Author Archives: Tanya

The Scenic Route or The Fine Art of Doing Nothing

by on in General

This has been the most boring passage we have ever made, and I mean that in the most positive way possible. (Our kids are not actually allowed to use that word—they actually think that boring is the “b—“ word.) But the opposite, “exciting,” we had on the first day out of Georgetown and none of us wants that kind of excitement again any time soon. At the moment, we are motoring at about 4.5 knots across a glassy Gulf of Mexico about 20 miles from the entrance to Tampa Bay. It’s so smooth I can’t tell the difference between the reflected starlight and the phosphorescent sparkles in the water.

Just out of Key West yesterday morning, a motor yacht passed us at a shocking speed and left us rocking in its wake. Jay and I laughed about his gas bill, as we sailed gently (for free) with spinnaker flying. Jay said they’d probably be in Sarasota in time for lunch. Here we are, still at it, a day and a half later, and I’m thinking there’s something to be said for just getting there. Of course, that guy didn’t get to see the spectacular vermilion moon rise last night, or hear the dolphins puffing and blowing around the boat at four this morning, and he definitely did not have time to play Scrabble, Dominoes, Number Factory, the Allowance Game and Candyland with four charming children. Not to mention baking cookies and doing art projects. We’re definitely taking the slow, scenic route, and there are advantages to that as well.

Typically, travel days represent a break from regular routines—the kids know they can expect around-the-clock snacks and a break from schoolwork and most chores. But the last 36 hours have been so calm and, well, boring, we really could have done all the regular things. I’ve never arrived after being at sea with the dishes done and the cabin tidied and even swept. It’s kind of nice to be coming into port without the usual chaos.

So, what is passage-making like? We get this question all the time. If it’s turbulent, then I try to prepare ahead—plenty of ready food like nuts and fruit and cheese and crackers Usually at least one of us feels the effects of mal de mer and spends most of the time lying around. I, thankfully, rarely succumb even to queasiness, so that explains why I take more night watches. For some reason, the disorientation of darkness irritates Jay’s symptoms, but I find it to be pleasant, even when the boat is moving a lot. But really, unless something exciting is happening (like reefing the mainsail in the rain in 20 knots of wind), passage-making is really boring.

For grown-ups this is not really a problem. Jay and I, swapping shifts at night, are tired during the day, so we alternate between reading, napping, and snacking. The older boys usually keep themselves busy with Lego creations and reading, but occasionally get in trouble for boyish mischief. It is hard to be cooped up in a boat with your family for days on end, so I can understand it, but it doesn’t really make it less annoying. They like to play “boat soccer” a game that uses the companionways down into the hulls as goals and has several convoluted rules and intricate scoring, but that usually ends in arguing, and we have to confiscate the ball. Sarah occupies herself well, and sometimes Sam, too, but they seem to need more attention and guidance to stay busy. So I read aloud, and we play lots of games and put on movies and pop popcorn.

What I have come to realize is that although I dread the long passages—the fatigue inherent with only getting cat-naps and the challenge of keeping everyone comfortable and busy—I also look forward to them, and really appreciate the sense of our own self-sufficiency and the accomplishment of covering all those miles.  Sure, you could hop on an airplane and be in Georgetown, Bahamas tomorrow, and it took us ten days to cover the same distance. But where’s the fun in that?

The Blessing of a Broken Shackle

by on in General

“Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway.” –from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit

We seem to be having no shortage of adventures on this trip back to Florida. I thought it might be too much to ask that we would have as uneventful a trip home as we did on the way to the Bahamas in the fall. But, of course, nice days do not make for very good stories.

Today’s adventure involved three mishaps: a broken shackle, a brand-new jib halyard made five feet too short, and damage to the top of the jib. We were headed straight for New Providence, our jumping off point for the leg across the Gulf Stream, sailing along nicely, when a loud noise and sudden flapping got our attention. I thought the jib sheet had broken, or that the jib itself had blown. Quickly we realized that it was actually the top of the jib that was hanging limp; our minds jumped to the conclusion that the brand-new, $500 jib halyard (which we replaced for this trip) had broken.

