I have been hard at work lately. While during the winter, I struggled to find work and pay the bills, now I am swamped with several, although modestly paying, jobs. I find all of my work very satisfying and have no trouble working overtime. But with several days of overtime strung in a row, I decided to take the day off.
I began the day with a long lie in bed. So long, I could have recited the entire script of West Side Story, given that I was driven to do so. But I was driven more to relax. And at just the moment when staying in bed any longer would have been more work than relaxation, I could hear the sound of John Rose’s dinghy motor growing louder and louder.
I sat up. “Ahoy,” I shouted. Even from a seated position in my aft cabin, I need not move much to see in either direction outside my boat.
It was his usual morning “drive-by.” On his way to satisfy his need for coffee, he slowed as he passed by Daphne. “Good morning,” he shouted back. And with a tip of his head, he was off again.
I decided to get up and begin the day’s work. I opened my forward cabin doors and out spilled Dory with a squeak and flutter of his voice. He went about his morning routine of climbing atop the dodger, sun bathing, chasing the bitter ends of loose lines, and patrolling up and down the deck of the boat so as to make sure that the gulls or dogs ashore don’t cause any trouble aboard Daphne.
I dove into my daily work too. It began with a jog, short brisk row, and a dip in the ocean. Then, I went straight to work scraping the varnish from my bowsprit. I was in no rush to complete the project right away, so a small ripple in my plans wouldn’t worry me. But this wasn’t a small ripple, it was a splash! And I was very worried because Dory had fallen overboard! Peanut, my dinghy had drifted over to the boat and Dory, being the curious sailor, hopped aboard. Then, when he tired of the little boat, he turned to jump back into Daphne, missed the cap-rail, and slid into the ocean.
Dory can swim! He began swimming around the boat looking for a way to get back in, while I hopped into Peanut, released her painter, set the oars, and pushed away from Daphne. But I didn’t go far. Rushing to get to Dory, the painter knotted and was stuck. As I worked to untangle myself, Dory was swimming further and further away. Finally free, I headed over to Dory. His wet little head, ears tucked back, was just visible above the water’s surface. Cold and scared, he began to cry out. His loud wail sounded through the harbor, and I swear he was saying, “Momma! Momma!”
“Its okay, Dory, Momma is here.” And I reached in, grabbed him by the neck, pulled him into the dinghy and breathed a sigh of relief. Dory, hiding under the thwart and shivering, was safe again and the beating of my heart slowed.
When we returned to Daphne I gave him a shampoo, freshwater bucket bath, and lots of treats. The sun was warm and fifteen minutes later he was nearly dry and fluffy again.
On this day a boat I had never seen before pulled up next to me and tied on to the nearest mooring. The boat, just launched that day, was named Magic Time and a young couple began the work of setting her up for summer. They were bending on sails, coiling lines, and inflating the dinghy. Ein and Nora, a handsome couple, were speaking quietly to each other. I watched for a few moments as they worked. Nora spent more time in the cabin, and Ein, dressed nicely in khaki pants, leather shoes, belt, and a button down tucked in dress shirt seemed on a mission to complete the work.
“Are you going sailing?” I asked.
“We’re hoping to.” He shouted back. I could see Nora’s head emerge from the cabin. They were locals, not liveaboard transients.
“I’m Teresa and this is Dory.” I said and held Dory up so they could get a good view. After they introduced themselves, we had a brief chat about the usual; where we are from, our boats, how long we plan on staying, and closed with the resolution that the next time they are aboard, they will have me over for cocktails and I will have them for carrots and hummus.
Then I had a craving for carrots and hummus. I still don’t have refrigeration yet. I’m saving money and searching for a solar panel to provide power to my boat, but for now I am growing used to using flashlights and making frequent trips to the grocery for fresh food. Once I knew Dory was warm and happy, I headed ashore, hopped on my bike and pedaled to the grocery store to purchase only food that does not require refrigeration. I selected powdered milk, a large bag of carrots, hummus, crackers, two apples, and some raw milk cheese.
As I pedaled down the hill, I could see the town lying low in front of me, the ocean stretching far behind it. The harbor was packed with boats, with many rows of masts standing tall and quite. And I thought to myself; what a wonderful secret little world it is out there. While shore folk bustle about, strolling up and down the streets, stopping in for a drink or to shop and never saying much to each other but an occasional, “excuse me,” the liveaboard folk buzz between boats, sharing food, stories, company. And when a new boat arrives, they are always greeted and treated warmly.
