Lately, every time we formulate a plan for a fun family getaway, something happens at the last minute to throw a wrench in the works. Whether it’s weather or inopportune illness, we just can’t seem to break free. Sometimes it feels like we’re simply stuck. So it was comical this past weekend, as we were preparing to leave for the Bahamas (weather permitting), one of our children accidently swallowed the pull tab from a Sprite at the local tiki hut/burger joint. At first I thought he was joking (this kid is real practical joker). The good news was that he didn’t choke. The bad news was that we couldn’t go offshore with a piece of metal lodged somewhere in our son’s digestive tract. What to do?

It seemed premature to get an x-ray or plan abdominal surgery, so we decided to wait. We looked it up online and figured at least a 36-48 hour wait, assuming the thing wasn’t wedged in there somewhere. Then there was the blue-glove task at hand (lucky kid!)—we jokingly called him the gong-farmer (look that one up). We had him swallow some pieces of crayon as a marker that would help us gauge how long things were taking to pass. He has a champion system, that kid. He dug for buried treasure today and came up lucky. A friend suggested he wear the tab on a necklace. Whether he keeps it or not, the memory and the jests at his expense are his forever. Barring any other mishaps, we should be moving smoothly again soon.

One great thing about the Keys for our family is the social scene. We are used to being the only people in the marina with kids, and our kids are used to entertaining themselves and each other. And traveling isn’t much better, as very few people out there cruising are in our stage of life. So we meet up with other boat families whenever possible, and cherish those times as rarities. While Jay is sort of a lone wolf, I am more of a social butterfly. I struggle with feelings of isolation when my only girlfriend also happens to be my husband (this doesn’t work so well), and if he is traveling for work, it can be pretty lonely. Sometimes I feel like our boat is a little desert island, but if that’s true, then coming to the Keys is a social oasis.

When we arrived in Marathon, we came “home” to an established group of friends among the homeschool and boatschool families here. That means playmates for the kids and “colleagues” for me. Even Jay enjoys having someone to have a beer with from time to time. Take Two has become the party boat. We’ve hosted friends for the Christmas boat parade, dinner parties that required using both indoor and outdoor tables, Lego playdates, kayaking expeditions, and a Thursday night tradition which has come to be known as “Mom’s Night In.” While Jay was working in Fort Lauderdale, I would invite the other homeschool moms over after all the kids were in bed for a night of drinking, snacking, and lots of talking and laughing. For me it was a life-saver, and I like to think it was refreshing for the others who came to sit in the warm glow of our cockpit lights. When we move on this spring, it will be sorely missed. Although I’m sure I could replicate it somewhere else with other women, it just won’t be the same.

I have great admiration for this brave group of fellow moms who have chosen to educate their children at home here in the Keys. People often feel isolated on the islands away from the mainland, and staying at home with one’s children would seem to exacerbate that feeling, but the community here is so supportive that it definitely eases the burden. The teaching philosophies vary widely, as do the number of children and parenting styles, but the conversations are not contentious. I have learned that there really is more than one way to skin a cat, as the saying goes. I relish not only the common goals we share, but also the different ways we’ve contrived of reaching them.

At Mom’s Night In, we get to talk about these and other things without the constant interruption of little ones. We actually get to finish conversations that we start, learn things about each other that otherwise we would never know, and get a chance to be something other than so-and-so’s wife or so-and-so’s mother—to let our hair down a little and just be ourselves. For a few magical hours, we come together to share our journeys, let off a little steam, and re-charge our mom-batteries. My thanks goes out to all the wonderful women who have hopped in my dinghy to join me on my little island this year: you have all taught me something, not the least of which is that friendship comes in lots of exciting flavors. You are funny, kind, thoughtful, creative, intelligent, and loyal—I can’t wait until next time!

Ever since we moved aboard Take Two and de-cluttered our lives, birthdays are less about stuff and more about making a memory. Instead of asking the kids, “What do you want?” we ask, “What do you want to do?” Sam just turned six, and what he really wanted was a repeat of his fourth birthday, which we spent in the Bahamas, jumping and diving off of Take Two into beautiful warm water with friends we had made there. We told him it would be “weather dependent,” but we knew it was too cold and windy right now in the Keys for a wet birthday. Instead, we surprised him with a camping birthday weekend with his cousins.

The last time I went camping with my brother, he was Sam’s age, and we were sleeping in my dad’s old army tents in Rocky Mountain National Park. Now my brother and his wife have seven kids and two tents, a collection of cast iron pans, two large coolers, and a propane camp stove to boot. They are real campers. We, on the other hand, never go camping and had to borrow our friends’ tent, inflate some air mattresses, and set up camp in their backyard (they live in a state park). We pitched tents on a Friday afternoon and tried to figure out what the sleeping arrangements should be. I had assumed there would be very little sleeping going on, so we planned for maximum fun: all the kids (minus the babies and toddlers) in one tent. That’s the eight biggest kids, plus two of our friends’ kids, for a total of ten.

