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.

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.

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.

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…

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!

You may not have known it when you woke up that morning—the day that was different from all the rest. If you had somewhere important to be, you may have suspected its significance, but without the benefit of hindsight, you may not have known that it was one of those pivotal, life-changing days. Later, you’ll look back and point to that day as the day it all started.

December 8, 2007 was just such a day for our family. We drove to Fort Lauderdale to look at a boat. Just that, nothing more. We had convinced ourselves that it was risk-free to go look. Anybody can fill their gas tank and drive across Alligator Alley. We don’t have to actually buy a boat, we said, or sell any of our belongings, or take any big chances. These are the white lies that dreamers tell themselves. 

What we did not know then, but can see looking back over the last three years, was that that day began a chain of events that led to all the major changes we have documented here. Three years after we innocently went to look at a boat, we are living aboard full time and cruising in another country. It all seemed so slow while it was happening; sometimes we seemed to make so little progress it even felt like we were moving backwards. But if hindsight is twenty-twenty, then it is also compressed. We see perfectly how very quickly that one day began to change everything.

From the moment we stepped aboard her, Take Two began to work on us. She has endeared herself more and more with each passing day, with each memory we make as we become more and more at home on the water. It is true that anyone can “just go look”—anyone can have a dream, but not everyone follows through. We did, and we have no regrets.

Yesterday I got to do something I have always wanted to do. I can’t say that I keep a “bucket list” per se (i.e. things I want to do before I kick the bucket), but I definitely have an unwritten list of things I want to accomplish in my life. Some are realistic goals, some fantasies.

I have always wanted to go kayaking. It seemed like something mysterious and difficult, something done by adventuresome people who climb mountains and go backpacking. Our friends Amy and Ken in Marathon found a leaky kayak adrift and left it in a trash/recycle pile on their property until they could figure out what to do with it. It was Amy who first demystified kayaking for me—it’s pretty simple, as long as you have the right equipment. She will be happy to know that the discarded kayak has found new life aboard Take Two.

Jay towed the kayak behind the dinghy and dropped Eli and me inside a shallow bay to go exploring and we met up with them later a couple miles further south. It was hard work at first, as we were paddling against a current on an outgoing tide, but after awhile it got easier. Aside from dropping the camera overboard at some point—an irretrievable loss—it was a beautiful and perfect day. Eli and I saw lots of upside-down jellyfish, starfish, rays, hermit crabs, and miles of lovely wilderness. The best part was at the end, when we found the exit. The current that we fought at the start carried us right out—we drifted silently over a shallow garden of coral and multi-colored seaweed. Jay was waiting at the other side and we enjoyed an effort-free ride back to the boat.

Today after my chores were done, I launched the kayak by myself (usually Jay helps) since the kids were off with their dad exploring a cave. I had a great time puttering around in Little Harbour, going places a dinghy with an outboard cannot. It is so quiet here, so peaceful, and so beautiful. I feel so unbelievably thankful for the opportunity to be here. And for that old, leaky kayak!

I may be playing a little “he said, she said” here, but I just read Jay’s post about future plans (see "Go South?") and was simultaneously writing my own post.

My greatest fear at the moment is not shipwreck or shark attack. Ironically, all my fears before going cruising have turned out to be silly, and the things I thought were trivial have turned out to be important. Connecting with people has turned out to be a big one. I never realized how much a place is about the people and not the geography. What if we don’t make  any friends here? (And why are most cruisers middle-aged—having grown children or none at all?) I knew I would miss friends and family, but didn’t know how much, especially when there is some kind of crisis going on at “home.” What if something happens while we’re away and I can’t be there when I need to be? The big one, though, is about going backwards. We’ve made so much progress in so many areas. We see the children’s growing sense of responsibility, the closeness of our family as we go exploring together, and our own expanding competence and confidence. Plus, we've covered a lot of miles. What if we allow the birth of this baby to ground us, and we never make it back out here?

These “what ifs” have answers. Usually they never come to pass. Of course we’ll make friends; we always do. We just have to commit to sticking around long enough to do so (as Jay already said). The second fear is a very real one, as we do have family members in crisis, and I can’t be there to help. It’s very frustrating. There are other family members who can pick up the slack, and I can do some very important “prayerful work” as my friend Betty used to say. But I have to choose. Saying “yes” to one thing always means saying “no” to a thousand others. We are following a dream, and that costs something. Nobody said it would be easy.

The last fear, and most often on my mind these days, is that if we go back to Florida, we may never leave again. Life has a way of sticking it to you, and we barely escaped last time. How can one ever be truly ready to leave on an open-ended voyage? And how much more difficult can that be with a baby in tow? But it we’re already out here and add a new crew member, we’ll be forced to adjust. Ironically, I am not really afraid of having a baby in a foreign country without friends or family present. I probably should be, but I’m not. Maybe as delivery draws near and I have to figure out the logistics, that will hit home, but maybe not.