Back at the dock, I unloaded my groceries, carried them across the beach to my dingy. I noticed an old man back his truck to the beach. There was a fiberglass dinghy in the truck bed and after a moment, I realized that he was going to try to carry the dingy to the shore alone. I set my groceries in Peanut and headed over to him.
“Would you like some help?” I asked. His reply was sweet and slow. “You are so kind,” he said, “I’m here only a few minutes and kind people are already offering me help. Thank you.” His hair was graying, his movements were slow, and he was hunched over a little bit. I wished there was another person to help, so that he wouldn’t have to lift a finger. But his looks were deceiving and he surprised me as together we carried the dinghy down to the shore.
By this time, my stomach was growling and I was ready for lunch. On my way back to Peanut I nearly tripped over a bucket of crabs. I stopped and stared. There was at least twenty, piled on top of each other. “I caught them all myself,” said a round little boy with a pale face and pick cheeks. “Wow!” I said, “You weren’t scared that they would pinch you?”
“No way!” He shouted and off he went down the beach.
I tie Peanut to the town dinghy dock right near a public beach. There are often sunbathers and beachcombers, few actually go swimming. At the end of the dock a young man was lying with his arms outstretched and his neck tipped back so that just the crown of his head was touching the water. His eyes were closed. “Excuse me. I’m just going to get in my boat now.” He opened his eyes and a slow smile spread across his face. “Where did you sail in from?”
“What?” I couldn’t understand him. Hi accent was thick. It was obvious he wasn’t from here and English wasn’t his primary language.
“Where did you sail in from?”
“I live here.” I replied as I climbed into Peanut.
“On your boat?”
“Yes.”
And as I cast my painter from the dinghy dock, setting Peanut free and en route to Daphne, I turned back to hear him calling to me, “It is a nice way to live, isn’t it?”
Spring is here and pale faces are beginning to emerge from their houses and enjoy the fresh air. With the winter cover finally off my boat, my mast up, and my lines cast free from the dock, I can feel a sense of freedom that, like the buds on the trees, is beginning to open up and reveal its charming face.
Yesterday I awoke to the sunshine streaming through my open hatch and the sound of the ocean lapping at my hull. And as I bobbed gently up and down on the waves, I thought to myself, “Yes, I live on a boat…. finally!”
From the cut of my jib one never guesses that I liveaboard and sail my own boat. Just last week after telling a colleague that I lived on my boat, she began asking questions like, “How long have you two lived aboard?”, or, “Where are you guys keeping your boat?” So yesterday, as I rowed ashore, dressed for the evening work of hostess; my hair curled nicely and my shirt pressed, I watched the four men on the dock staring at me and I wanted to shout, “What?! Have you never seen a gal row herself to shore?” But I didn’t.
Twenty minutes later I was working on my new dinghy, appropriately called “the dirty dinghy” as it had sat in a friend’s backyard for years before I acquired ownership. I scrubbed, sanded, and repainted it inside and out.
Repainting the "dirty dinghy"...and chit chatting with the BFF!
Then I repaired a hole, added new rails, and even painted the name, “Peanut” on the transom. For the finishing touch I covered the entire rail with canvass padding. That last step required nearly eighty screws! Pressed for time, I called two friends for help.
While waiting for their arrival, I continued with my work and began chatting with a woman who was out walking her dog. “Wow, How do you know how to do that?” She asked. “Do what?” I wondered as I was only screwing in a zillion screws with the screwdriver. “Whose boat is that?”
“Its mine.”
“What do you do with a boat like that?”
“I’ll use it to row out to the boat I live on in the harbor.”
“You live on a boat? And you have to row to it? How often?”
“Everyday.”
“Wow. What if it is raining?”
“I’ll put on a raincoat.”
“Who helps you?”
When Kevin arrived I handed him a screwdriver and moments later realized that I should never assume a man knows how to use one. Two screws later I decided that I was better off doing the work alone. So, when Katherine and her friend Scott arrived, I asked, “Do you know how to use a screwdriver?” “Sure”, she said, “Where are the nails?”