The birthday dawned sunny and bright, with the first of the kids making noise around 6 am. It was going to be a long day. We took the kids on a field trip to Pigeon Key—we thought we could wear them out by making them walk the last two miles of the old Seven-Mile Bridge, but, as it turns out, kids don’t wear out, but moms and dads do. At sunset, we gave away glowing bracelets and let the hooligans run wild in the dark. I think they were playing Cops and Robbers, but it sounded more like Cowboys and Indians. When everyone got hungry, we passed out roasting sticks and hot dogs. Nothing better than a meal cooked over an open fire. We then gathered around and set six marshmallows ablaze to sing Happy Birthday to Sam. And then the S’more factory went into high gear, with children roasting marshmallows faster than I could assemble graham crackers and chocolate. Yum…

After they were done around the fire, we sent "tired" kiddos into their tent. Backlit by the battery-powered lantern, you could see the silhouettes bouncing around like molecules of hot gas caught inside a balloon. It looked like the tent might explode at any moment. At some point, Sam escaped from a leak in the tent and came to sit with us, periodically placing logs on the fire and generally messing about with burning sticks. He has the makings of a pyromaniac, that one. He’s a wild child, full of life and exuberance and boundless energy. He’s a lot like Tigger, and I’m sometimes like Rabbit—while I’d like to remove some bounce, I would be lost without him.

As the fire burned low and the kids began to grow quiet, the grownups drank the last of their drinks, ate the last of the S’mores, rocked all the babies to sleep, and solved all the world’s problems by firelight. It was a birthday we’ll never forget.

Lying awake under the stars (slapping at No-see-ums which had snuck into our tent), I realized that the reason why we never go camping, aside from the fact that it’s uncomfortable and our tents are in storage, is that our regular life aboard contains enough of the Outdoor Adventure to sustain us through all the mundane parts of life like work, school, and chores. We have access to wide open spaces, the occasional deserted island where we can light a bonfire out of driftwood, kayaking, hiking, swimming, and a change in surroundings whenever we get the itch for something new. We don’t need to go camping to sleep out under the stars because there’s a hatch over each bed, giving us a nightly panorama of the cosmos. You might think we would become bored by this, but the constant change Nature provides keeps amazing us and infusing our normal lives with a sense of wonder.

This is our second stay in Boot Key Harbor (Marathon, FL), and after six weeks here, we have concluded that we like this place more than we did the first time. Because we were new to cruising the last time, I don’t think we knew what we were looking for. As the harbor fills up with winter visitors, we understand a little better what draws boaters here. We have discovered that it takes certain characteristics in our surroundings to make us love a place. While there’s no magic formula, we can rate a place based on the presence or absence of these factors. The presence of so many makes Marathon a favorite.

Good Weather—We live on a boat that is not “winter-friendly.” An old Norwegian adage says that there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes. If this is the case, then all of our closets and cubbies are filled with bad clothes. In either case, we like to head south when temperatures begin to drop below 60. Even living in middle-Florida, it can get cold at night. The Keys are a place we can winter without having to tie up to a dock and run space heaters or break out the down comforters. It is sunny and pleasant here most of the time, and there’s almost always a breeze, so that even on hot days it is comfortable in the cockpit.

Clean Water— After the Bahamas, the words “clean and clear” have new meaning. We’re a bit spoiled, I know, but even the less choosy would not use those words for Boot Key Harbor itself. It’s more like a marina than an anchorage, so we don’t really expect to jump in. The water is a murky green and people are constantly buzzing by in dinghies. We don’t even go in to clean the bottom. However, just a short ride out Sister’s Creek, one can find suitable water for swimming, snorkeling, fishing, or scrubbing the bottom. With Sombrero Reef nearby, we have a place to go play and enjoy our watery environment.
 
Islands with Beaches and Trees—The Keys are nothing but islands, and if there is a tree anywhere nearby, all you have to do is look up to find out where our kids have gone. Palm trees, mangroves, banyans—they’re not picky, and there seem to be plenty. And while beaches as we like them are scarce in the Keys, there are a few nice ones close to Marathon, the best of which, Sombrero, is accessible by dinghy and happens to have a great playground as well.

Friends/Community—It took us awhile to make friends here, but now that we have them, coming back to Marathon is like coming home. Most are also home-schooling families, so we’re on the same wave-length (or at least the same schedule). And every time we come, we expand that group of friends! Marathon itself has a very small-town feel to it; everyone knows everyone else. We like the familiar faces in the harbor—people who have lived on their boats here sometimes for decades—who are quirky and kind and add a lot of local flavor to the place. There’s something special about the boating community that reminds me of the neighborhoods of yesteryear when people actually sat on their front porches and everyone helped their neighbors.

