Riding the Tide

Six to eat one sundae. Perfect.

You know, it wasn’t our choice to spend the last 6 months in Minnesota. It wasn’t part of “the plan.” The first three months in the States—May through July, yes. Three months that were orchestrated precisely to include two visits to Carl’s sisters in Memphis, the second visit for a celebration of the life of Carl’s mom who died last December.  

Celebration of Karen Richards' life, Memphis

We had two weeks in southeastern MN with my six siblings, two weeks in Portland, Oregon with my children, and a week in Chicago with Carl’s son. 

A winery tour south of Portland, OR

We visited friends in Oriental and Raleigh, North Carolina as well as Washington D.C. as we made our way from East Coast to Midwest by car. 

Visiting Jax in D.C.

We saw a group of friends that I worked with in Decorah after graduate school, and with friends I worked with at Gillette Children’s years ago. 

Friends from my years
at Gillette Children's 

We even saw an old friend of Carl’s in Newport, Oregon. and Carl’s high school friends in Memphis. All planned visits. But the last six months? Entirely unplanned.

friends in Newport, OR

However, because we stayed in Minnesota the past six months, we had time to entertain my siblings in Duluth and north in September.  We made it to a surprise birthday party for Carl’s cousin in Detroit; time with old friends in Ann Arbor, MI, Windsor, Ontario and Detroit. 

Ann Arbor friend

We had time for a “lutefisk” dinner with our Duluth Yacht Club racing crew (minus the lutefisk); time with a dear cousin that I hadn’t seen in years in Waukon, Iowa. 

Racing in the Bay, Duluth

Because we were still in Minnesota, we were here to welcome Carl’s daughter back from her Colombian Peace Corps tour in October. We were here when my children came in October for their cousin’s wedding on the North Shore. 

Carl and I with my children and my son's girlfriend, October 

We were still in Minnesota for a leisurely Christmas celebration with both of our daughters, something that hadn’t occurred in three years. And there was so much more.  

Cuz we're Cousins

We enjoyed not one but two trips to Canada with friends for a week at their lovely off-the-grid cabin in Ontario; another visit with friends at a 1930’s rustic cabin in northern Minnesota with other friends; and many, many gatherings in Duluth. 

Friends' cabin in Ontario, accessible by water only

We felt at times like celebrities. It seemed that all of our friends wanted to host a dinner or other gathering at their homes “before you head back to the boat.” Needless to say, we obliged just about every time. 

A masterful paella outdoors
on Barr's Lake

There were gatherings at other locations too—at the new crop of Duluth microbreweries and restaurants that have sprung up during our last four years living on the boat. Carl’s daughter is of the opinion that we have social engagements several times per week. It was nearly an accurate observation.

A Christmas celebration.

Our friends took good care of us these last months. They fed us. They entertained us.  Two of them loaned me their sewing machines to satisfy my sewing obsession; one loaned us a second car to have over the holidays; one stored our car while we flew to Oregon; one is storing our car indoors for the next several months and also housed us for months. 

It's nice to watch the children
of friends grow up

Yesterday, one of them picked us up at the cabin, fed us dinner and brought us to the shuttle which took us to the MSP airport in the middle of the night. 

1930's cabins on Dewey Lake

It’s important to say that we appreciated the expertise and warm humanity of the Mayo Clinic providers in Rochester. We were so thankful to be where we were for Carl’s treatment. We couldn’t be more impressed with them. 

Mayo Clinic

Beyond that, there are so many beautiful moments I can conjure up; moments that I otherwise would not have experienced—an outdoor hot tub in 40 F gazing at a bright, full moon; orange sunsets over the lakes in Ontario and over Island Lake where we stayed the last six months. 

View on side of cabin, Island Lake.  Winter doesn't get much
more beautiful than this!

We saw a heavy snowfall that decorated all the evergreens of northern Minnesota in the most beautiful thick white frosting; and all those times we looked up randomly from our books or computers to find our deer pals peering into the windows at us. “Hey, you guys got anything for us in there today? Seeds? Fruit? We are particularly fond of apples.”

"Hello?"

It goes without saying that you just can’t plan everything in life. Oh, you can try, but in the end, things are going to happen and all you can do is ride along with the tides. You can fight the waves, but you won’t win. You don’t always get what you want but often times, I think that the best things happen outside of “the plan.” 

George played and I sang for
residents at Marywood after Christmas

I can’t imagine any better experience than being warmly welcomed back into the fold of our community of friends. As if we’d never left. As if in our absence, we have learned to love each of them more. As if we have become, in their eyes, more wonderful, more precious than we were before. 

My family of origin and spouses, Spring
Grove, Minnesota

I’m sure we would have enjoyed returning to our home on the water six months ago, but really, would that have made our lives any richer than the unplanned six months in northern Minnesota? I am certain it would not. 