After the dinghy was finished, Scott, Katherine and I launched it. It floated, and I jumped up and down with excitement!!! Katherine was eager to give rowing a try so she and Scott hopped in and I rowed a different boat. A few minutes later I was shouting to them, “Would you like me to tow you?” “No thanks,” said Scott, “I’m going to row now.” Now I know I can never assume a man can use a screwdriver or row a boat. But chivalry never dies, and so I allowed them to float on over, without a tow.
Onward I go, to hostess. I meet a lot of interesting people hosting at the restaurant/bar that I work at and last night was no different. A charter boat captain was telling me all about his fancy boat and the wedding and honeymoon charter cruises he does. So, I told him that I’m a sailor too. “Great,” he exclaimed, “because I’m looking for a crew member, and you would be perfect.”
The woman with him turned to me, got a little to close, and whispered, “If he wants you to work with him, you should because he is so interesting.” And then, leaning in closer, she said, “And he is not one of those pervert types. I’m serious! You know what I mean. He really is not a pervert.”
“Sure,” I thought.
And Mr. Honeymoon Captn’ said, “I’m looking for a new crew member. You really would be perfect because the job isn’t just about pulling on lines. I need a crew member who can cook!”
How often does today’s generation sit around a campfire listening to stories of our elders?
And what about story telling, simple living, and sailing?
When I’m cooped in my cave-like boat, under a dark winter cover, I daydream about the summery nights at anchor. I envision a few friends or family are there with me. We might share hot tea or chips and salsa or a game of scrabble, but that doesn’t matter. What matters will be the stories that well tell.
I remember the stories my father told me while I was growing up. They were always the same, but never dull.
The Moose Head
The Broom Stick Story
The Choir Boy
…to name a few.
I often try to retell the stories to my friends. I start off strong, a little background information, and then build to the meager culmination of me trailing off and arriving upon the conclusion that, “you just have to come over and hear it for yourself.”
But they only happen at certain times of the year. Always at the same time, in the same context, and the same story. Yet, each time with a new sense of mystery, suspense, and surprise.
Grandpa is the same way. He knows how to spin a merry yarn. And a creative one too! It is from Grandpa that I learned that I come from a line of circus ancestry, that if it weren’t for love at first sight then I wouldn’t exist, and that he was the war hero who saved everybody by single handedly driving out the “bad guys.” “They found out Grandpa was coming and they fled.”
I am sure that my affinity for the water stems from Grandpa’s journey across the West Fork. The boat he was in tipped over and spilled him into the river. He struggled to stay afloat in the turbulent water, swallowing buckets of water and flailing about as he gasped for air. His salvation came when he hollered to a man on the shore for help. “Stand up,” the man replied. And Grandpa did. And the water came just past his ankles.
Perhaps you might dub these stories as Tall Tales, but in some ways they are my true history. But Tall Tale or not, if you are a non-believer in “love at first sight” just by turning your attention for one day to Grandpa and Grandma, you’ll change your mind.
How wonderful it would be if everyone had an oral history as colorful as I do, and how wonderful it would be they could also pass along their stories to the next generation. So much of the best parts of our history are learned through the tradition of story telling.
And so, tonight I’m introducing to you a non-profit that I just discovered called StoryCorps. Please visit their website, listen to the stories, and request their services in your community. And, if they ever go to Michigan, please let me know. It would be a wonderful gift to my family and this generation to hear the stories of my grandparents.
This is a brief description taken directly from StoryCorps’ website:
“Since 2003, over 35,000 everyday people have shared life stories with family and friends in our StoryBooths. Each conversation is recorded on a free CD to share, and is preserved at the Library of Congress. Millions listen to our broadcasts on public radio and the web. StoryCorps is one of the largest oral history projects of its kind.”
Its been a week since my last post. The time between posts is getting longer and longer. I was warned when I started my blog that this would happen. Last week I went to a job fair, looking for coastal positions…ideally teaching at a private school. No luck….yet. And I wonder how I ever got myself into this mess.
Sometimes I feel a sense of homesickness. Yesterday I was compelled to exclaim, “I want to go home,” over and over. But where is home? Surely its aboard Daphne with Dory. No, I think “home” in this circumstance is a place of security. Security in finances, friends, and safety. Aboard Daphne it is not like that. Still new to this area, friends are few. Still new to this life, money is tight. Still new to my boat, safety is a state of mind…the wind kicks up and I lose it.
