Forever Young

Sailing on Forever Young

There’s a rhythm to summer on Lake Huron that never leaves you—the wind tugging at the sails, sunlight sparkling on water, the gentle sway of a boat cutting through the waves. I remember stepping onto Forever Young as a little girl, my younger sisters at my side, grandparents guiding and laughing, and my parents checking the lines with quiet satisfaction. Everything else fell away: the lake, the sky, the smell of fresh air, and the endless freedom of being afloat.

The boat rocked under our feet as we pushed off from the dock, creaking in its own familiar way, as if it remembered every summer we’d ever spent with it. The bow dipped, the sail caught the wind, and suddenly we were moving, slicing through sunlight and water together. My sisters squealed with anticipation, and I would laugh, feeling the world stretch out around us, vast and endless.

Jumping into the cold lake was always the same mix of shock and exhilaration; lungs burning, teeth chattering but once we surfaced, it was perfect. We’d swim around Forever Young, circling it like small, fearless creatures, water dripping from our hair, laughter carrying across the waves. Every splash, every squeal, felt infinite, and in those moments, nothing else mattered. The lake held us in its rhythm, and we held onto each other, tiny hands brushing the hull, toes gripping the boat, hearts pounding with simple, unspoken joy.

Steering the boat was the closest thing I knew to magic. Grandpa or Dad would guide our hands on the tiller, letting us feel the strength of the wind in the sails, the tug of the boat as it changed course. I would grip tightly, imagining myself the captain of the lake, my sisters’ laughter trailing behind me like a wake. The world was all sail and sun, water and sky, and I felt bigger than I had ever felt, even as the boat swayed beneath us, small and perfect.

When the sun began to tilt low, painting the lake in gold and rose, we’d anchor in a quiet cove. The scent of pine and water lingered, and board games came out, the clatter of dice and shuffling of cards filling the boat’s cabin. Grandparents teased, parents laughed, and my sisters and I squabbled over rules we didn’t fully understand. The world slowed again, settling into that perfect balance of energy and calm, adventure and safety.

Evenings bled into night, and the lake’s surface turned dark and glassy. We’d curl up under blankets, listening to the quiet lap of water against the hull, the hum of “Don’t worry be happy,” playing on the radio, and the low murmur of family voices. The wind cooled our sun-warmed skin, and I’d feel the rocking of the boat beneath me, steady and reassuring. I remember wishing that this moment could stretch forever- us, the lake, the boat, our laughter, held in a perfect, suspended summer.

Now, years later, I can close my eyes and feel it all again: the sail tugging in my hands, the cold shock of the lake, the smell of wind and water, the sound of my sisters’ laughter echoing across waves. Forever Young wasn’t just the name of the boat—it was the feeling of those days: endless, sunlit, wild, and safe, where childhood was held in our hands like the lake itself, shimmering and infinite