A Christmas gathering that has become tradition
with friends from St. Mary's Hospital

A Book Review - The Essence: vignettes on my life with the sea

I’ll share what just may be revelations for many of my readers residing on dry land — Firstly, I dare say there are many more people living on sailboats, cruising around the world than you probably have imagined. Secondly, the percentage of those cruisers that write (whether it’s a blog, poetry, novel, “how-to” book, history, or travelogue) is greater than the percentage of writers living in the general population of land lubbers. I have absolutely no statistics to back up this claim—it’s just GOTTA be true because I’ve met so many of them.

There is something about living on the water that prompts many of us to write for the first time. Or like me, a prior interest in writing became a need to write while living aboard a sailboat. I have read many, many books written by cruisers, and my husband has read yet again many more of them. Not all books written by sailors are memorable; I’m asking you to trust me on that point. A writer that is not yet confident in his or her craft may, I think, be tempted to add gratuitous drama to their story, rather than allow the tale to unfold, as it naturally wants to do. There are those stories, however, that are written so clearly and without artifice.

A review of The Essence: vignettes on my life with the sea reveals that very sort of book -- a book that I will enjoy rereading. The Essence was written by a fellow cruiser, author and friend, Deb Akey. I first met Deb in Annapolis a few years ago, when I as a new cruiser, asked for her help with some technical aspects of writing using blog software. Deb was most gracious and patient with me. She was already a published author, and as such, was to me a marvel of knowledge, skill and guts. We have bumped into each other a couple more times over the past three years, either while traveling the IntraCoastal Waterway, or while paused at a marina. Sailors tend to keep track of one other.

Deb and her husband, Tim, together write a blog called theretirementproject.blogspot.com. They have lived aboard their Tartan 42 longer than our 3 1/2 years living aboard Northern Star. Like us, they sold everything several years ago and moved onto their boat in order to answer a voice that called them to the sea, a not uncommon theme among cruisers.

The Essence is, however, more than a book on a common theme of answering the call of the sea. Each of the vignettes paints a gestalt that is familiar yet remarkable. Accompanied by Deb’s beautiful photography, the author has teased out for us, emotions that are universal.

Deb Akey has captured within The Essence, the most elemental of emotions, of human thought, of reflections that I myself have experienced while living on the water. The decision to remove oneself from land to live on a boat is a life-changing undertaking. Steps taken to live as full-time cruisers, cannot be undone. The previous life on land cannot be replicated without great effort, if at all. But beyond that major decisive experience, the author has summoned up many other experiences, big and small, that are part of boat living. And each is a pleasure to visit.

Author, Deb Akey

The Essence vignettes evoke memories of contentment, belonging, surprising wildlife and sunsets. There are satisfying moments of small triumphs, moments of stunned awe, and “aHAH moments." It is simply poignant. If you live on the water, or want to imagine what such a life would feel like, you will love this book. Settle into a comfortable spot in the shade and let the beautiful words gently ferry you along.  Read The Essence in one sitting as I did the first time, or savor each vignette individually, as a treat at the end of your day. This is what I intend to do next time I pick it up.  It will be like unwrapping a chocolate to savor in the evening, one at a time.

A Meaningful Life

*Apologies for the quality of several photos that were taken at dusk, thus not very bright or clear.

Northern Star under sail approaching
Bequia, (BEK-way) 2018

There were several months after we moved aboard Northern Star that I found myself deeply pondering the question of “what brings meaning to life,” to my life specifically. Tackling the greater ‘Meaning of all life’ question would have to take a back seat for a while. I had become untethered from the life I knew, and I wondered whether I had brought enough of whatever makes me “ME,” along with me into this new life.

Photo taken near Kennedy Space Center
before crossing the Gulf Stream the first time. 2016

After all, my working life was apparently behind me, rather abruptly, it seemed. Our old six bedroom home was long gone, along with my perennial projects, the gardens and bread making.

My social work "sisters"

I left behind a very loyal and interesting group of friends and family to travel off to places unknown for an undetermined period of time. I tried to pinpoint an answer to this question that kept circulating in my head, “Do I belong anywhere now? 

Some of our dog friends and their humans in Duluth. 2017

As it happened, I had packed our boat with several things that were given to us by people we love. The poignant side effect is that whenever I use these items, I am thinking of the giver. I reach for the cheese knife or mixing bowls and I "see" our daughters, put on my Vibrum 5 Fingers (shoes with individual toes) or use the classy can opener and our sons are "here" with me, the hand mixer makes me think of my sister, the dry bags that were a wedding gift to us years ago puts me in mind of those friends. And there are many more examples. Somehow these things helped me to feel connected to my previous life and I was glad that I had them along.

Friends in Duluth, on Barr's Lake. 2017

Was I missing my friends and family? Yes! I looked forward to checking my Facebook pages—(the Northern Star page, the Life and Times of Jax and my own page) more than I ever had while living on land. 

Long-time friends at their
cabin in Canada. 2017

Previously, I had secretly pooh-poohed the concept of selecting “Like” on a FB post. But once living aboard, all of those “Likes” meant that someone was thinking about me and that felt really good. I was still connected. And I, in turn, enjoyed thinking about each of those folks individually. 

