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NO WEEDS ON THE FRONT LAWN
Bil Gilbert
April 24, 1967
Shipboard living is no longer the exclusive province of the rich. Today men—and their families—are going down to the sea in everything from sleek yachts in orderly marinas to old scows clustered together, as in Sausalito, Calif. (below)
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April 24, 1967

No Weeds On The Front Lawn

Shipboard living is no longer the exclusive province of the rich. Today men—and their families—are going down to the sea in everything from sleek yachts in orderly marinas to old scows clustered together, as in Sausalito, Calif. (below)

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"Martha, this is my friend, Bil. He likes caves. He wants to know why we like boats."

Martha smiles dreamily and smiles and smiles and smiles and then finally begins to enumerate, like a housewife checking off a grocery list. "The boats are cheap. They are beautiful. We are happy, because we are like one blood. It is like we are all ribs and fingers of the same body, we are so close."

"Martha, that is so talky. We're just hung up on water. Water is just about the greatest thing in the world."

And maybe that will do, not only for the Sausalito Tahitians but also for the Tahiti-bound, the Tahiti-yearners everywhere—for those in the aquatic suburbs off Long Beach, for Marci Taylor, seasick under a Pacific moon, and for those who are mowing their lawns.

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