We got the sail down as quickly as possible, diverted to a quiet anchorage off of Wardrick Wells, and sent Eli up the mast. Upon further inspection, it appeared that it was actually a piece of faulty hardware that had snapped, and Eli was able to bring the halyard down with ease. A little too much ease, it appears, because the end of the halyard disappeared like a rabbit into its hole! Where was that stopper knot they teach you in sailing school? It turns out that the halyard is just a tad too short, and without the figure-8 knot in place, it just goes bye-bye. To top it all off, so to speak, the top of the jib where it slides into the roller-furling track was beginning to suffer some damage, and looked as if it might tear all the way down the sail without some attention.

If you’re going to be stuck somewhere making repairs, I can’t think of a nicer place to be than Emerald Rock on a sunny day. As Jay fed the kids and rummaged for a spare shackle the right size, I sat on the foredeck with sail tape and needle and thread repairing the head of the sail. I don’t know if I did it “right,” but it was, all the same, a very satisfying job, and it made me feel like a real sailor. I hope it holds until we can get the jib to a loft, and I hope the sailmaker doesn’t laugh at my awkward stitches! Jay then used the spare jib halyard, which was damaged recently due to over-use as the kids’ swinging halyard, to run the new one back up inside the mast. With new hardware in place, halyard running smoothly (complete with stopper knot), and sail repaired, we hoisted the jib in a stiff breeze—putting that repair to the test—and furled it as quickly as possible. It was just after noon, so we weighed anchor and pressed on toward home.

Seamstress

The upshot of this diversion is that we stopped about forty miles short of our goal for the day, and anchored at the southern tip of Shroud Cay. This is someplace I had wanted to go kayaking when I had read about it in the guide book, but we had passed it by on our way South. It’s in the Exumas Land and Sea Park, and is a far lovelier a place than any of us imagined. I was picturing the miles of mangrove estuary and intertwining creeks as they would appear in Florida—cool, dark, murky places, but this was mangrove forest at its most beautiful—clear aquamarine water in wide, easily navigable ribbons leading to snowy ocean beaches on the other side of the Cay. I could easily spend a week here with my kayak and never get bored. We took the dinghy and went on an Explore, thoroughly enjoying ourselves.

Shroud Cay

As we returned to the boat, the sun was preparing itself for bed and the waxing moon was just waking up for the night watch. With a glass of wine in hand, Jay and I toasted our “last day in paradise” as the sun went down in fiery glory. I felt so happy to be alive—to be soaking up days like these to remember years down the road. And when I thought about why were so lucky to be here, I realized we owed the pleasure of this happy ending to our three-month cruise in the Bahamas to a broken shackle. Isn’t life funny?

Lessons from Adversity, Part I

by on in Recipes

I got stranded in the dinghy (again), but this time I was not able to help myself, and the stupid motor bit me. That would be code for “electric shock.” I don’t take it too personally, though, because it bit Jay, too, when he tried later to figure out what was wrong. I also had trouble with the tilt and trim, which malfunctioned and prevented me from getting the propeller far enough in the water to get forward propulsion. Add that to the fact that I was in the middle of helping a friend, who couldn’t get her motor started. I would have at least towed her back to her boat except I couldn’t help myself! We were sort of drifting along together, me, Carla, and six children, trying to figure out what we should do next. Someone putting by helped us out (thanks, Jerry from Kumbaya)—he got my motor down far enough to go forward and towed Carla home. Had Jay had his VHF on, there’s not much he could have done, short of coming to help out by kayak (yeah, right) or telling me to just row home. Carla’s husband was out fishing, so he wasn’t there to help either.

Now I understand about being independent and self-sufficient. But sometimes you just need help. I’m seven months pregnant, for goodness’ sake—I don’t possess the physical prowess necessary for wrestling with the Merc 25. Jay didn’t exactly scold me for my helplessness, but he did express his desire that the adversity teach me something, preferably that each episode would build my confidence and competence in trouble-shooting. HA! I will not repeat the whole conversation (mostly because you don’t want to hear my irrational and emotional ranting), but suffice it to say that what I have learned is to a) never go too far from the boat or from someone who can help me; b) make sure Take Two’s radio is on and set to the same channel as the handheld unit I always have with me so that the Main Troubleshooter is available to talk me through problems; and c) get our little motor-head Aaron up to speed as quickly as possible so he can fix the damn thing.

