When their car broke down they barely had enough money to repair it. For the same amount they could purchase an old looter boat. The boat won hands down. It was idyllic. In the morning I would help Bill with minor maintenance work on the engine or hull. Melissa would prepare the gear for hauling lobster traps and diving. Before mid morning we would head out to harvest traps. On the way back we stopped at an old sunken freighter hulk. Here we would dive down and plant undersized lobsters to fatten up. It was almost our own farm. After removing a couple of lobster for our dinner, Bill would sell the rest at market. We seemed to garner enough money to buy gas for another days excursion, a few beers, some groceries and incidentals, and have enough left over to provide for the boat. I did not mind working of no pay expect food, lodging, and small amenities. It seemed a good wage.
The paradise I was seeking, may not exist where I left it, but it seemed to persist in small places like this where folks took care of each other, shared their resources and regarded the experience of being together ample reward for a days work. It seemed that side by side with a culture that felt cold hard and unyielding, existed one filled with caring, compassion, and love. Dotted about the landscape were small havens like the one Bill and Melissa provided, not just to me, but to anyone willing to stop by and join in the lending hand society.