My brother and two sisters and I worked on a small version of a dragon ship, which we made out of cardboard. After painting and construction, we used a glue gun and a lot of wax to make sure the boat would float. The four of us then made round shields to line the gunwales of the boat, as was typical of Viking ships. We each had three shields to work with. Some shields were decorative, but others depicted elements of our father’s life and our relationship with him.
On another shield, you can see the truck and camper in which we traveled with our parents throughout the West. I describe those days in this blog. You can also see a rainbow trout being caught on a copper fishing line with an old antique winder, our father’s favorite way to troll for “the big ones on the bottom.” Finally, after all our fun, we were ready. We traveled to Fish Lake in central Utah, where our family loved to visit and fish. We rented an aluminum boat with outboard motor, loaded up the dragon ship and some snacks, and set out for the middle of the lake. My brother’s wife and their little dog came with us. When the time came, we loaded Dad’s ashes into the small Viking ship, set it in the water, and lit it on fire. Away it went, a fitting funeral for an old warrior. Only . . . it would not sink.
I guess we had been overly zealous with the wax and glue gun. The boat burned to the waterline and then kept floating. We tried driving past it really fast, several times, hoping the wake from our boat would swamp it. No joy. We eventually had to use an oar to tip it over, and Dad’s ashes poured out into the lake. But the Viking ship still would not sink! We didn’t want to leave it floating in the lake like litter, so we fished out what was left and took it back to shore with us. We found a dumpster not far from the boat rental, and that’s where the ship’s remains were put to rest. Although Dad’s sendoff may not have been perfect, we kids were grateful to be able to come together and recall a few of the happy parts of our early lives, especially times spent at Fish Lake. I’ll always remember the sight of that pale green cloud of father’s ashes, drifting slowly downward through the clear water.
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