The fact is that I am as likely to learn outboard engine repair as Jay is to learn herbal remedies to fix the kids’ various ailments. We ascribe to the “divide and conquer” way of life, and although we always have spares of everything, there are no spare family members. We each have vital roles to play and we can’t really do each other’s jobs with ease. Some cross-training is desirable, of course, or else Jay couldn’t travel for work and I’d never have a moment to myself. But the self-sufficiency we have attained is based on inter-dependency; we are able to help ourselves as a family unit because we can help each other. This teamwork is sometimes put to the test, but you can read about that in another entry…

Always Homesick

by on in General

Part of traveling is the anticipation of leaving, the other, of coming home. Pithy, I know. But what that really means is that you’re always homesick for somewhere.

I have so missed my family and close friends on this trip; I probably seemed a bit overzealous when we finally met some other young families here in Georgetown. I nearly attacked poor Helene on the beach one day, and then abandoned her mid-conversation another day when introduced to Carla. The former is here with her husband and two boys (our older boys’ ages) for five months in a rental, escaping predictable life and winter in North Carolina. The latter is the first mate on a catamaran called Begonia, taking an ambitious year-long journey with her husband and two kids (a girl and a boy near Sarah and Sam’s ages). The three families together formed some kind of perfect chemistry, where everyone felt instantly comfortable, and the kids each had an age-matched playmate. That’s a rare concoction. Rare, and short-lived in this lifestyle. That brings me to the second cause of homesickness. The first thing we’ll do when we get back to Florida is get together with our families, but we will all the while be missing the people we have met on this trip. We just can’t win. Or, as Jay put it, there’s always something to look forward to.

We are waxing nostalgic about our trip through the Bahamas and we haven’t even left yet. What will we miss about cruising here? Aside from the people we have met, we will also miss the atmosphere. For example, the quiet. Almost never do we hear airplanes zooming by overhead or sirens or car motors. There is the occasional passing dinghy, it is true, but that is only in crowded anchorages like those near George Town. The dark sky is another thing I have begun to take for granted. I can look up at any time of night and spy an old friend in a constellation; I don’t even bother to get out my star chart and binoculars anymore. There are millions of visible stars here, not that I’ve counted, but it is hard to get a sky like this near civilization, since civilization means electricity, and, consequently, light pollution. The crystal-clear cerulean water, which we never get tired of looking at or jumping into, will be another thing missed, perhaps most by the children, who swim almost every day. The freedom and independence of this lifestyle appeal to me and Jay, so we are reluctant to come back to a dock, and the things on land that seem to draw us in and keep us tied up. I hope we remember how much we love being “out here” and don’t get stuck for very long. We have a plan for getting away again, and a feeling of success about this trip that will hopefully combat the complacency that comes with living near shore.

Of course, the other side of the coin is that there are things for which I can’t wait to get back. I am looking forward to happy reunions with friends and family, as are the kids, who can’t wait to see their grandparents, playmates and cousins. The other day, I noticed that the shopping carts at Exuma Markets are old “Publix” carts, and I had a good chuckle—I’m positively drooling for a real grocery store, and even, gasp! A health food store. It’s hard to find things that are not pre-packaged or canned or inexpensive enough to buy fresh (I just splurged on an $8 pineapple). I also can’t wait to get some things ready for the impending birth of our baby girl in the spring—meeting with my midwife in Sarasota, building a crib, buying a few necessities, and general nesting. And, I’m ashamed to admit, the hot showers, electric washers and dryers and swimming pool at our marina are also calling my name from afar.

Even as I long for the creature comforts of a familiar environment, I know I will miss going exploring in new places with our children, and no sooner will we be tied up to the dock than we will begin discussions about the next cruise. That is as it should be—a natural ebb and flow—we go out, have a great time, come back, touch base and regroup, and then do it again when we’re ready. Jay is right with his glass half-full analysis, but I am still feeling a little melancholy, knowing I will always be missing something.  That sweet fellowship we found here with the family on Begonia and the family staying at February Point is made all the more precious because we all share that bittersweet appreciation for the temporary nature of our adventures. This is a trip we will never forget, but also never duplicate.

