This is Sheriff Peanut Butter Brickle. There is no denying that I am the head of the house. Top law enforcement in my neck of the campground. Most handsome dog in the world, and or universe. But I am also the captain of my ship. Sailor extraordinaire. On any ship. Or boat.
I was one of the fortunate ones. I knew my calling in life, to be all of the above. But there are others that also know their calling. And when you travel, you get to see many different ways that some use their calling to make themselves happy and others too. They sing their own tune. Do we hear it? Do we dance to their music?
Such was the case when we happened upon a small town called Mayport, Florida. Bear with me here if you think you are in school, because you are. This is the class of Brickle and no one is excused.
Now, I am not a historian, and I don’t claim to be. But every place that we visit has a history. When we happened upon this town of Mayport, and a place full of wooden boats…yes…wooden boats…it made us think about our history too.
Now, some may have passed by the small seafood place that this wooden boat museum was in.
In fact, some may not have even seen it at all. There are many places and things that we may drive by every day and wonder about. But how many times have you actually stopped to see what may be the history and who made that history? Because in every piece of wood, nail or sidewalk, someone made that. And they probably put a part of themselves in it too.
For us, we may have been across the United States more times than I would like to think about. But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t something new to learn, even around a corner we have traveled down many times. You see, one man in the little town of Mayport, Florida decided that he wanted to make his mark right here. He wanted to do something and he did it. And he didn’t need to make money from it, or be famous. He just wanted to do it because it was in his heart. He made model, wooden boats. He made many, model, wooden boats.
You would think with all of these beautiful, detailed wooden boats, that he would have sold some. He never did. That was not his goal. He enjoyed making them, he enjoyed thinking about the family that he came from, and their time on the water. He was able to make these boats from memory in a detail that no one else could have. This was his calling. This was one of his contributions to the world. And now, all of these boats still remain. Even though he is not here.
You see, the boats are gathering dust. They don’t sail on the water, but instead are kept in his old seafood shack. And as patrons come to eat the catches of the day, they can escape not to a fancy museum, but one that is better. One that is made extravagant by their imagination. And wasn’t this a wonderful gift that he gave to the world?
It made me think. What kind of music was I playing? Growling is one. Barking is another. But how do I make a pawsitive contribution not only now, but for after we are gone?
We may not be in this town forever, so to appreciate what is here, and be respectful of the ones that have made it what it is is important. That goes for where you are too. Wherever we travel to, we should stop. Look. Listen. And learn. Learn about the people here before us. Learn about the history and the lessons, and then apply what we learn to be better for it. Now, if there would have been a peanut butter cookie museum here, I definitely would have stopped to check that out too. Maybe I should build one…
-Sheriff Peanut Butter Brickle