Ole Number 11

Beams withering, joints rusting and paint peeling, the adventures have come to an end. The once proud craft provided numerous safe passages through the chain of lakes for the many fishermen she has met. The vessel’s captain need not ever worry as he rode high on its wooden seat; he always had a trustworthy craft to sail across the water. When storms blew in and white caps washed over her sides, she cut through the wakes always finding a friendly harbor. On calm sunny days, she floated like a cloud crossing the blue sky. Now, no longer able to sail, ole number 11 quietly rests at the forest edge. The venerable ark has transformed herself into a safe harbor for plants and pine trees. Her many adventures will remain forever a secret.

The metal armor of the bow that once provided protection from the rocky shores of the lakes now does little to slow deterioration of a rowboat’s wooden hull.

Fallen leaves and pine saplings are now the only passengers of the worn away rowboat’s hull.

At its final harbor, a broken down old vessel slowly disintegrates on the forest floor. Once providing its sailors safe passage between lakes, it only passengers are now the young flora and decomposing leaves of the woodland.

Tarnished and peeled of its once colorful paint, its identity is still anchored to the rotting wooden planks of an old rowboat.

The bow of a once colorfully painted wooden rowboat deteriorates into oblivion. Rusty screws and bolts appear and the paint has all but withered away from the now decaying wooden bow.