"So This is Christmas"

"And so this is Christmas

I hope you have fun

The near and the dear ones

        The old and the young."

                                      lyrics by Peter Hollens, 2nd verse

Sundog to the right of the sun visible--December 2014,
near Island Lake, Minnesota

No blizzards this Christmas, no snowmen, nor any snow at all.  No ice skating, sliding or dogsled races. No “White Christmas.”  No Sun dogs on a cold December morning.  No white-outs, dangerous windchill, nor school closures.  No polar fleece, thermal underwear, boots, wool hats and scarves. 

Beach at Jolly Harbour, Antigua

No parkas, snow tires, nor ice scrapers.  No red noses, runny noses or blowing noses.  No smell of freshly cut evergreens, a fire that crackles and spits out pockets of pitch. No hot apple cider. Sigh….I miss Minnesota at Christmas time.

Karen picked up dinghy driving quickly

On Christmas Day, the three of us, Carl, his daughter, Karen visiting from the Peace Corps in Colombia and I, set off in the dinghy. We zipped across the water to a beach where we set up a yellow half-moon pop-up tent against the searing sun, spread out the towels and found a bit of shade for the cold drinks. People we met on the way there smiled and said “Merry Christmas” to which we replied in kind. 

Caribbean "Snowman"

The wind was hot and the water refreshing.  I found the remains of a sand man near the surf, and gave him Carl’s shoes, stones for eyes and a stick nose to match his arms and christened him my Caribbean “Snowman.”  It would have to do. 

My family, circa 1960.  Alvin, Vivian, me, Mavis, BevAnn,
Mary Lou, Betty Jean, Vernice, Ford, Grandma Brevig

In spite of having entered my seventh decade, there is something about this season that makes me revisit vivid memories of Christmases long ago.  I have within me the “tuner” to find the Christmas Eve oyster stew with crackers—a special supper for two important reasons; the fare was an uncommon treat and it would be shared after milking cows, rather than before when supper was normally eaten; the ritual oyster stew that must be eaten before the gifts under the tree could be touched.  

Mavis, home for a visit 

From the earliest time I can remember, Christmas was associated with one or more of my five sisters and my brother coming home.  When I was four, it was my eldest sister for whom we waited to come home.  The next Christmas, it was two sisters that returned home, and so on each year until all six had grown up and left home, thereby, necessitating their triumphant return to the family farm for Christmas.  

Snowman, built by my brother,
Ford and me

And triumphant it would always seem to me.  Triumphant because I wanted them to come home, and they did!  I remember a bit of sadness for my classmates that did not have the excitement of waiting for those older brothers and sisters to return on Christmas Eve. I supposed that they had happy Christmases as well, but how could they be as wonderful as family members returning home?

The last time our blended family was all together at Christmas
time, at an Ice Bar north of Duluth, MN.

Some people said that I was a spoiled child, and I suppose I may have been. They were talking about the gifts that my brother and sisters would bring for me.  Yes, I know that they were in a bit of a contest to outdo each other for the best Christmas gifts for the baby.  I know that now.  And I remember my eyes getting bigger and bigger with each gift.  Enormous packages containing huge stuffed animals (how did they fit on the airplane?) or building sets.  But the best, the very best thing was that they all came home.  Through the snow and the ice, they came.  We (Mom, Dad and I) fretted about a blizzard that could ruin things but it never did that I can recall.  They all came back.  And that was always the best Christmas gift of all.  

Carl with his daughter, Karen 

Perhaps that is what I missed the most about Christmas this year.  The adversity to be overcome in order to be together.  There is something about knowing that the house/boat guests are going through grave challenges to get to us by Christmas.  

Karen sitting on the transom of the boat

In actuality, Karen did have to undergo a long day of flying, waiting, and then flying some more — from Cartagena, Colombia to Panama City, Panama to San Juan, Puerto Rico and then to Antigua.  The adversities included uncertain airlines and airports damaged by hurricane.  But she did make it to us, and in plenty of time for Christmas.  And that was the best part!  

Christmas 2016, Vero Beach, FL with 3 of our children,
plus Brian's fiancee

Our other three children we spoke to on the telephone.  We wished them a Merry Christmas.  We told them we miss them and that we love them.  That was the best we could do this year.  

Carl with his mom, Karen

And so we ate some Christmas lasagna, we raised a toast to Carl’s mom, who left this world earlier in December, and we shared a few fond memories of her life. Many more of those memories will be talked about and many more toasts will be made in June when we gather in Memphis for a Celebration of her Life.  She, who came through much adversity to get to the beautiful age of 96.  

Aebleskiver, Danish donuts, a tradition honoring
Karen's Danish heritage

May you keep only the best memories of all the yesterdays and of those you love and have loved.  May this season bring the best that it can bring, with or without ice and snow. 

"A very merry Christmas

And a happy new year

Let's hope it's a good one

Without any fears"

An Easy Ride to Reedville, Virginia

posted by Ardys

We pulled anchor at 0700 this morning, motoring south at 7.19 kt (knots) or about 8.27 mph toward the Potomac.  When we got into the current coming out of the Potomac, our speed increased to 7.7 without changing the RPM.  Gotta like that.  Yes, we are motoring.  No wind to speak of, but again, a beautiful day on the water.  Jax is particularly happy when the boat is level.  He’s less happy when we’re heeling so this is just the right kind of “sailing” for him.  

Solomon’s Island is across the Rappahannock from a military base called the Naval Air Warfare Center:  Aircraft Division.  Several fighter jets were flying as we arrived two days ago, and we also heard a Naval Warship broadcasting “All mariners are required to keep a 5 nm distance.” No problem there, but kinda makes me wonder what they were planning on doing out there.  I spent some hours today studying and learning how to use the electronic charts on our new Garmin chart plotter as we were underway; something which my husband has already spent hours doing.  The chart plotter identifies any vessels that are broadcasting AIS, plus we see all vessels around us on the radar overlay which is very handy.  