Safe Places for the Children to Play—Aside from beaches and trees, this includes public parks and nature preserves. Marathon has a great Parks system, even hosting a Homeschool PE once a week, and there are plenty of places to get some fresh air and exercise. The park nearest the marina has tennis courts, a playground, soccer and baseball fields, a hockey/basketball court, and a skate park. And there are state parks on almost every key where you can go hiking or kayaking and get out in nature.

Low-Key, Family-Friendly Restaurants—Among our favorites here are the Hurricane, Burdines, and the Sunset Grill and Tiki Bar.  It’s hard to go wrong under a tiki bar, especially if there’s a pool where the kids can enjoy the water while the grown-ups have a drink. We keep discovering new places, and so far we haven’t found one that isn’t kid-friendly and low-key. In fact, I think that word was coined for the laid-back people of the Lower Keys!

Beautiful Natural Surroundings—This is not the prettiest anchorage in which we’ve ever stayed, but there is natural beauty around if you look for it. It’s easy to drop the kayak in the water and find mangrove tunnels to explore, or to go ashore and take nature walks, or to take the boat out and just enjoy the sparkling aquamarine water. You can’t beat the parks and preserves of the Keys for unspoiled beauty and wildlife.

Interesting History—No doubt about it, this place is interesting. A friend recently lent me a copy of Les Standiford’s The Last Train to Paradise, about Henry Flagler’s Overseas Railway, which opened the Keys to landlubbers and eventually led to the building of the Overseas Highway (a.k.a. US 1, which runs all the way to Key West). After reading that excellent book, I look at the drive from Miami to Marathon in a completely new way. There are all sorts of places to take the kids for field trips relating to the history of the Keys, not the least of which is Pigeon Key, a worker’s camp for those who built the miraculous Seven Mile Bridge.

Quiet Anchorages—Boot Key Harbor is not exactly quiet, nor is it precisely an anchorage. With our 68’ mast, ducking under a bridge to anchor in Florida Bay isn’t an option, and there is a serious shortage of safe, quiet places we can anchor our boat on the Atlantic side of the Keys. But the water here in the harbor is very still, and we have 360º of protection from weather. We feel safe enough to let the kids take the kayak out or borrow a little sailboat to putter around in. If we want to find a remote and quiet place, we can head west to Fort Jefferson at Dry Tortugas National Park, or hop in the Gulf Stream and head toward the Bahamas. At least we’re poised to do that in Boot Key Harbor. This is a great place to wait for a weather window, though there’s a running joke that people stop here for two weeks and end up staying two years.

Small Town/Walking Distance Amenities—It’s hard to have a cute little downtown district in the Keys because everything is built along the main drag. The islands are so narrow, there’s just no other way to do it. But what the town lacks in charm, it makes up for in convenience. This really is a boater-friendly community, and everything is relatively close to the City Marina. Within walking distance we have a library, a park, West Marine, Home Depot, a Chevron station, Walgreens, Publix, the Marathon Deli and Liquor Store, Salvation Army, Dive Shops and lots of little restaurants.

A Good Library—In order for me to call a library “good” it has to have friendly staff and a separate kid-welcoming room which houses the youth collections. Marathon’s public library, while small, meets those conditions. Any book they don’t have, the super-nice librarians are willing to help you find and order from another branch. I have always found what I needed there to keep our home-school running and the kids happily reading.

Access to Marine Services/Ability to Get Parts—Just having a place to pick up packages helps a lot, as Jay usually gets parts for projects from Amazon or Defender. In addition to the City Marina’s handy mailroom, there are so many boats in the Keys that there are also services galore—engine dealers and mechanics, water maker specialists and canvas shops. You name it, you can find it nearby. Except, of course, a place big enough to haul us out.

Freedom and Space—Although the city marina can pack 225 other boats into the mooring field, I really don’t feel crowded where we’re positioned. Living on a mooring ball is a lot freer and more spacious than being tied to a dock, although it is not quite the same as being anchored. There are still rules to follow, people to get along with, and competition for amenities like the laundry room and dinghy dock. But there’s also the ability, if one gets claustrophobic or tired of the neighbors, to simply let go of the ball, sail out of the harbor and get away for awhile. It’s that flexibility that gives the boating life part of its charm.

Although we have long-term goals of traveling throughout the Caribbean and coastal Central America (and who-knows-what beyond), we realize that while we still have very young children, we have to take baby steps. With family on the west coast and a great boatyard on the east coast, we will probably always use Florida as a home-base. The Keys are a logical stopping place to or from anywhere we are likely to go in the near future, and Marathon is one of the many places we like to call home.