But…and I know I keep saying this…I am hopeful.
Many folks wrote to me asking how the rest of my first solo sail went. Here it is:
I awoke at 0300 as planned, weighed anchor, and ventured out into the darkness and fog. Ahead I could hear a bell. To starboard, I could see a blinking red light piercing the fog. Soon, I would see the green buoy ahead, cross the bay and continue on through the cut. I kept scanning all around the boat, only a bit nervous that the buoy would materialze out of the fog just seconds before my boat crashed into it.
After a sensible attempt, I turned around and went back to my anchorage to sleep another few hours. Things would be easier when the sun was up. And they were! With every degree that the sun rose into the sky, a little more fog burned away removing the blanket that blinded me for the past few days. I began to see things again…boats, land, clouds. I could see as far as the horizon! It only took a second to recognize that the bell, lighted buoy and green buoy weren’t in the same location as the chart indicated. In fact, the green buoy I searched for through the fog, the one I thought would jump out of nowhere in attack, didn’t even exist!
The rest of the sail was uneventful. No seasickness, no fog, no rough weather. The wind picked up to a steady breeze coming directly across my beam. I set sail and headed on. When I arrived at the cut, I lowered my sails and motored through. I enjoyed watching the folks on shore biking, jogging, fishing, and waving at me. The sky was clear my entire day’s sail…with the excpetion of the last half hour.
Just as I was entering the bay the wind kicked up and the fog rolled in. There was little to mark my way, many boats, and a large ferry trafficking the tiny bay I was blindly sailing into. Looking for the breakwater that marked the harbor where I would moor I continuously scanned my surroundings , listening for the ferry, and hoping to have a humdrum arrival. It wasn’t long before the breakwater began to materialize and I whooped into the wind with gladness. Glad to have arrived, glad to be safe, and glad that I will soon get to do it all again.
Continued from Part One. Click HERE to read part one.
I anchored in eleven and a half feet of water, took some time tidying up the boat, and then settled into my cozy cabin to prepare a warm dinner. It was cold, foggy, and drizzly outside and even though my sail was finished for the day, my voyage was not.
When I began sailing it was on a Ranger 23. I was eight years old. My family would spend our evenings and weekends day sailing every summer. When I was old enough, I began teaching dinghy sailing and racing at a summer camp, then finally expedition sailing with Outward Bound. It was there where I decided that sailing was not just about hoisting the sails and finding the perfect line of sail trim. Sailing is about discovering new places, or old ones with new eyes, being close to the weather, navigating, swimming, cooking on a healing boat, trying to sleep comfortably in huge waves, keeping warm, and finding my way in the fog. It is the entire experience and I am eager to have more of it.
After a warm rice and vegetable dinner, with water on for tea, I lowered the table and converted the salon into a berth. The air was motionless, the sea was glass, and I anticipated a solid night of sleep. I knew how important sleep was as I set my alarm for 0300. If I hoisted the anchor by 0320 then I would make it to the cut before the strong currents turned against me. In fact, the water would be flowing in my favor and quickly carry me through. So, I turned in as soon as I could because I anticipated an early rise.
converting the salon into the forward berth
Almost every other time I have anchored a boat and slept on it, I had an anchor watch. Anchor watch is a position that rotates throughout the night, keeping an eye on the boat, so that the rest of the crew can have a full night sleep without worry. This time, without an anchor watch, as I snuggled into my sleeping bag, holding my kitty Dory close, I said a quick prayer thankful for the clam sea and making an appeal for fair weather, clear skies, and an uneventful sleep.
An hour later I awoke to the sound of the bucket in the cockpit sliding from the starboard side to the port side. Startled by my unfamiliar surroundings, I sat up quickly and immediately registered what was happening. I was aground. This was the first time I ever went aground and I was worried. The boat was resting on its port side, and I perched high on the starboard side stewing over an irrational fear that perhaps the boat would roll over, fill with water, get a hole, or worse…crack in half. I called Benji.
“Benji, I’m aground! I’m aground,” I said. After a brief explanation he reminded me that it was ok. The sea was calm, the bottom was sand, the boat was ok on its side. There was nothing to worry about.
