Eddie Atwell here. You probably wouldn’t think I’d have a website. Neither did I.

But Briggs put me up to it. He bet me I couldn’t do it. Well, you know Briggs. He didn’t say, “I bet you can’t do it.” Not Briggs. He said, “Though I never would doubt your resolve in things nautical, the odds would seem to be against you completing your obligation to your mother considering that it will take you away from the water, time that is already precious now that the advent of the school year is upon us.”

You see, my mom was pretty miffed—about all the hot water Briggs and I got into, and my going out on the water alone when she said not to.

So she said I could do some good by keeping in touch with Briggs—she knows that he couldn’t stop saying “finest kind” after he’d been on the boat with us—and at the same time let other kids know what it’s like lobstering and fishing and going out on boats and everything around here on Fog Island.  She said a lot of kids aren’t lucky enough to have a boat. I knew that. But a kid without a boat? It’s just not right.

She gave me a choice: If I didn’t want to write, then I had to get a job ashore instead of helping Dad on the boat when I wasn’t in school or had schoolwork. That was my punishment.

Getting a job ashore? My sister Laurie hated working ashore, even though she didn’t want to end up as a lobsterman, either. As Dad would say, I didn’t see the percentage in it. A job ashore was worse than writing.

So I took Briggs’s bet.

I can’t tell you what the stakes are. Not yet. I’ll let you know by and by.

But be sure to stop back now and then. That book about Briggs and me, Into the Trap? It was full of surprises, just like what we experienced. Maybe you’ll find some surprises when you visit here from time to time.

Got to go. Time to head down to the dock.

IMAGE: Thanks to origamidon for the hilarious “Lobster Dude” shot.