hull, awaiting his rescue by his shore-bound Daddy, Bubb came up with a fine idea.
Thomas J. Watson-Cabinetmaker (ret) Real Email is: tjwatson1ATcomcastDOTnet Website: