Life On A Barge

I'm envious of barge workers. I see them in the early morning hours, before there's any hint of light on the horizon. Well, I don't see them, but I know they're there. As I stand in the yard before dawn, I hear the hum of a tugboat pushing a barge upriver. I move to a spot on the riverbank where I can see the twinkling lights through the trees. As the holidays approach, some tugboats get decorated with Christmas lights. Couple that scene with a distant ghostly train whistle and you've really got something.

But back to the barge workers...

I've never been on a barge before, but I picture all the men onboard the same, wearing camo cargo pants and army green t-shirts, steel-toed lace up boots, and dark gray beanies atop balding heads. I imagine several-day-old stubble on faces that smell like cigarettes...probably a pack or two of Marlboro Reds visible somewhere in the lineup.

I haven't gotten to the enviable part yet.

No one can get to you on a boat, at least not in my fantasy. I'm there in the dark, a breeze on my face that smells like algae and fish, and I'm wearing the proper attire - cargo pants and boots with a t-shirt and beanie. The best part is not the uniform though...it's the isolation. Sure, it's lonely. But what I've learned after 43 years on this planet is that it's better to miss people and think thing's would be better if they were with you, than to let them into your life to disappoint you again and again.

When you miss someone, there's still love there. In disappointment, only resentment grows. That's why I like it here on the barge, this vast expanse of black water all around me. The silence punctuated by that far off train whistle. The hum of the tugboat behind us reminding me what I'm leaving behind, and offering me hope for what's still ahead.