Reflections

We managed to fit in a couple of days away at the boat this week. And the weather was kind enough to make it worth our while. We left the dock around 9:00 am. Raised the sails just outside of the No Wake zone. Winds were between 5 and 8 knots. Our destination was a small cove about an hour and a half away. With the light winds and Kotona’s lack of a huge genoa, we plodded along at around three knots. But with only a few bass boats and no barge traffic, it was quiet and peaceful.

We arrived at the anchorage, picked our spot, dropped the anchor and readied the swim ladder. It’s a running joke that Amy’s biggest reason for a boat is to have a mobile swim platform. After said swim, we sat in the cockpit with a beverage, enjoying the light breeze. In the cove, the wind couldn’t decide which way it wanted to come from, and would frequently shift 180 degrees. In between those shifts there would be no breeze at all, and at those times with not a ripple on the water, it perfectly mirrored the tree lined banks. Sometimes, times like this one can just chill. Sometimes one thinks about things.

Years ago I was offered the opportunity to document a series of mission trips for an international relief organization. Medical teams, construction teams, disaster response teams all focused of providing assistance to regions, communities, individuals in need. Locations varied from the Gulf Coast after Katrina, to Costa Rica, Panama, Honduras, the Bahamas, Cuba, and Mozambique.

And whenever we would return from one of these two-week missions, the first remark I often heard was “I bet you’re glad to be back home.” Well, yeah sure, we were glad to be back to familiarity and the comforts of home. Most of the time, accommodations on those trips were just a step or two above camping out; we hardly ever had air conditioning. But the food was good, water was clean, coffee was often fabulous. So yeah, nice to be back, but there was often a bit of melancholy upon returning, and I think I understood why. But it was hard to put into words others would understand, until we started sailing again.

We’ve haven’t always had a boat, but the ones we’ve owned have been relatively simple in terms of amenities. Our first boat, a Capri 22, had only an ice chest, a couple of interior lights and a portable toilet. But we spent many wonderful days and several wonderful nights aboard (in our younger days). Later, jobs required that we move far from water, and we were without a boat for several years. When we started looking for the retirement boat, simplicity was one of the things on our list.

Kotona is pretty well equipped to fit our age now. With her fridge and pantry we can easily store a couple of weeks worth of food. Her tanks can hold enough water for that time period as well. We can cook, sleep comfortably, and sail pretty much anywhere we choose to go, but her list of live-aboard amenities is still relatively simple, compared to what new boat marketers tell us we can’t live without. So she reminds me that part of what I enjoyed on those mission experiences was that sense of simplicity, lack of complication; but there is something else she’s helped provide, that was also memorable from those trips - a shared experience community.

Here in the deep South, sailboats are a bit rare. As we stopped in different marinas last summer and now our new marina this spring, we had several people come up and ask about the boat. Partly because she is beautiful but also she’s a bit of a curiosity.During those conversations, we shared our trip plans, and were befriended by a number of cruisers, including some Great Loop veterans, who have already made the trip we are undertaking. Comparing notes on anchorages, lock transits, boat projects, and trip planning has often resulted in conversations that take at least an hour and possibly a beer or two. Community and new relationships, is part of what has made this adventure memorable.

We woke to temperatures in the 60s and a light breeze. Coffee in the cockpit, in the early morning light is one of my favorite things.  Just as the sun peeked over the hills, out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement. “Great, the bugs are already active” I thought, but as I turned, it was not an insect I saw. Less than three feet away was a beautiful blue and gray hummingbird. Small, about the length of my little finger, delicate, amazing. It hovered and stared at me for the longest time, then went on its way. A simple thing that nicely started the morning.

In these days, as our parent continues that long term care journey, a few hours of peace, beauty and simplicity is a welcome respite. As I finished my second cup of coffee, Amy asked “How you doing?” My reply, “I have everything I need.”  A well built comfortable boat, a beautiful lake, and a quiet anchorage, a spouse that shares the dream of eventually completing this journey, and we have everything we need. Amy commented later how I looked at peace. She’s not wrong. Sailing, or sometimes just being, on a boat, on the water, can do that for you. Or as Jimmy Buffett put it, “…something ‘bout a boat - gives a man hope.”