Provisioning for Extended Cruising

by on in Lessons Learned

We are nearing the end of our three-month stay in the Bahamas. Therefore, we are evaluating our experiences here and thinking ahead to future excursions. As the Galley Officer, I am responsible for planning and executing meals and snacks for six (or seven…) while away from posh U.S. grocery stores like Publix and Whole Foods. I tried to plan ahead before we left, not knowing what I would be able to find once we entered unfamiliar territory. I knew there was a “real” grocery store in Marsh Harbor, Great Abaco, and the guide book had ads for stores along the way, but almost everything in island stores must come by boat, so I figured the choices would be fewer and more expensive. I was right.

First, let me admit that there are two ways to approach provisioning. The eat-like-the-locals crowd might argue that people have to eat everywhere on planet earth, so wherever you go, you will be able to find food, and that sampling local fare is part of what makes cruising an enjoyable cultural experience. The second crowd, the bring-what-you-like folks might argue that sampling local fare is well and good, but when you want something special from home, you better have it with you or prepare to pay an arm and a leg to get it. Most people will fall somewhere between the two extremes, but we now lean more toward the “Bring It” rather than “Find It” mentality. 

Our family made several diet changes awhile back, some of which require a lot of whole, raw materials, and a lot of time, fuel and energy. We basically eat nothing processed, as much organic/local produce as possible and pastured/free range meat and eggs and raw dairy when we can find it. Sometimes living on a boat makes this job easier (most cruisers figure out how to bake their own bread, for example), but other times, we are stuck with dried or canned goods that we would much rather find fresh. While it is true that people have to eat everywhere in the world, we do not think that all diets were created equal. The baked goods in the Bahamas, for example, are all made with white flour and white sugar, two things we avoid as much as possible. Pasta, rice and flour in the stores are almost always white as well. If we want to eat whole grains, we have to bring them ourselves and this we do in the form of wheat berries and oat groats that I grind on demand. These are not supplies you will find in even the best grocery stores, but things that must be ordered through health food stores or co-ops like Bread Beckers or Wheat Montana. 

Other things, like local produce, we are happy to buy. I’ve never seen such large, beautiful cabbages as they have on Great Exuma. Depending on where you are in the world, though, the selection is likely to be limited. We compensate for this by bringing canned, dried, or frozen goods that are sometimes available in stores, but often more expensive. Other things that fall into the “available but costly” category would be condiments, quality snack foods (especially good when underway), nuts, and other supplies for baking. Some things we are required to buy fresh, like eggs, butter, milk, and cheese. We have been pleasantly surprised to find really good imported cheddar from New Zealand here, for example.

Meat always poses a dilemma for cruisers. If you are good at it, fishing can be a good source of protein. If you have a sizeable freezer, stocking up on quality meats before leaving is not a mistake. Otherwise, you are at the mercy of whatever small grocery store you find and the packages of “mystery meat” they may sell there, or canned meats like tuna, salmon, chicken, and the old stand-by, SPAM, which Jay likes and I refuse to eat. His protein needs exceed mine, so while beans could easily form a staple in my diet, Jay really needs meat to feel satisfied. We packed the freezer and don’t regret it.

I was happy to discover that I didn’t over-provision for this trip. I ran out at the last minute and bought extras of favorite health-store items like all-natural toothpaste and pure liquid castile soap and don’t regret it for a minute. My crazy bulk-buying at Costco paid off as well, and the only thing I might to differently is to buy more of the things we are running out of, like maple syrup, paper towels, nuts and whole-wheat pasta. When I do shop, I always have sticker shock in the checkout line. I would say the grocery bill here in the Bahamas is double what it was in the U.S. and that is without buying the organic products I am used to, and cutting out extras like chips, ice cream, yogurt, and lunch meats. And what passes for a grocery store in the smaller settlements would make my friends back home laugh. I am happy to patronize these little shops which support the local economy, and have had lovely interactions with proprietors from Green Turtle to George Town, but it’s really not sustainable long-term.