Some people are content to float downstream, happy to “go with the flow,” accepting wherever it takes them. I sometimes I wish I could be like that. For better or worse, I tend to paddle upstream, fighting my way toward some nearly-impossible goal, sometimes hurting myself or others in the process. I don’t doubt that my sense of purpose and perseverance takes me far, but it also lands me in a heap of trouble.

When I left for Paris during college, my dad warned me to pack light and take a taxi from the airport. I packed heavy and got off the airplane ready to try my hand at public transportation in a foreign country, surrounded by strangers speaking a language I had not mastered. Right…you can guess how that ended. I reached my destination safely, but with no small loss of blood, sweat and tears. Once I got some “free mulch” from a neighbor, and all I had to do was go get it. It seemed so easy at the outset—but the shovel and wheelbarrow weren’t getting the job done fast enough. So I used my minivan as a truck and loaded up the back. Six hours later and with a terrible mess in the back of my mom-car, I finished what I had started. But that mulch was decidedly not free. And Jay ended up cleaning up my mess.

Today I set out in the kayak to explore in Sister’s Creek. It was a bit blustery, and I lost my kayak partner to a mysterious rash. So I went alone, and after twenty minutes of fighting, I finally got into still water and had a moment to breathe and think about what I was doing. I realized that the way I approach kayaking is a great illustration for life. Sometimes paddling upstream has paid off beautifully—in the Bahamas, my fearless crew and I fought hard to get past the pull of the tide to find the blue hole in the Bight of Old Robinson, and after our explore, we simply drifted back the way we had come earlier, over upside-down jellyfish beds and shallow coral reefs—the breathtaking beauty and relaxation well worth the hard work. Other times, I have fought a hard battle against the pull of water and wind for very little reward. I should have turned the kayak around early on and admitted that we weren’t having fun. I mean, isn’t that what it was for to begin with?

Once I get that tunnel-vision about a project or a relationship, I seem to lose sight of what the thing was for. In my rush upstream, I leave all caution behind and my wake is littered with misery and madness. As I contemplate the year’s end and make goals for the next one, I realize I learned a lesson in my kayak this morning. Once I reached the still water, I decided I didn’t want to fight anymore, and turned around to head for home, wind and waves at my back. I think I’m coming to a place in my life where I don’t need to try so hard, but to rest and trust more. I see this in my relationships with my children especially. As they get older, a heavy hand can crush the relationship it was trying to create. It might be time to turn that kayak around and enjoy a downwind run.

A man who is not afraid of the sea will soon be drowned…for he will be going out on a day he shouldn’t. But we do be afraid of the sea, and we do only be drownded now and again. –John Synge

When we bought Take Two, she already had her name, and even though we’re not particularly superstitious, we decided not to rename her. She was the second boat we thought seriously about buying—the first having slipped through our fingers as we dawdled and debated—so in many ways, she represented a second chance at success. Since that time, some folks suggested that we should have renamed her “Take Six,” but then we added another crew member. It’s too much work to keep scraping off the old number and applying a new one, so that’s out. Besides, it only took two to make the rest of the crew.

Last week as we attempted to leave Fort Pierce, a new meaning for the name of our vessel became apparent. We headed out the pass against the current (we had been trying to make it out at slack tide, but missed), and then slammed straight into 6-9 foot confused waves that wreaked havoc on our interior. Oops, forgot to duct-tape the refrigerator door…and take everything off of the galley counters. We’re a catamaran, so we sometimes forget that sort of thing. Actually, we make it a point to never set sail in weather that rings our ship’s bell or causes the drawers to fly open. The fact is, we didn’t know what we were going to find, so we decided to take an exploratory look. Needless to say, we did not like what we saw, so we headed back to anchor and wait for better conditions. This is a familiar scenario. When we left Bradenton, the same thing happened. It seems to always take two tries for us to leave.

The first try requires a colossal amount of energy and courage, for whatever reason. Once we get entrenched in a place, we really struggle to untie the boat. Once that first hurdle is overcome, we spend at least one night at anchor to acclimate and help us get an earlier start. Then, with trepidation, we head out after sunrise to find out what kind of travel day we’re going to have. If it looks like a long, miserable day, we turn around. That’s why we never sail on a schedule. After the harrowing experience of take one, take two usually finds us more prepared, less nervous, and relieved when our patience pays off and we get the conditions we were waiting for.

So after a week of waiting on the hook in Fort Pierce, we tried our luck again on Sunday and were happy to find calmer seas. By the time we reached the Keys, the wind was cooperating and we had a great sail to Marathon, where Take Two will be moored for the winter months.