The truth is, we’ve been so busy basking in the success of buying the boat, living on the boat and actually cruising (not to mention getting used to the idea of a new baby) that we haven’t thought much about the big picture in a long time. We used to talk about sailing around the world, but that was back when this whole boat thing was a pipe dream. Now we’re just happy to be out here, but adding a crew member adds urgency to our future planning. We have a dilemma: go back where it’s comfortable and we have a support network, where we speak the language and can find anything we want in stores, and risk getting stuck; or travel indefinitely, have a baby on the go, and possibly do great things we might not otherwise do.

Fears are not easily dismissed. I manage to get a good night’s sleep because I refuse to worry—allowing God to take my days’ worries and giving Him tomorrow’s as well. Only He knows all the answers, anyway. But fear has a way of nagging when you least expect it. The dilemma we face is one we will pray about, think about, talk about—and write about—for some time to come. Who knows how it will turn out? Like many what-ifs, time usually reveals the answer. In the meantime, peace comes in daily doses, and that’s something for which I am grateful.

So far our favorite settlement in the Abacos is Hope Town. For me, it was the grocery store and coffee house that did it. After searching for healthy foods in small shops on every island, I found things like brown rice, whole wheat flour and even (my favorite from home) Springer Mountain chicken (a roaster was $20, but compared to eating out, that’s not bad). I made it on a day when the ship had just come in and found fresh produce. Best of all, Harbor View Groceries is right on the water, so I can pull my dinghy up to their dock and load up easily. I went for a bike ride and got to see a lot of the area. I found the coffee shop in an old house that had been beautifully renovated, so I stopped for refreshments. It has a beautiful view of the candy-striped lighthouse on the other side of the island, and their menu rivaled any Starbucks.

For the kids, it was the park, complete with a newly-built playground, climbing tree, and lots of other playmates. Within minutes of arrival on shore, the older two were involved in a game of tag with local boys and Sarah and Sam were on the tire swing. Jay went to scope out dinner joints and I just sat and chatted with other moms. They also liked the Sugar Shack, where we had ice cream after dinner, a rare treat.

Although there was no large hardware store (like in Marsh Harbor), Jay also liked the feel of Hope Town. If we go back to spend more time there, I think we would anchor outside the harbor, so we could have a little more privacy (and a great place to swim) with the benefits of civilization just up the channel.

This is a brief overview of our trip so far:

Day 1: In transit, lovely sail through the night.

Day 2: Arrival on the Bahama Banks, quick (cold) swim. Spent the night somewhere in the middle of a shallow, watery desert.

Day 3: Motored through glassy seas, greeted up close by dolphins. Arrival at Great Sale Cay, explored by dinghy and spent the night.

Day 4: Wild and wonderful sail all the way to Green Turtle Cay. Double reef in the main, 20-25 knots of wind. Often 8-9 knots of boat speed. Listened to loud music and generally had fun.

Days 5-8: Checked in with Bahamian official and explored Green Turtle Cay by dinghy and on foot. Found a great little grocery store (Sid’s) and met Sid and Martha, proprietors. Went to the museum and sculpture garden; got a different perspective on the American Revolution as settlements here were established by loyalists who sided with King George instead of George Washington. Had ice cream and bought our first loaf of Bahamian coconut bread (yum!). Walked to the Atlantic side and found beautiful beaches with unusual shells and sea life (star fish, conch and sea cucumber among the finds.)

Days 9-11: Move to Great Guana Cay, north end. Disappointed to find mega-yacht in man-made cove and big construction projects on pristine beach. Very pleased to find small, uninhabited island with good beach, tide pools full of sea life, and nice hiking for small explorers. Snorkeling on reefs on the Atlantic side—the best we’ve ever experienced. Thanksgiving Day spent playing in water and on beach, eating turkey and having family movie night.

Days 10-12: Investigated Marsh Harbor. Found coin laundry—perfect for washing the comforter soiled by seasick cat. Appointment with Dr. Minnis, O.B., and got ultrasound of new baby girl. Jay found a great hardware store, but Tanya ran out of time for re-provisioning at big grocery store. Went to Curly-Tails Restaurant and ate great sea food (but lousy steak).

Days 13-14: Move to Man-O-War Cay to check out protected harbor. Decide it’s too crowded, but kids had fun playing in ocean waves on Atlantic side. Successful shop at grocery store on Monday—right on the water so the groceries went straight into the dinghy. Cool. Moved the boat to more protected anchorage to the north. Rest of the day rainy and windy, excellent for movies and baking cookies. Kids hoping for better weather so they can swim again. Me too.