“Take a picture,” he said, wondering what it looked like. I wouldn’t, and instead reminded him that there is a picture of the Nor’Sea dried out like this in the Nor’Sea brochure. Remembering this picture brought some reassurance, knowing its not abnormal for sailors to anchor their boat and let the tide run out from below them so that they can clean, check, or do work on the hull.
But how could I have let this happen? It has always been a part of my anchoring routine that when I set anchor, I check the tide table to see if the water was coming in or going out. How much water would be lost throughout the night? Was there enough to stay afloat? I think I blamed Benji a bit for my carelessness. When we sailed together when I first launched the boat, he wasn’t as worried about the tide, and I came to believe that in this part of the country (like in Lake Michigan) it didn’t matter as much. But the truth is, I was an idiot for not checking, and it likely will never happen again. Thank goodness for calm weather that night.
So there I sat. Perched on the high side of the forward berth, holding my breath, waiting for the tide to fill in setting my boat afloat. I explored the deck, checked to see if the depth sounder would work in this situation, and watched the crabs scurry sideways along the ocean floor. And when the boat was floating again, I went back to sleep. Click Here to read part three.
I just added a new family photo to this blog…well an old one actually. Take a look at the post titled Daughters and Sons. Or read my newest post titled My First Solo Sail.
I am a confident and prudent sailor. I know my limitations and strengths and pursue ventures within my abilities, which is why I decided to wait for a few days before my first solo sail on my own boat. The weather radio was indicating that a small craft warning was “in effect.” They predicted weather that I have competently sailed in before, but my anxiety was heightened by the perception that my very own boat was somehow more delicate and susceptible to damage than all the other boats I have sailed. So I waited an extra day, and then another.
During the days that I waited, I worried and wondered if I would be ok sailing alone, I raised and lowered my sails, reefed them, secured my bike and sails on the deck, stowed my belongings for sea, and cleaned out the icebox and lockers. Then, I reorganized again, checked the fuel level, and proceeded to tinker with every little detail that could be a concern, while trying to get a good night sleep each night.
Finally, at 0530 on Thursday morning, I was on my way. I cast off my lines and pulled away from the dock, a strong current pushing me along. Exiting the river where I was moored requires you to pass under two bridges. As I approached the first, I hailed the bridge tender, “Main Street River bridge, Main Street River bridge, Main Street River bridge,” I said three times as is the radio protocol, “This is the sail vessel Daphne. Over.”
I waited. No reply.
I tried again. “Main Street River bridge, Main Street River, bridge, Main Street River bridge. This is the sail vessel Daphne. Over.”
Still no reply.
After a third try I was growing concerned. I was at the bridge and had been circling around for a while already, wondering if I was going to be allowed through. Finally, someone replied, “Sail vessel, Daphne. Try channel one three.” I switched to channel thirteen and shortly after the bridge was opened.
Once out of the river I had plenty of wind to set my sails. I set the full main and a working jib, and sailed along nicely for quite a while. There were no problems, manageable boat traffic, and the skies were clear. I spent that time playing with the video camera that Benji loaned to me (video footage soon to be posted on this blog), reading books, cooking, and fighting off seasickness.
The boat was rolling gunwale to gunwale, the lest ideal conditions for keeping your head from spinning. The only thing that could make it worse was the fog that came later that day. The swells coming in from the open ocean were and causing me to become queezy. My only solace being stale bread and the occasional healthy belch, which always seems to sooth the nauseousness for a brief moment. Then, my luck turned and the fog rolled in. Sometimes the fog will burn off as quickly as it rolls in, but this fog would stay with me for my entire trip.
As the fog rolled in, the wind quietly abated until there was nothing left, and I was bobbing about in the ocean, rolling from side to side, land nowhere in sight. I had two choices, either I continue like this and wait for wind, or I turn on my engine. Faced with this decision to be made, I considered what time it was, how many miles I had left to travel, and when the sun was setting. I didn’t want to get to my anchorage in the night, especially with the fog added as a double blindfold. So, I turned on the engine and pressed on.
