The Moment I Found Wildflower

 The Moment I Found Wildflower

Sometimes, the sea finds us in unexpected ways, pulling us toward the stories we didn’t know we were meant to tell. My journey that day began simply enough—I was searching for a friend to lend me a trailer. My goal was to pick up a Vaurien, a boat that had been a cornerstone of my sailing life as a child. My father and I had shared countless hours on the water with that boat, its lines and movements etched into my earliest memories. To bring one back into my life felt like rekindling a connection to both my past and the sea.

The trailer was supposed to be at a shipyard located in an old farmhouse, a place I’d never been before. When I arrived, I was struck by the stillness of the space. The farmhouse was worn, its walls and timbers bearing the weight of time and stories. The shipyard surrounding it felt forgotten—boats in various states of disrepair rested on cradles and trailers, some clearly abandoned to the elements. It was the kind of place that seems suspended in time, filled with quiet whispers of the lives these boats once carried.

As I wandered through the yard, my eyes fell on a stern that stopped me in my tracks. It wasn’t the trailer I’d come to find, but something far more captivating. The lines of the stern were elegant, purposeful—almost defiant in their refusal to be forgotten. I stepped closer, curiosity building with every step, until the rest of the hull came into view.

She was hidden under a blanket of wildflowers and dust, her condition a far cry from seaworthy. Her wood bore the marks of neglect, her fittings worn, and her rigging absent. Yet, there was something about her—a quiet dignity in her curves, a beauty that had persisted despite the years of abandonment. She seemed to be waiting, as though she knew her story wasn’t over.

In that moment, I forgot all about the Vaurien. This boat, whose name and origins I didn’t even know yet, had taken hold of my imagination. I could see her as she must have once been—graceful, strong, and alive with the wind in her sails. And I could see what she could become, given the time, care, and attention she so clearly deserved.

I asked my friend about her, and he told me she was a 420. But I knew she wasn´t... the journey started right there, and the mistery of the hull, sail and live of this small dinghy was soon to be revealed. 

It wasn’t the boat I was looking for that day, but she turned out to be the boat I was meant to find. In her, I found not just a project, but a piece of myself—a connection to the sea, to heritage, and to the enduring stories that boats like hers carry.