Age three, walking down a blacktop road holding my mother's hand. She is pushing a carriage that holds my baby sister. As we approach a white fence at the turn in the road I hear a sound. As I peek over the bottom rail I am startled to see a large body of water sweeping by. It is a river on its way to wherever rivers end up. The sound it made as it accommodated the rocks in its bed brought back a memory of something I had yet to experience. It was the biggest mass of moving water, besides the bathtub, I had ever seen. Years later, I, now a young lad, walk daily along a beach. The seaside air, sound and smell supply a daily balm to a mind distraught with a violent family life. I just wanted to sail away. I was "Sea struck" just as actor Sterling Hayden had referred to his passion for all things nautical. Finally time and money allowed me to consider building my first "boat in a basement". It was a flat bottomed kayak courtesy of a set of plans from a "Popular Mechanics" magazine article. Naturally I put a sail and leeboards on it. The mast materialized out of a two inch length of aluminum conduit, the rigging, clothesline. It worked, I was hooked. Later on a Charles Whittholtz designed catboat project pulled me away from a college degree. I would rather work with my hands to create in this life anyway. Over the years a successful business provided the means to indulge my passion for sailing. A Montgomery 17 was followed by a 20' Pacific Seacraft Flicka, then a 28'Cape Dory. Finally, mercifully, a 36' S2 racer slaked my desire to continue to go bigger and bigger. It drained my stock of funds and spare time. One day a fellow walked down the dock by my boatslip. We spoke. He wanted to sail to Europe, I wanted to sell my boat. We agreed that for a sum of money he would take over my dream and sail the boat across the deep blue sea. I was done with sailing. Could live without the sound of the water parting to allow my craft to sail by. Would not miss the feel of a sail driven craft as the first breeze wakes her from her becalmed state and makes her tighten up in preparation for her next romp across the waves. No more. Then years later a friend invites me to go on the first sail in his home built boat. I accept the invitation little realizing then what fire in the soul I was playing with. As his rendition of "Nancy's China" shoulders into the waves I suddenly realize, too late, what I have gotten myself into once again. All the old desires, the lure, the majesty of the sea came rushing upon me like a squall line sweeps across the waves from behind. You feel it before you hear and see it and when you glance over the stern on it comes as undeniable and all encompassing as any force you have ever stared at eye to eye. All the thrill returned, cleaned of any past regrets or disappointments of voyages left undone. The reacquaintance with feelings once thought to be dissolved, the peace of mind in realizing once again that this is something I want in my life again, all came rushing back. Older and much wiser I realize that the boat that best fit my needs early on is the very same one that would do so now. Jerry's and Lyle's creation would again have a place in my life. But the fates toy with me. Now that "little boat" seems to be as rare as "hen's teeth". So I scan the listings and and continue to dream. My life in a "cockle shell". Thanks for reading.