 I’m noticing lots of notations on the charts in this area— “Hazard,” Obstruction”, “Wreck”, “Foul Area” and there are “Restricted Fish Trap Areas and Structures” extending out into the Bay up and down both the Eastern and the western shores of the Chesapeake.  I was surprised however, to find one teeny, little, rectangular area near the navy base marked “Fish Haven.”  Really?  Has anyone told the fish?  The area surrounding the naval base is marked “Prohibited Area” of course, no surprise there.  But some of the areas demarcated I was surprised to see. There's a  "Danger Zone” which extends from the Naval Base on the Western shore and aims in an ever widening swath across to the Eastern shore, terminating at a little island called Barren Island.  To me, it looks for all the world like a trajectory.  Hmmmmm. But the best of all the notations that I was surprised to see were: “DANGER UNEXPLODED BOMBS AND SHELLS” (presumably they want to keep them that way), “BOMBING AREA” (no one told me we were bombing the Chesapeake) and the one I found the most curious was “LOWER DANGER ZONE.”  Lower than what?  Do they mean, "No unexploded bombs here--as far as we KNOW!" Is that supposed to put us at ease?  Is it like a challenge--"you can go through here if you WANT to, but I wouldn't do it."

Other than these multiple, mostly unseen things to maneuver around, our trip to Reedville Virginia was uneventful.  We read on Active Captain* that there was a floating dinghy dock at the Reedville Fisherman’s Museum (I’m seeing a theme here for small towns on the Chesapeake Bay) and one at a restaurant on the water’s edge.  Neither was open and the dock at the museum was actually not floating.  It appeared to be stuck in the mud at the shoreline presumably due to the low tide.  We managed to climb up onto a dock belonging to the museum—it was not pretty.  There were no ladders.  It was no problem for Jax, however.  

Sunset in Great Wicomico River

Reedville is one of those places that apparently has an on and an off season.  We arrived during the off season.  It has an historical district which made for a nice walk down the main street.  There is an oyster and seafood market with none of the artificial panache that some tourist towns seem to have.  I liked that.  It is also a home to several large fishing vessels and associated fish (menhaden) processing plants. The towns’ occupants obviously are dependent upon their livelihood from the Bay.  An enormous smoke stack from a defunct fish processing factory has been rescued from certain decay and is proudly lit by spotlights all through the night.  It was a little town with some charm and a visit during the summer would be fun.  The part of our stay there that made me smile was a house dressed for Halloween—probably the best I have ever seen.  

*Active Captain is a crowd sourced app that marries up with the Garmin Blue Charts which is loaded on our chart plotter.  Sailors can add their own information onto the Active Captain site, which is a great way to learn about an anchorage and local information, such as fuel docks, laundry, shower facilities, dinghy docks, dog friendly places, etc.  Some anchorages have none of those things, but they may be desirable for their protection during heavy weather.  Now that we’re moving, we may add our information to Active Captain as well. 

Solomon's Island is NOT an Island

posted by Ardys

Yesterday we motored 51 nm (“nautical miles”, for my non-salty friends and family) from St. Michael’s to Solomon’s Island; a beautiful day, but without any wind.   Since fall is here, we’ll  make headway south by motor when there’s not enough wind to sail.  I’d heard several people talk about going to “the Solomon Islands” which is technically, not an accurate term. The town of Solomon’s Island WAS originally on an island until a causeway was built to connect it to the mainland in 1870.  It is a now a long narrow peninsula with the southern border along the Patuxent River and the hook-like north shore forming a well disguised entrance to an inlet with two creeks feeding into it.  I thought that Annapolis had a market on the number of sailboats and powerboats per capita, but I was wrong. There seemed to be more boats than there are people living in Solomon’s Island.  NORTHERN STAR was right at home.  Several working oyster boats came in and out of the inlet at all hours of the day and evening—I like seeing the working boats.   These men provide us with oysters.  I really appreciate them.

The Calvert Marine Museum was a short dinghy ride from our anchored boat and was our first stop with Jax, eager to conduct some dog business on shore.   Unfortunately, as it was already late afternoon, we did not have time to visit the museum.  The floating dinghy dock is well marked “Dinghy Dock for Use of Museum Visitors,” however, we had a desperate canine looking longingly at the land, and it seemed cruel to not indulge him.  Thus, our co-conspirator threesome tied up at the dinghy dock, Jax made a few brief transactions and we couldn’t help but notice the outdoor part of the museum in the process.  It looks like a really interesting museum.

Oysters—mmmmmm, oysters.  There was no question about needing to find a place to have some oysters and we had several restaurants to choose from.  The most expensive one was closest to us by dinghy (naturally) and we chose to walk to the other side of the peninsula and eat at a restaurant that is built on a pier over the Rappahannock River, called Solomon’s Pier.  Aptly named.  We shared a half-dozen raw oysters.  Carl had an cod po’boy and I had an incredibly huge bowl of what they called Chesapeake Bay Stew—oysters and crab in a creamy broth and served over a mound of mashed potatoes.  Where has this dish been all my life?  Can’t wait to try making this myself.

This morning, as previously arranged, we met with a young marine researcher by the name of Nicole Trenholm of the Ocean Research Project (oceanresearchproject.org), who entrusted us with a piece of hydroacoustic fish tag monitoring equipment which we have agreed to deploy each time we anchor as we go down the Coast and into the Bahamas (more about that to follow later).  

From Solomon’s Island, we head off to cross over the mouth of the Potomac River and on to our next anchorage on our journey south.  Still looking for enough wind to sail.  Surely one of these days it’s bound to happen.