Our decisions are colored by the fact that we view this not as a camping trip, but as a lifestyle, and also by the sheer quantity of food we must buy and prepare to feed a large family. For an adventuresome couple, eating whatever you find along the way might be doable, but for us, I need to know that my growing children will have a healthy breakfast every morning. Although I am cautious about giving provisioning advice to prospective cruisers, I offer this one thought: the reality is that living on a boat limits your space for storing food, so bring as much as you can of the things you feel you can’t live without, and be willing to try new things along the way.

For further reading on this topic you might like The Care and Feeding of  Sailing Crew by Lin and Larry Pardy and Gourmet Underway by Robbie Johnson.

Wonder Wash vs. Splendide

by on in Lessons Learned

You will often hear me say how satisfying it is to do things by hand. Homemade bread, for example, or binding the children’s schoolwork into books, hand-washing dishes, even washing the laundry by hand is very rewarding. Hard work, yes, but at the end of the day, I have something meaningful, or at least concrete, to show for my time and energy.

So it may come as some surprise when I say I am ready to retire the dynamic duo that make up my laundry system, Wonder Wash and Dyna-Jet. Move over, manual labor and make room for an electric machine. We are in the process of evaluating every system on the boat, now that we have put some miles under the keel and spent some time actively cruising. What works? What doesn’t? And what might change once we introduce a new baby? This last question prompts me to hang up the idea of hand-washing. I already spend the better part of three days a week washing, rinsing, wringing, hanging, and folding the family’s clothing and towels, and that’s with everyone wearing things until they’re actually dirty. How much extra time will it take to wash/hang diapers? And when exactly was I supposed to educate the crew? It’s time to reconsider the trade-offs.

The Wonder Wash serves as an agitator, and although the jury is still out on whether it is actually better than swishing stuff around in a bucket, the crank handle means you can be more methodical about the wash cycle, and that a small person can help with that chore. The Dyna-Jet is a hand-crank wringer attached to a bucket, and with one person feeding clothes through and cranking, another can be pulling, with the end result that most of the murky rinse water gets wrung out of the clothes so that they can be hung to dry in a reasonable amount of time. It has worked just fine, really, and I am pleased that our family of six can sustain the hand-washing for long periods of time. But Wonder Wash is beginning to wear out, Dyna-Jet is rusting, and we are still using an insane amount of human energy and fresh water to get clothes clean.

We are planning to replace these two simple machines with a Splendide, an Italian-made marine washer/dryer that will use, we think, about the same amount of water but get the clothes cleaner, and without ruining my hands. I am going to be busy enough with the extra attention a baby requires without the bother of hand-washing laundry. When we are in a marina, coin machines will probably still do the trick, but when we’re out and about, the Splendide will take over my old job. I’m looking forward to the break, and the children whose chore for the month is “Laundry Assistants” are pretty happy about a machine, too.

As long as it works as promised, the hardest job will be building new cabinetry to add an appliance, and finding storage space for items that will be displaced. We are likely to still hang the laundry and will only use the dryer sparingly, and when the generator is running. But like everything else in our live-aboard life, we have really learned to appreciate things that we always took for granted when we lived in a house.

The Fountain of Youth

by on in Recipes

Jay and I have been trying to solve the mystery of George Town ever since we arrived here. Why does everyone flock here to Elizabeth Harbour every year? They are expecting nearly 400 boats during the peak, Regatta time in early March. And many of the folks here have been here every year for the last decade, or more. Because Jay and I are people who like to explore new places and rarely retread the same paths, this mystifies us.

So we’ve been here for ten days or so, and quietly observed, and have discovered a thing or two.  First, most of the people here come from Northern climes. There are some Florida boats, but even that region has been cold (for those who live on a boat) the last couple of years. So the warm weather is a big draw for sure. We are right at the line of the Tropic of Cancer, so this is technically a tropical paradise. Second, the summer-camp atmosphere lends itself well to people enjoying a second youth. Most of the people we see are our parents’ age, but you’d never know it from the way they act. They’re kayaking, windsurfing, snorkeling, spearfishing, playing volleyball and doing yoga on the beach. Every day. Plus there are basket-weaving classes, Bocce Ball, Regatta committees, choir practice, art classes, dances, poker games, and other social events too numerous to name.

