My dad was a sailor and a lover of all things of-the-sea: the tides, the food, the shorebirds, the sailboats. When I was a little girl, we’d walk along the docks at Budd Bay in Olympia, Washington.
He’d gaze longingly at boats and critically at boat names.
We’d pause to stare at blue herons, perched stoically on mossy half-submerged rocks, deciding which of the hundreds of spawning salmon they might soon enjoy for dinner. Whale sightings were always a bonus when a pod made it that far south in Puget Sound.
budd bay 
an old friend
To me, those docks were sunsets and sailing stories and frozen yogurt with crushed Oreos and buttery garlic noodles and bike rides and what seemed like long walks but were not. In every one of my childhood memories of docks or boats or the bay, my dad is at the center.
To this day, the smell of low tide and the sight of a sailboat on the water flood my soul with a warmth I can only describe as magic.
We didn’t own a sailboat, but close family friends did and we benefited often from their generosity in sharing it with us.
I have vivid childhood memories of and with my family on that boat — collecting mussels, driving the dingy, battling a rainstorm, practicing knots, motoring across windless waters… But mostly, watching my dad in his element.
Forrest William Wilcox, Jr. belonged on a sailboat.
That passion was spectacularly contagious and I felt the Boat Dream in the depths of my young soul long before I would ever be able to articulate what it was or how it got there.
I still can’t pinpoint an exact moment when I knew sailing around the world with my own family would be something I’d one day set out to accomplish, but sitting beside my father in the cockpit of Ken Partlow’s 17-foot catboat surely had something to do with it.
I lost my dad when I was a senior in high school.
Five years later, in the summer of 1999, working aboard a small cruise ship in Alaska, I found him.
Salty sea air, misty fjords, jaw-dropping glaciers, adventurous colleagues, an endless ceiling of stars each night,
…and John.
For lack of a fancier string of words to explain it, I’ll simply say this: that summer in Alaska — meeting John, working on a ship, living on the water — was the first time since my dad died that the world felt right.
At a pizza joint in Seward, 20 years ago, I told John about my then-nameless Boat Dream. I’m not sure I’d ever stopped to articulate it before, but in that moment the words just sort of marched out of my mouth —
a wild proclamation from a baselessly confident 22-year-old.
As luck would have it, my audience-of-one nodded immediately with blind approval and fearless commitment.
“Yep,” said John. “We are definitely gonna do that.”
So here we are — in a place both entirely new and yet remarkably familiar.
Echoes of my childhood — and my father — surround us and I recognize in John and myself a bit of our old Alaska audacity beginning to resurface.
Even though they’re on board (both literally and figuratively) with the Boat Dream, it may come as no surprise that our teenage boys are still actively committed to thinking we’re lame.
They don’t know it yet, but somewhere between our marina’s resident heron and the salty South River air, they’re meeting their grandpa. And, if I had any left, I’d put good money down that he’s already busy showing them a little of that sailboat magic.
22 comments
Wow. moving stuff Molly! Thanks for sharing your story.
“Yep, We’re definitely gonna do that.” — That sounds like john… no doubt.
100% John 😍. Thanks, Bill 😉
Beautifully written. What a lovely explanation. Thank you for sharing!
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Well…I have chills and tears. Never heard any of that and love every bit of the origin of the boat dream! So eloquently written Molls! Thanks for sharing! XOXOXO
Love you, Hales 😘
Couldn’t have said it better Haley! I’m literally choked up and tearing just absorbing the beauty shared with us.
Molly this tribute to your father, his gift of love to his baby girl, your soulmate in John and the notion that this experience is one (anything but) simple way to connect your kids to their roots — it is literally what dreams are made of. Thank you for providing another window into the soul of this journey. You’re all an inspiration and we. love. you.
We love you right back ❤️! Thank you for those generous words and for taking the time to share them 🥰💖
I absolutely love reading your blogs! 💕 … thank you for sharing.
Thanks, Lorrie! Kind words 😘❤️
Wow! Beautifully written. You need to figure out how to put your blog together at the end of each year and sell it as a book. You have a natural gift, putting words and feelings together. I’d buy the series if that last post was on the back cover. Incredible!
Aww🥰 Thanks, Kris ❤️❤️❤️
A beyond wonderful entry straight from the depths with perfect pictures as accompaniments. Many memories were once again brought alive and created a real heart tugger for me.
❤️❤️❤️
I never had the good fortune to meet your father, but I have heard numerous accounts of what a wonderful person he was.
Your writing is amazing.
“Yep, we are definitely gonna do that.” Good stuff…
Living vicariously through your audacity.
L
All the love to you, my friend 💖
Amazing ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
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AMAZING – bringing it all together – for your family!
Such deep meaning in your adventure.
Sending huge hugs to you, John and the boys!
Thank you, Julie! ⛵️💙⛵️💙
Molly…
I was browsing your blog posts and they are all fantastic, but when I read this one it brought back fond memories of your Dad, your Grandpa and Grandma Wilcox and the time I spent with them in Olympia, while stationed at Fort Lewis. Your Dad had a special adventurous spirit that you certainly inherited. As another posted, you have a natural talent for writing and please, whatever you do, save all your writings and pictures, for they will make a wonderful and rewarding book some day. I am so happy for you and your family. May you always have fair winds and following seas. God Bless!
Thank you, Harry! ❤️❤️❤️ Love our shared memories of special people and places. And thank you for the kind words and encouragement 🥰
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