Mom looked over her shoulder at me and chided, “It’s about time you got up.” The fresh batch of dough she placed into a pot of hot oil sizzled. I sniffed appreciatively, knowing by the sweet smell in the air, Mom had already rolled some hot doughnuts in cinnamon sugar.

Plopping down on one of the chrome and red vinyl chairs at the kitchen table, I protested, “I’ve been awake. I just didn’t want to get out of bed.” A big flash of lightning made me jump and a roll of thunder rattled the farmhouse. Sheets of rain pounded against the window over the sink. I grumbled, “I should have stayed in bed.”

Handing me a freshly sugared doughnut, Mom suggested, “Drink a glass of goat milk with this.” Turning back toward the stove to watch the doughnuts brown in the hot oil, she complained, “You never want to go to bed, or take a bath when I tell you to. When you finally get to bed or into the bathtub, when it’s time to get up or to get out of the water, you want to stay where you are.”

Taking the bottle of goat milk from the refrigerator, I admitted that Mom was right. “When I’m supposed to go to bed, I’m never tired. In the mornings I feel cozy and sleepy. Before a bath, I dread feeling cold and uncomfortable when it’s time for me to get out and get dressed.” At ten-years-of age, Mom expected me to be a little more independent than I was.

Finishing my breakfast, I put the empty milk glass next to the sink, and questioned, “Is Casper going to start building his boat in the old house today, despite the rain?”

Glancing of out the water-streaked window over the sink, Mom answered, “He went out to work on it a couple hours ago.” I looked out the window, too. The old, white farmhouse wasn’t very far from our new house, but the spring rain would make me wet and chilled to go there.

I just had to see what my eldest brother was doing though. Call it curiosity or nosiness if you want. I pulled on a coat and a pair of boots. There were still patches of winter snow drifts in the yard. Between the melting snow and the torrents of rain, our yard was very muddy. My slip and slide trip across the yard took longer than I wanted.

The old farmhouse was vacant since Daddy had our new house built one year before I was born. At some point he started to use the old house as a granary. Each September when his fields of oats turned the color of gold, our neighbor Mark would combine it for him. A blower was used to shoot the grain through a window into the living room and downstairs bedroom. Daddy used the old kitchen to bag the grain as he used it. By this time of spring, most of the grain was gone because the cows had eaten it all.

My brother Casper was kneeling in the center of a cleared area in what had once been the living room. He was studying a page he called a blueprint. Around him were piles of lumber, sawhorses, and tools. He’d spent most of the morning gathering what he needed to build the boat.

All that spring, rain or shine, my brother worked nights and Saturdays on his boat. He told me it wasn’t just a plain fishing boat; it was the type of boat to be used for pulling water skiers. Slowly, it took shape. I was amazed at my brother’s carpentry skills. The boat looked good, like it was store-bought. When the weather warmed, the boat had to be removed from the old house before it became too big to get through the doorways.

One hot summer Saturday morning several months later, Casper pulled the boat out of the shed and parked it in the middle of the yard. It was beautiful, sitting so high and proud on the boat trailer. Its chrome trim and moor ties glistened in the sunshine. The glass windshield stood tall in front of the steering wheel. All exposed wooden trim was waterproofed and polished. As we admired his handiwork, he announced that his boat was finished. He planned to take it out on the nearby Eau Pleine flowage the following day.

I expected to see a name printed on the white-sided boat. Instead, Casper had a boring Wisconsin watercraft license number printed in black on both sides of the bow. My brother Billy joked, “This boat needs to be properly christened before its maiden voyage.”

Casper snapped, “Don’t even think about hitting my boat with a bottle!”

Billy suggested, “We can just pour some beer over the hull.”

Snickering, Casper admitted, “I like that way of christening my boat.”

After Sunday Mass the next morning, still dressed in our church clothes, my family gathered around Casper’s boat. Billy popped open a Marshfield Brewery beer bottle and handed it to Mom. She poured out some of its contents on the hull and said, “I christen Casper’s boat and pray everyone who uses it, stays safe.”

Noah’s ark was built during sunny weather but used only after it started to rain. Casper’s boat, or ark if you like, was built on cold, rainy days, and only used on hot, sunny summer afternoons.