Meanwhile the Coast Guard were examining the decals on the float with some surprise. Mary imagined that they were disappointed that they couldn’t fault them for not having a registered vessel in the Bay. Too bad. The DNR boys went over to explain a few things to them.
Jake nodded as she came aboard. “Didn’t need no tow,” he remarked. “Could have sailed it back soon’s the tide turned. She’s a bit of a weather helm, but moves along pretty well for a jury rig. If she weren’t so damn high-tech I could have tuned her better.”
Mary didn’t doubt his words. With his experience on the water he probably could have sailed the thing around the world, and broken a record or two in the process. She looked at the way he had lashed together the sailing gear to turn the float into a sailboat. He just made the best of what he had at hand, and used his knowledge to solve the problem he faced.
Just then something clicked in her mind: The solution to the problem wasn’t to wish for something different but to make use of the resources at hand. If Jake could do that to the float, why couldn’t she do it with the town?
“Listen Jake, what if we figured out how to make the floats cheaper—use, oh, PVC pipe instead of those fiberglass pontoons? And maybe make the struts out of wood. If we made the construction cheap and easy we wouldn’t need the skilled labor: We could build them anywhere!”
“Like Eston, I suppose,” he replied with a smile on his face. “And they could use them around here to build up habitat for crabs and fish. Maybe get a decent crop of oysters, too.” Mary considered; the solution would take time to have the effect Jake mentioned, but she could use next year’s budget to make a much larger number of platforms—probably make a hundred for the cost of just one of the current models. The politicians would go along if only to save face after the plant closing. Yes, and that construction work would restore some of the income to this place until the crabbing and fishing improves. Maybe the floats would even help clean up the residual crap in Candle Creek and restore the natural balance.
“Thank you, Mary,” Jake said with a twinkle in his eye and a strong desire for some of Margaret’s cream of crab in his mouth: “I guess you just returned my present.”
Editor’s Note: This story is a sequel to “Jake’s Gift,” in our September 1993 issue.