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“Have you been out on a boat?” It’s an odd question to ask someone who is sitting right next to you on a boat. But I knew what he meant, and I answered somewhat sheepishly: Yes, my family and I were spending a month in this adorable lakeside town of Wellington, Ontario, but no, I didn’t plan to take them out on a boat ride. I didn’t expect his response. “Let’s take my motorboat out to the sand dunes one day next week. What day works for you?” It turns out this was no idle chit-chat. The man asking the questions is Tim, and he and I are paddling side-by-side on a 20-person dragon boat. He’s been doing this for years; I’ve done it twice, if you count today. An article in the local newspaper caught my eye: “Dragon Boat Festival: Paddlers wanted for twelfth annual festival.” We would still be in town for the festival, and I could bike to the boat dock. Why not? I’d never been on a dragon boat, but my canoeing experience from a couple of decades ago was a good start. The most important thing when you share a boat with 19 other people is timing: Paddle exactly when everyone else paddles, and for exactly how long. Otherwise you’re bumping the other paddles and annoying the other paddlers. That’s worse than not paddling at all. After the first practice, the team captain moved me from the back of the boat, where I was less likely to get in the way, to the middle. I am on the right side, and Tim is on the left. While we’re paddling, my only focus is on the right side. Watching the paddles in front of me as they move in unison, listening to the caller, and trying to get the rhythm right. “Stroke! Stroke! Stroke! Let it ride!” While we rested and coasted, we chatted. I was a novelty: Who spends a month on vacation, who does so here in Wellington, and who joins a Dragon boating team while on that vacation? The locals’ curiosity slowly morphed into pride: We chose little Wellington as the place to spend a month of our lives, and the locals wanted to make sure we came away with a good impression. Tim’s questions confirmed that we hadn’t yet been to the sand dunes (part of the nearby Provincial Park) and that we hadn’t been on a boat. We exchanged cell phone numbers, and Tim sent me a text to make sure he had the right number. That text didn’t say “Tim from the dragon boat”; it said “Hi. Let’s get the boat in the water”. Yes, he wanted to show off his beautiful part of the world, but he also wanted an excuse to get out on the water. A week later three of my children and I are cruising along the edge of Lake Ontario. The other side of the park is crowded with tourists, but there are no roads leading to the water side. And almost no other people. Tim turns back to my kids and yells over the motor: “Pick a dune.” They hesitate for a minute, ponder their options, and then point. That became our own private dune. One boat, five people, and one giant sand dune. We beached the boat. The kids scurried up the dune, looking smaller and smaller as they climbed. Tim and I stayed standing with our feet in the water, watching tiny fish nibble at our toes. We talked about his annual trip to Thailand; he spends a month there each winter, so maybe my month in Wellington didn’t seem too foreign to him after all. And we talked about his beehives. I learned that honey bees don’t need any attention in the winter, so beekeeping and long winter trips to Thailand work perfectly together. After the dragon boating festival, I bought myself a souvenir: A Wellington “Big Dawgs” Dragon Boat Team shirt. I wear it when I exercise; every time, I think of Tim and his motorboat. The kids ask if we can go back to Wellington this summer. And I have a standing invitation to check out the beehives.