The Genesis of Boat Passions

Boats have always been in my life. I paddled a small boat in canals before I was allowed to bicycle beyond my home street. Yes, it is true that boats tend to be a big metaphoric hole to throw in money. Boat ownership involves a great deal of patience, too much time, planning, luck, and in some cases, a vigilant guardian angel. In my world, boats are worth the work, and there is always a great story.

The Genesis of Boat Passions

They were a bunch of working families — city people. My dad’s father, Grandpa, and his brother-in-law, Uncle Bill, bought a little cottage for four hundred dollars in the American Venice area of Copiague on the South Shore of Long Island. It had a yard, a detached garage ( I always thought it was a barn), and a canal that let out to the Great South Bay. The little house was dubbed The Country House and was the overextended family summer home. The Truglio-s were accustomed to living together in tight Brooklyn flats, so The Country House was a suburban extension of familiar multi-generation living arrangements. It got the kids off the Brooklyn streets, and mothers, aunts, and Nona out of the stifling city heat. During the summer. The Country House was never empty and always noisy. It satisfied the Truglio quest to celebrate anything and have fun.