For as freely as we live, with homeschooling and self-employment, our lives still revolve around the necessary routines of mealtimes, laundry, schoolwork, bread-winning and bread-baking, and bed times for small children. We aren’t exactly footloose and fancy-free. So we go to the beach every afternoon after the work is done, but so far I haven’t felt compelled to join a pick-up volleyball game, though I do love the game. Really, I just want to sit with my feet in the sand and read my book. Maybe it’s the pregnancy, or maybe because my energy ebbs by 4 o’clock, but I feel a bit of role reversal. The Sixty-Somethings are out at the bar until the wee hours and Jay and I collapse shortly after the children go to bed.

I was, at first, a bit critical of people who keep coming back to the same place year after year (yawn) but, who knows, maybe after we’ve tired of always looking for a new place, we will look back on this place fondly, or some other like it, and want to call it home for part of every year. By the time our chicks have fledged, we will be looking for that second wind, and hopefully we will find the Fountain of Youth that the cruisers who come to George Town seem to have discovered.

Favorite Place

by on in Recipes

I have a new favorite place on Planet Earth. There are many lovely places, of course, and among my favorites are Rocky Mountain National Park, Corkscrew Swamp, the Loire Valley in France, the Mediterranean island of Sardinia, and others too numerous to name. But the current favorite is a small anchorage in Red Shanks off of Crab Cay in the Exumas, near Georgetown. It is the favorite of many “Old Timers,” folks who come back year after year to the Bahamas and have found its quiet beauty and protection from winter blows an enviable spot. Where we were, it is shallow and trickier to get into than some places, so it doesn’t fill up with boats. There was only one other boat near us when we dropped the hook. It also boasts a small but pristine beach at Moss Cay, and is home of the “Red Shanks Yacht and Tennis Club,” of which we have met several card-carrying members.

We were cordially invited by Fred and Elaine, previously of Clearwater, Fl, to join the Red Shanks club members for drinks and hors d-oeuvres one evening. If you are picturing a posh, private clubhouse with folks our parents’ age chatting about golf or tennis, abolish the idea immediately. The “Club” is a sandy beach which barely fits all the members (a couple dozen with standing room only) furnished with a few broken down chairs and a plank table. There may have been a tiki hut there at one point, but a storm has long since blown it down. Meetings are sporadic and can only be held at low tide and before sunset, when the bugs come out. The people are unpretentious and welcoming and the drinks and snacks simple and unassuming. We were greeted by friendly faces and warm welcomes. (Bringing freshly-baked cookies probably helped.) We sometimes tire of answering the same questions, but once the formalities were put aside, we had great conversations that did not necessarily follow the standard formula.

The Red Shanks Anchorage itself is beautiful—with its crystal-clear cerulean water, rocky cliffs topped with a profusion of greenery and palm fronds, small islands and white-sand crescent beaches. We found a little cove into which we tucked for five nights (our longest stay anywhere since Boot Key Harbor), and where we could swim, kayak, and zip to Moss Cay beach, where the kids and I built an enormous sand castle, played in water that looks like a giant swimming pool, and sat around in the shade of the Australian Pines (Casuarinas) reading books. We were also able to get to town by a back route that made the anchorage convenient as well, and I stopped at the Exuma Markets, one of the best grocery stores I’ve seen since Publix.

In fact, the only drawback to Red Shanks was that Jay couldn’t access high-speed internet, so it isn’t a good place for him to work. We are moving the boat today to try to find a protected spot where he can work, but where we don’t necessarily have to be in the middle of a boat parking lot. In the end, I see that we are hard to please. We want seclusion, paradisiacal beauty, protection from unpleasant weather, pristine water, a nice grocery store, a place to meet friends and high speed internet. In short, we want it all. Instead, we will have to settle for a few of those things at a time. Although we are surrounded by folks living the retired lifestyle, we are still young, ambitious and hard-working, so lounging around and exploring every day doesn’t suit us long-term. Jay funds this expedition and I use the internet to educate the crew, so we must find a spot where we can work at least some of the time! And keeping in touch with friends and family is important, too. Since you are reading this right now, you can assume we have found a spot where we can get connected, and maybe even stay awhile.

