It was early Sunday evening, just past the heat of the day, when my husband, Steve, and I embarked on the maiden voyage of our "new" Starcraft. Steve had purchased the 14-foot aluminum boat the previous weekend while in Ohio visiting his parents, after a yearlong search for just the right vessel.

Needless to say, I was surprised when he pulled into our driveway that Sunday evening, towing the vintage (1969) craft.

The story of Steve's new boat actually begins several years earlier, in 2005, when he bought a 10-horsepower 1958 Johnson outboard motor he found in the classifieds of the Butler Eagle.

"Johnsons are really reliable," he told me when I wondered why he bought an outboard motor when we didn't even own a boat.

The Johnson, he explained, would save us money on our family's biennial fishing trips to Rice Lake in Ontario. Instead of having to rent a boat and motor, now we only had to rent a boat.

On last year's trip to Rice Lake, we hauled the Johnson 400 miles on the back of a homemade trailer, turning a few heads along the way and even making the border guards smile as we crossed into Canada.

Most of the time, though, the Johnson sits perched on the rim of a 55-gallon drum in our garage; occasionally Steve fills the tank with water to test the motor, just to make sure everything still works.

The Johnson's success in Canada — it worked on a lake, not just in a drum — prompted Steve to begin his search for a boat. Of course, he wanted something that matched the age and style of the Johnson, which was built the year I started third grade. He spent hours reading the classifieds and cruising Craig's List, but found it while eating with his parents at a lakeside restaurant in Ohio.

A week later, the two of us were at Glade Run, a small fishing lake several miles from our home, for the Starcraft's maiden voyage.

The evening was especially quiet, the lake calm. Swallows swooped in search of insects, and the setting sun cast long shadows around the edges of the lake. Sitting on cushioned seats, we glided smoothly across the water, propelled not by the Johnson but an electric trolling motor. (Gas-powered engines aren't allowed on Glade Run).

"This is nice," I said to Steve, conceding that maybe getting the boat wasn't such a bad idea.

Several minutes into our voyage, though, I spotted darkening lines along the seams where the sides meet the bottom of the boat.

"Is that water?" I asked bending down for a closer look. Water was beading on the tiny ledge, and then a rivulet trickled over the edge.

"This boat leaks," I said incredulously.

Turning toward the shore, our trip cut short, Steve felt a jerk in the trolling motor, which he'd rigged to a spare car battery. Apparently it blew a fuse.

Sitting in the middle of Glade Run, water puddling at my feet, I held my tongue.

As Steve began to row toward the shore, I was reminded of a phrase from the popular biblical passage used often in marriage ceremonies today — "Love is patient; love is kind ..." — words that seemed particularly relevant considering our watery circumstances.

How long does it take for newlyweds to appreciate the wisdom of St. Paul's message to the Corinthians? Steve and I have been married for almost 33 years, and I think we finally understand.

Linda K. Schmitmeyer is a freelance writer living in Middlesex Township. Her e-mail address is lks260@zoominternet.net.