I approached my anchorage as the sun was starting to set and I was getting more and more nervous. I had about twenty minutes of twilight left and I pushed the throttle ahead more. I was on edge. I stood in the cockpit, and scanned the horizon looking for the lighted buoys, then plotted a position on the chart, looked at the depth sounder to make sure I wasn’t too close to the land that was to my port (yet I couldn’t see), and scanned the horizon again. This continued for what seemed like far too long. Scanning, plotting, waiting, checking, scanning, plotting, checking, scanning. Until finally I could hear the horn at the southern edge of the Point. Soon I would be able to see its light. All I had to do was keep it to my left as I curled around the cape, and use my depth sounder to ensure that I didn’t get too close to land. I would know when I arrived at my anchorage when I could her, or see one light to the south, one to the north, and the lights from the town to the northeast. Using these landmarks and my hand-bearing compass, I could plot my exact position.
When I first began sailing I didn’t have access to a GPS, radar, depth sounder, or any other electronic navigational equipment. I learned to navigate the traditional ways, using a chip log, lead line, compass, rulers, triangles, chart, and dividers. I think its fantastic how effective and simple these tools are, tools that were used long before the development of the electronics that are used today.
These are the tools that were used when a sailor carried a compass around his neck, a knife and marlinspike on his belt, and a ration of grog in his sea duffle. It’s the beauty of that simplicity that continues to draw me to sailing. How wonderful it is to harness Earth’s wind to propel me, her magnetic forces to direct me, and the songs of the tides and gulls to sooth me.
I remember a time when I was studying for the Coast Guard Captain’s License exam with a few friends, who brought along a few other friends. I was the only sailor of small boats amongst the group. Most of them sailed larger vessels with all the newest technologies. Most of them “sailed” powerboats.
They joked about my experience and scoffed at me…a small boat sailor, a row boat sailor…becoming a Captain! But when the time came to take the navigation exam, I walked away with a 100% and was on my way home while others were still waiting for their opportunity to retake it. I’m thankful for my traditional navigation skills. Someday the electronics will fail and I’ll have to find my way without them. So, even though I now have a GPS, I still double check its accuracy using a simple compass and rulers, which is just what I did when I arrived at my anchorage. (…to be continued)
Click HERE to read Part Two!
Click HERE to read Part Three!
Hello,
I haven’t blogged in a while, and many folks are requesting a new post. They want to hear some inspiring words from me, from someone who is chasing her dreams, living a unique life, and successfully paving her own unique way in today’s challenging world.
But I’ll tell you the truth.
Someone (who calls himself “Bad-Fish”) made a comment to me saying that my blog was “too sweet.”
This is for you, Bad-Fish.
It isn’t always fun. It surely isn’t easy. I spend my days working two temporary jobs with less than ideal pay to just barely pay my bills. And, I live a bit on the kindness of others (you know who you are). Thank you!
I just heard Pres. Obama say “We are going through the worst economic crisis since the great depression….the problems are accelerating, not getting better.”
Perhaps if I had a crystal ball and knew this was coming, I would have been more prudent, kept my job, and not purchased my boat.
But I am one of the lucky ones.
I do still have my boat…today. And, I do still have my hopes.
I don’t sail off into the sunset each day, with wind at my back and open horizons ahead. I really don’t want to disappoint you, but it isn’t like that at all. Now, I want to be a schoolteacher again, but one where I can still live on my boat. I want the best of both worlds. Is that too much to ask?
Soon enough, I will sail off into the sunset. Keep reading. And there will be more posts in my usual style…”too sweet.”
Sincerely,
Teresa
My Dad is the father of three girls. Now he is the grandfather of two more. Five girls and no boys, and I am the middle of those five, the youngest of the three.
“I tried to raise all my daughters like sons,” he would say.
Alicia, my oldest sister was the tomboy. She excelled at sports, playing volleyball, softball, basketball, and track. She would intimidate the bullies on the playground that were picking on her kid sisters, and she even tried chewing tobacco…I think. But, she also spent the most time styling her hair. She would occupy the bathroom for hours, teasing, curling, crimping, and spraying her mall bangs that dominated her look and cast a shadow on the floor that made her look as tall as Shaquille O’Neill. Now she is the gentle motherly type who tenderly coos at her baby girl and plays “store” with her other daughter.