On to the Exumas

by on in General

I realize we’ve been out of touch for several days, but that’s what “remote” and “rugged” mean, two words that describe very well the island chain we are now exploring. Other words that might describe the Exumas are “unpredictable” and “lumpy.” We were looking for a bit more of a challenge and it seems we have found one—it is a challenge to get a good night’s sleep here, between planning for wind shifts, currents and waves that wrap themselves around islands to hit you just as the sun sets and you can’t see where they’re coming from. It feels as if the elements are conspiring against us. It started with the trip over, when we had seas as high as our cabin top at times (10 feet from trough to crest), and our first night, when we had similar motion in the lee of an island. We like to find our own place to anchor and tend to avoid crowded anchorages, but here even the boats in the designated anchorages seem to be experiencing similar, or worse, discomfort. We have not been here long enough to ascertain whether this is normal for winter in the Bahamas or just a fluke. We’ll keep you posted.

Here’s a run down of what we’ve been up to for the last week or so:

December 17 In transit to Little Harbor. Stopped to investigate conditions at Sandy Cay (third time’s a charm), where we snorkeled in the “Coral Gardens,” part of the Pelican Cays Land and Sea Park. It was spectacular, if a bit chilly. In the afternoon, upon arrival at Little Harbour, we toured the foundry where Pete Johnston does beautiful lost wax sculptures in bronze, enjoyed the fare (again) at Pete’s Pub and had a great time talking with locals and fellow cruisers.
December 18  Rainy day, Little Harbor. Perfect day for movie and popcorn, in this case, the classic George C. Scott version of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, which we had finished reading aloud the day before.
December 19 Little Harbor.  This is one of the few places we have visited more than once and loved better. We delayed our trip south to the Exumas to wait for a better ride (hoping for a downwind sail to Eleuthera) and spent the day exploring the Bight of Old Robinson. We had been told by a local where to find a blue hole, a deep underwater passageway connected to the ocean and carved prehistorically out of limestone. He also mentioned that there were lionfish (a beautiful, though venomous and invasive species) on a reef insight the bight. We split up, with Mom, Sarah and Aaron taking the kayak to look through the shallows for the blue hole, and Dad, Eli and Sam looking for good snorkeling by dinghy. Found said blue hole—it was bottomless and beautiful, and found said good snorkeling, complete with lionfish.

Lionfish


December 20 Northeast Providence Channel to Royal Island. We left the Abacos at dawn with calm and beautiful weather, wind and waves behind us. Seas large, but not too uncomfortable as they were following most of the day. Anchored in the afternoon and baked pineapple upside-down cake for my birthday.

December 21 Spanish Wells. Anchored outside harbor, explored by dinghy. Went ashore to buy provisions for Christmas dinner. Found quiet and peaceful anchorage near Meeks Patch, and an uninhabited island. Brought picnic dinner ashore and built small fire to roast marshmallows for S’mores. Children ran around with colored lights (thank you, Grandma Mary) and had a great time.
December 22 Current Cut to Bush Cay. Got up early to make Current Cut at near-high tide. They don’t call it that for nothing—we had 3 knots of current sweeping us through to the other side; in some places it looked like river rapids. Anchored, safely, if uncomfortably, at Bush Cay. Made sugar cookies and had a fun, messy time decorating them after dinner.

Rock Anchor
Dragging anchor in the night at Bush Cay, we were saved by this rock…


December 23 Allen’s Cay/Leaf Cay. As soon as the sun was up, we headed to Allen’s Cay and passed through a cut between Allen’s and SW Allen’s Cay to anchor on the lee side of Leaf Cay. The anchorage in the lee of Allen’s was crowded and looked rolly. We were much happier to have a small space of our own, and spent a much more comfortable night. Met some other folks with children at the beach on Leaf Cay. Rested and relaxed.
December 24 Norman’s Cay. Again, found the anchorage in Norman’s Cay crowded and uncomfortable, so we anchored all by ourselves on the west side of the island. A peaceful Christmas Eve.
December 25 Ate cinnamon rolls and read the Christmas story from Luke. Snorkeled in the Octopus’ Garden at Highbourne Cay. Worked on jigsaw puzzle and ate Christmas chocolate. A fun day…

Octopus's Garden

That about sums it up so far. We are missing our friends and family, but obviously enjoying ourselves. This is the best Christmas present we’ve ever given our children. They knew not to expect anything wrapped under the tree (heck, we don’t even have a tree!), but to take the lesson the Grinch learned: Christmas doesn’t come from a store. We wish you all a (belated, by now) very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

FAQ: Do You Homeschool the Children?

by on in Frequently Asked Questions

This is the second most common question I receive when I am in public with the children—the first being “Are they all yours?”  No doubt this question is a logical one for people who see a group of related kids playing in a park on a school day. Really, for the cruising family, there aren’t many other ways to handle schooling, but home-schools, or in our case, boat-schools, are as different as the families who choose this way of life.

