“Do you think your father would have ever dreamed you would be sailing his boat, all these decades later, in America?” I asked, from the foredeck. After a long pause and with detectable emotion in her voice, my crew mate Merete said: “Honestly, I don’t think he could ever imagine it, but I hope somehow he can see us, because it would make him very, very happy.”
I could hardly believe we, two women from distant places, Denmark and Oklahoma, USA, and from different generations (she 79, me 53) were sailing together in Port Townsend, Washington, on a 1936 boat that we had in common. That boat was a Danish spidsgatter, Pax, which I’d bought in British Columbia seven years earlier. I’d taken one look and fallen in love. But…