Marissa, the middle daughter, could pal around with the guys like she was one of them. She shot pool, went “two-trackin’,” a Midwestern teen pastime, and could drink anyone under the table. But even though she was chummy with the guys, I think secretly they all had crushes on her. She was voted by her classmates onto the homecoming court, read Seventeen magazine (which she occasionally shared with me) and wore the hottest pink sequin dress to the senior prom with high heels.
And then there is me. Teresa. I played with dolls until I was almost in high school. The only sport I was really good at was when I was the coxswain for the men’s crew team. And after I was the flower girl in my cousin’s wedding, I wouldn’t take the lacy, flowery, dress off. I think I would have worn it to school if my mother had let me. And I have never worn high heels.
So, I was surprised the day my father took me aside to tell me something that perhaps he has forgotten by now, but I will never fail to recall. He stood next to me, with one hand on my shoulder, composing himself as if he was going to tell me some historic news. And in his best John Wayne voice, he said, “Darlin’. You know, a father gives his son a pocket knife.” He thrust a small folding knife key chain toward me. “You are my son.”
If it weren’t for my dad, I don’t think I would be a sailor. I would just be lost. I remember when Dad went sailing in the BVIs with his friends. He was sharpening his skills to prepare for buying his first boat. When he returned he brought me a sea-shell necklace and a coconut. My first ocean treasures. I especially loved the coconut. I had never seen one. I saved it for so long that when I finally cracked it open, it has a worm in it.
After a seemingly lifetime of dreaming, Dad finally bought a sailboat. I was about eight years old. It was a Ranger 23 that Alicia named Applerush. When I tell people the name of the boat, I am met with confused looks? “How do you spell that?” “One word or two?” “What does that mean?” And most often, “Why Applerush?” I have no answers for these questions, except that we like it. Alicia blurted it out during a family car trip and it stuck. And so the boat was called Applerush.
The Applerush was often home to Mom, Dad, Alicia, Marissa and I on family vacations. All five of us would cram into the tiny 23 foot boat, which I believed happened to be the perfect size for me because I was the only one who could stand up straight in the cabin, something I thought I would always be able to do. As a family we sailed about the coast and islands of Lake Michigan, hung our feet over the side of the boat to dip them in the waves, and screamed at the wind.
Dad and I especially would scream at the wind. “It makes me feel ALIVE!,” we would yell over and over again and again. When summer was over and the boat was in storage for the winter, we still yelled. Every Friday on the way to school Dad and I would drive Marissa, nuts by yelling, “T…G…I…F…Its Friday! Blast Off!”
Yes, Dad is a strange one, and sometimes I channel his strangeness. I like it that way.
Thats me! In the middle! (Dad in the back, Alicia-left, Marissa-right)
Today I wanted to write about President Obama, about eating Raw Foods, about the first time I went aground in my boat, about the first time I went aground in a boat I was hired to sail, about the relationship between the gulls and a West Marine clerk, about how I chose the title of my blog, about my cat (I’ll always want to write about my cat), about my Daddy and I screaming at the wind on Lake Michigan, about National Downshifting Week, about a UFO and a 911 call, about The Windryder, about….about so much.
These stories are dancing in my head, waiting to be told. Huddled together reminding me to focus on the journey, on the so-called simple living. Reminding me about my goal of not getting caught in living for the paycheck. Reminding me to take time to write. Reminding me that I will be most happy when my most authentic and alive self is brought into direct and conscious contact with living. And what is that comprised of…writing, sailing, breathing clean air, dancing, playing, sleeping under the stars, creating, discovering…
Four years ago I was sitting in a circle (on a boat, under the stars of course) with 11 other people. We went around the circle each answering the question, “If you could do anything, what would it be.” My answer was, “I would sail about the world and learn to speak many languages.”
Nine years ago I was given this song (by Tom Petty). I was told it was written for me. Sure, you can tell me that its not possible because Tom Petty likely has never heard of me, but I disagree. It was written for me. It speaks directly to me, about me, for me. That has never changed, since the day I discovered it. Its my theme song and I will always keep it as that.
Wildflowers by Tom Petty
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free
Run away, find you a lover
Go away somewhere bright and new
I have seen no other
Who compares with you
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free
Run away, go find a lover
Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover
You belong in that home by and by
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worry
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong somewhere you feel free
