Sue came across a yellowed sheet of paper as she was cleaning. Since people who do a daily blog often get desperate for material, I decided to slightly update the find and make use of it...

In northern climes, January is one of the best times for sailing a good old-fashioned soft-water sailboat.

A dark evening, when there’s a brisk (possibly sleet-laden) wind shaking the shutters and reminding the dog that she needs to go out, is a perfect time to lift the hook and hoist the main.

Dog impatient, I zip my parka and we head out to sea. Our cruising ground is, of course, right on the nose. As dog falls off aft following the scent of rabbit long gone or just imagined, I pull my hood down about my face and set off close hauled on a long tack to windward. It’s choppy out here on the baseball diamonds and soccer fields. The spray flies back from the bow with a sharp sting, and the big brown shape casting back and forth in my wake must be the dingy making a hard go of it. But I know that I’ll be able to turn the corner soon, bear off, give the sheets a big ease, and coast home. A pot of coffee is waiting below. And the way I’m moving, no one will ever catch me; nobody’s even close.

On frosty February mornings when the dog and I make our early rounds, joggers leave us far behind—but they’re land-bound creatures running in circles, and I watch them pound off without the slightest wistfulness. I don’t have to do that. In a month or two I’ll be scraping, scrubbing, hauling, heaving hoisting, hiking. I need to conserve my energy.

Conserve it for spring when it’s time to wash and trim the dog, tune the mower, stake out a garden, fix he shaky shutters—tasks all worthy of a man’s time. But not too much of it. For I have a boat. Better homes and gardens are fine for landlubbers with limited horizons. A sailor like me has better things to do.

Summer’s coming. I’ll be out of here. Off on a broad reach, riding the zeyphers from one lovely anchorage to another. And the dog will be able to swim.