AN ANNIVERSARY TO REMEMBER

Elizabeth Sinclair

            On our twentieth anniversary, my husband and I decided to take our houseboat up the Hudson River to one of our favorite anchoring spots—a river inlet near a waterfall and shaded by large oak trees—for a cozy, romantic dinner.  Mother Nature cooperated by giving us a balmy June night, with a big yellow full moon and a sky fully of sparkling stars. The river was calm and shone like glass in the moonlight.

Since it was a milestone in our marriage, we wanted to make it special, so I had bought lobster tails and shrimp for cocktails, and we had a bottle of our favorite wine chilling. While I prepared our feast, my husband set a table on the bow of the boat, complete with candles and a single long-stemmed red rose.

The waterfall, which was usually loud and raucous, was muffled this night, as if someone had turned down the volume just for us. The entire setting was magical, like a setting I’d have conjured up for one of my books. Could it get any better?

When the food was ready, I brought it out to the bow, and we settled in to eat. Not long after we began our meal, music drifted to us across the water.  Puzzled as to the source, we both went to the stern to see where it was coming from.

Across the river from where we’d anchored, was an old barge someone had pulled into a small jut in the river and made into a house.  Sitting on the front of the barge was man playing a cello. He serenaded us throughout our entire meal.

It became a very special evening and due in part to a total stranger who had no idea he had helped make it an anniversary that would stay with us forever.