She says she already knew that God answers prayer, because that’s how Eli got Sam for a baby brother. So she never doubted for a second that if she prayed for a sister, eventually she would get one. We had our 20-week ultrasound this afternoon at a clinic in Marsh Harbor, Abaco, Bahamas. The baby has a four-chambered heart, two-hemisphered brain, two legs and two arms, and all the organs are developing as expected. In fact, there is only one thing missing from this baby—a certain “extra” that is only given to baby boys.

That’s right—Sarah has gotten her wish for a baby sister. Until the end of April, there will be many a debate at dinner time over what to name the newest addition, but I think at this point we can cross off Tom, Dick or Harry. We may pick one boy name on the off-chance that the technician was wrong (she says the predictions are usually about 80% correct), but Sarah has her hopes up, and a smile on her face. She came with me to the clinic and was the first one to shout out, as the dinghy approached the anchored boat: “It’s a girl!”

I, for one, feel relieved to have accomplished the feat of finding an O.B. in this remote place, making an appointment (he only comes to Abaco Island from Nassau once or twice a month), finding the office and walking there, and getting the ultrasound done. I feel like I can now relax and enjoy myself more as the weight of that responsibility has been lifted. It is always a relief, as well, to hear that healthy heartbeat and to see that everything is going well inside there. What an incredible mystery! And what a privilege to be the bearer of a priceless gift—and an answered prayer, for my daughter.

It was an unusual Thanksgiving here for us on Take Two. The food was traditional, but the surroundings were definitely different! This was the first year in as long as we could remember that we were far from family and close friends…you were all missed! Sarah helped with all the preparations, including a pumpkin and an apple pie, and beautiful decorations. All had a hand, though, as everyone was required to peel at least one potato if they wanted to eat!

We spent the day relaxing and preparing, but mostly relaxing. The kids were off school for the day, so they played while I baked. In the afternoon, Jay inflated the pull-toy. This was a new diversion, and a popular one at that. It looks like a giant covered inner tube with a long tow line. Jay would zoom out in the dinghy across the smooth, crystal clear water pulling one or two kids behind him. I sat on the beach under an umbrella and watched the fun from afar.

We are thankful for so much that it is hard to name just one or two things, but the big ones are life, family, the ability to pursue our dreams, and the amazing beauty we see around us. We, like the pilgrims, are thankful for another years’ “harvest,” as God has again provided Jay with the income it takes to fuel these adventures. He has brought us safely into this new place and with good health to enjoy it. Though they are far away, we know we have family who love and support us, and that is no small thing in this crazy world. Every day brings new wonders and surprises—and more for which to be thankful! We hope you all had a very Happy Thanksgiving, too!

Typically, when people move, they pack up their belongings, load them into a truck and drive to the new house. They then unload their stuff, put it all away in the new location and get to know the neighbors. When we move house, we mean that our house is actually moving. “Packing up” has a different meaning for us. (Chiefly, it means packing every square inch of storage space with food and spare parts!)

One major difference between a catamaran and a monohull is basic stability. Catamarans want to be level, which is to say that they have a strong righting moment. To reach this balance, they may make shorter, jerkier movements than a monohull, but the end result is that they are a basically stable platform. My countertops don’t have fiddles, for example (the raised edges to keep things from sliding off.) That doesn’t mean things don’t slide, though. I’ve figured out through trial and error what must be put away and what I can leave out. (Cantaloupes have to be put away.) A monohull can spend hours, or days at a 30˚ angle or greater. They have things like gimbaled stoves and pot clamps. Not only do they heel, but they also roll. Their movement is often more rhythmic and predictable, though, so some people prefer them to cats for that reason.

How does this affect the house when it moves? If you live on a monohull, all the cabinets and lockers have locking mechanisms. Everything must be stowed carefully and locked away before leaving the dock or anchorage. If your boat is your house, this can be daunting. For us, although there is a place for everything, not everything is always in its place. If we want to go somewhere with our boat, though, we just make sure nothing is precariously balanced or poised to cause injury or damage. Then we go.

When we left Boot Key Harbor, the seas were a bit rowdy. I did more than one walk-through of the boat trying to make sure we had stowed anything that might become a projectile. I was pleased to see that the shelving Jay put in my pantry keeps my mason jars safe in pretty rough chop. We had neglected to completely stow everything in the cockpit and on deck, but after things calmed down a bit, we were able to do some last-minute tidying-up.

So now the house is moving. When we get to the next anchorage, we won’t have much unpacking to do, so we can skip straight to exploring and getting to know the new neighbors.