There are only a few options when it comes to educating children: public school, private school, home-school and no school. On one extreme, you trust the raising of your precious humans to complete strangers (or, more cynically, the whims of the State), and on the other, you irresponsibly allow your child to raise himself (also called truancy). Somewhere in between you find private schools, which may be large or small, sacred or secular, live-in or correspondence, and home-schools, which range from Classical to Montessori, from-a-box to outside-the-box, and even a kind called “unschooling” whereby the education of the child is curiosity-driven, but still parent-directed.

Even before we decided to travel, we wanted our children to have an education directed by us, and not by the state of Florida. We like the holistic nature of homeschooling, where all aspects of human development are addressed. The curriculum can be designed to integrate all the subject matter in a way that makes sense and flows logically, instead of in a disjointed, contrived fashion. And with its rising popularity, home-schooling does not mean social isolation—there are a myriad of co-ops, classes, web-sites and support groups—so many that it requires discipline to actually stay home to do school.

We fall into the semi-Classical, outside-the-box category, I guess.  That means I design interdisciplinary unit studies, generally history-based, and come up with creative ways to teach the content and help kids produce meaningful projects to show what they’ve learned (often by publishing their work in the form of hand-bound books). They do math in work books, but also learn through games, flash cards, real world problems and other teaching aids. Science is typically on-the-go, often driven by what we find around us, though it often plays a role in a unit study as well (for example, a study of the renaissance painters might also include anatomy lessons). Spelling and writing are usually related to whatever book we are reading in whatever history period we find ourselves. The kids do their own assigned reading and reading for pleasure, a recent addition as everyone is now up to speed. Happily, we are finding that they love to read and are reading books assigned to much older children, but which are certainly within their grasp.

 Tapestry

Sarah, holding up a tapestry she wove on a home-made loom for a Middle Ages project

When we decided to buy our boat, we were able to maintain some semblance of normal routine despite the disruption to our environment. When we were doing half-time on the boat, we did school in the car—spelling tests, flash cards and books on CD. When we moved aboard at the dock, the library and museum were a block away, so we often did home-school-away-from-home. And now that we are cruising, the school routines that were firmly established before leaving continue despite constantly changing surroundings.

Another hidden benefit to home-schooling is the multitude of teachable moments that present themselves. We can actively seek out field trips that fit into what we are studying, but there are other spontaneous happenstances, like snorkeling on a reef, settlement museums in the Bahamas, collecting seaweed and invertebrates while wading in shallows or investigating a microcosm in floating seaweed with the help of our microscope, watching meteor showers and identifying constellations in dark skies, going to a foundry to learn how lost-wax sculptures are made, exploring a cave, talking to the welder who installed our arch and bimini about how his equipment works, and countless other opportunities to learn in real-life settings. Not to mention learning life skills like baking, typing, fishing, carpentry, engine repair, navigation, and sewing, to name a few. The children are required to do schoolwork and housework weekday mornings all year round, but have time in the afternoons for art, music, exercising or exploring, reading, and playing. For gutsy parents, it is the perfect solution, providing both structure and freedom.

Please Note: Parent-directed curriculum and teaching is not for the faint of heart. It is not easy to spend all day every day with one’s progeny, especially if they have inherited a stubborn streak of human nature from one or both parents. A teacher who wants a day off cannot call a substitute (unless Walt Disney counts), and without the direct accountability of a school, it would be pretty easy to drop the ball, a mistake for which both kids and parents would pay dearly. We are surely not doing a perfect job, and I am, as most homeschooling moms, fraught simultaneously with pride and self-doubt, but we are generally happy with our children’s progress and are eager to give them the world as a classroom.