Five of my six siblings, 2015

Was I lonely?  Well, not lonely, per se, but hungering for some alone time with women friends. Missing being part of a tight group.

A visit with Carl's cousins and a sister in
Portland, ME  2016

I missed the feeling of walking into a room and having familiar people look at me with gladness that I was there. It seemed that where I “belonged” had been left far behind and that I had ventured into a foreign land without touchstones.  And if I truly felt that where I belonged was back on land, why was I living with water below?

Friends in Duluth who allowed
us to rent their lake cabin before
moving aboard our boat in 2015

Somehow though, the days were filled with things requiring immediate action—tackling problems with the boat, how to fight mildew, and how I could make our limited living space seem bigger, and with those occupations, time passed quickly.  

Thanksgiving with new friends on Lubbers' Quarters,
in the Abacos, Bahamas, 2016

Then, little by little, I found that I was in the company of new people that I liked, wherever we stayed for a little while.  Not everyone that we met was destined to become a fast friend; certainly not, but we did find that ‘friend-making’ is accelerated on the water.  

This merry band of Halloween revelers became
friends.  Note the "parrot" resting on
pirate's shoulder. Hampton, VA.  2017

We (sailors) need each other, dare I say, more than we did living on land. Although sailors tend to be quite independent and self-sufficient people, when things go awry whether big or little, we want to confer with one another. 

Women friends in Fort de France, Martiinique
celebrating Carnaval.  2018

We offer up spare boat parts when we can. We offer to come aboard and help each other with tasks. That’s just the way it is between sailors.  

Friends that toured around the Pitons on
St Lucia with us.  2018

And when we share our similar histories of planning and preparation required before moving aboard, we find others who understand the challenges involved with leaving land. 

Hiking friends and jokesters, Bequia. 2018

The first time we arrived in the Bahamas, in fact, within the first hour, we were hailed by some sailors from Minnesota.  One of them called out to us,  “Duluth! I just graduated from (U of M) Duluth!” Instant connection. They were on a boat named Namaste. We were invited into their little network of friends and with that, we were part of a group. We saw all of those same people when we arrived in the Bahamas the second year.  Old home week!

The owners of Namaste are on the far left. Green Turtle
Cay, Abacos, Bahamas  2016

Last summer was spent in one place, a boatyard in Oriental, NC, while I recuperated after back surgery. We both took a liking to one particular couple there that was working on their boat, Lulu.  Over a beer, we gaily told them one of our favorite stories, about the ermine that found its’ way into our bathroom at our rented lake house.  He (or she?) did his job by first clearing the house of mice and then considerately found his way out of the house again. 

English sailors shared our tour of Dominica.
2018

I ended the story by relating that when the ermine returned for a second “visit” we of course, were compelled to name him. Before the ermine's name escaped my lips, she exclaimed presciently, “Herman!”  Which of course, was correct!  What else could it be?  

 Stephanie & Greg have arrived! Bequia. 2018

The four of us laughed and I knew in that instant we were friends.  We’ve kept in contact with those friends all winter and we are going to see them again soon. They have been clawing their way across the entire Caribbean toward us and we are waiting like children at Christmas for the arrival of Lulu.

A circus on the water.  Audience rafted up on dinghies to
watch. Le Marin, Martinique. 2018

Our good friends that we met in Annapolis living on a boat called Narwhal, the same folks that love and take care of our sweet Jax, visited us here in Bequia (BEK-way) for a week.  It was fantastic!  We snorkeled and regaled each other with stories of Jax.  It does our hearts good to know that they love him as we do. Jax owns the four of us—not the other way around.

Jax's humans: Justin, Megan, Ardys & Carl 
Bequia, 2018

After arriving in Antigua with all of the other Salty Dawg Rally boats, we mingled with the scores of other sailors.  Eventually we found our “place” amidst the mass of boaters—people from all across Canada and the U.S.  A few from England. Where they are from matters little.  We found and continue to find people that we feel at home with, wherever we are. When I show up, these friends look up and greet me, looking for all the world as if they are glad that I’ve come. 

A "Dinghy Drift" before sunset.  We attach our dinghies together and float wherever the wind
takes us, while sharing snacks and beverages. Carl and I are in the tan dinghy. Bequia, 2018

A hike on Bequia. One of the Grenadine
Islands. 2018

As we travel the islands, the boats part ways for a while, and then, we inevitably happen upon one another again, on a different island. Sharing stories, meals, sundowners, hikes, and help on each others’ boats as needed. 

Racing in the Easter Regatta on Allegro. 
Bequia, 2018

The other night, our dinghy went walkabout in an immense harbor opening onto the Caribbean Sea.  Our friends launched three dinghies and immediately went in pursuit of our wayward dinghy in the dark, on choppy waters. A dinghy is essential to living on a sailboat. When it was found, we heartily thanked everyone at which one of the dinghy hunters stood up in his dinghy and called out, “We love you—we had to find your dinghy.” It’s hard to find anything more meaningful in (my) life than discovering that I am where I belong.