This headstrong family is learning a thing or two about teamwork. It all started with a kayak saved from a trash pile. Well, maybe it started well before that, but there’s nothing like kayaking to bring the principle home. Like a yoke of oxen, two people with paddles can pull different ways and make no progress, or work together and feel the sweet reward of speed through water.

The kayak is really fun. We use it to explore, to get some exercise, to get off the boat for awhile, to enjoy the water, and once, to ferry a child to a friend’s boat for the afternoon. Jay saved it using his handy heat gun and plastic welding rod, and we’re keeping it for the moment, although it takes up a good bit of deck space, to see if this is the right size and kind for our family. 

The first time I went kayaking was with our friends at Curry Hammock Sate Park, where it came to actual blows between our two oldest boys when they could not figure out how to get out of a mangrove tangle. I had them put the paddles in their laps and raise their hands in the hair (as in, “this is a stick-up”) until they could cool off, calm down and figure out what to do next. Although they finished well that day, they swore they would never go kayaking again. The two boys actually now love to kayak, though we haven’t turned the two of them loose by themselves yet. And surprisingly, even Sam has gotten the hang of it.  (Note, in the picture, we were giving the kayak a trial run a few feet from the boat, and Sam hopped on without a life vest, which is normally a must, of course.)

One of the pleasant discoveries I’ve made is that the kid I always seem to butt heads with works the most cooperatively, and somehow knows instinctively how to steer and which side to paddle on without my saying a word. And the one who can finish my sentences has no idea which way I want to go, but goes at it hammer and tongs and by golly! We'll get there by sheer strength! Another child really just needs some mommy-time and this is a great way to get it. This teamwork thing is so important for these relationships—I wonder, would I have made this discovery without the kayak?

Although our chore chart, recently re-vamped, has some two-person jobs that require teamwork, like sorting and bagging the laundry, I was having a real problem training small people to work together. We like to say we are “independent” and “determined” but it seems that really we are just a bunch of stubborn goats, with our own ideas of doing things and a lack of willingness to share a task. But now I have this beautiful floating analogy: all of our tasks on the boat are like kayaking. We can either hit each other with the paddles, or we can use teamwork and cooperation to laugh and actually have a good time while making forward progress. 

We are beginning to look for a weather window. This, in case you do not know, is a departure date based on an ideal weather forecast. When crossing the Gulf Stream, that means wind going the same way as current. Ideally, we will set out past the reef, raise the spinnaker and glide all the way to the Bahamas. We are not in a rush, so we can wait for this weather window, and be ready when it “opens.” But, for the moment, we are still in Marathon. Although I’m starting to get antsy, I’m glad that were are still here, since it meant perfect timing to meet up with some old and precious friends of ours.

The Tucker family was in the keys doing a boat-building workshop and came by to see if we were in, so to speak. After some wild-goose-chasing and a game of phone tag, we finally connected with them. What a joyous reunion! We made a hasty dinner plan, invited them all back to our boat and had a wonderful evening. We comfortably had nine children, four adults and two cats on our boat for dinner and fun, and reconfirmed why we love having a large catamaran. Take Two is great boat with plenty of room, in this case, to take two large families!

We met the Tuckers at the St. Pete Boat Show about five years ago. They run a booth near the entrance of the show called “Kids Aboard.” It’s a place where young sailors can be dropped off for a few hours to do a boat building workshop. The plywood boats get worked on every day of the show (save Saturdays, which are reserved for Shabbat—the day of rest), and are launched and sailed the last day of the show. At the time when we met them, we were not of the “dropping off” mentality, so we barely paid them any notice. But later, as we were coming out of the show, their kids were playing soccer in the field and our kids asked to join in. I got to talking with them and we discovered a world of commonalities between our two families.

We ended up inviting them over to our house for dinner and becoming good friends. They had lived aboard their French-built aluminum catamaran “Fellowship” (currently for sale) and were able to share what living aboard with a large family was like (they had four girls at the time, and have since added a little boy to the mix). To us, they were the dream personified, truly inspiring us to keep working toward leaving a land life and buying a boat.

As we sat in our cockpit after dinner and reminisced, we realized how much had changed since we last invited them for dinner at our house!  We had done the thing they had helped inspire us to do—perhaps they will now know how important their friendship was in helping us on our way. We all agreed that boat shows are important for those dreaming of going cruising, not just for the boats or sailing gadgets, but because of the people one meets there with inspiring stories and good advice.

For those sailing with families, or who are home-schooling, Kids Aboard is a great resource. We have the Kids Aboard burgee, which we can fly when we get to a new place to find other boats with children, and a plethora of tee-shirts, which always get a lot of comments when we’re out and about. Their website is a great place to read about homeschooling, good books, and family life aboard, with lots of links. Also, they still do boat building workshops for kids of all ages, church, school or homeschool groups, and can be seen at the Miami Boat Show in February. You can find them at www.kidsaboard.com.

Someday we may have the privilege of meeting up with folks dreaming of sailing away, and we will happily “pay it forward” by sharing our lives and stories with other young sailors. And thanks to all of you (whoever you are) reading our blog and sharing our life aboard!

 For anyone interested, the recipe for salmon cakes we shared that night follows.

Salmon Cakes
Prep time: 1 hour
Makes: 6 servings

3-4 cans wild salmon (a pound of fresh, steamed salmon would be great)
1 egg
1 c. cracker crumbs (whole-wheat w/sesame works well)
1 carrot
1/2 onion
1 large stalk celery
1-2 cloves garlic
1/2 red pepper
1 tsp. Old Bay seasoning
1 tsp. Mrs. Dash
Salt and Pepper to taste
Olive oil

Use a food processor to crush crackers and mince veggies. In a large bowl, mix salmon, egg, cracker crumbs, minced veggies, and seasonings. (If too dry, add another egg; if too wet, add more cracker crumbs.)  You should be able to use a large spoon or your hands to make 3/4“ thick patties. Heat oil in a cast-iron skillet over medium-low heat. When hot, spoon/shape patties and cook until lightly browned on one side. Flip and brown other side. Keep warm and serve with tartar sauce if desired.

I recently visited both of my sisters and their new baby girls. My sister in Chicago is on her first go-round and it was fun to see her “ooh” and “aah” over every little yawn and hiccup and remember how miraculous tiny babies are. My sister-in-law in Naples had a little girl about a month after my sister, but she’s number six in her family. She’s no less miraculous, but by now yawns and hiccups are ho-hum. What was fun about that visit was seeing how loved a baby in a big family can be. That little one has learned the “I’m bored, come love me” cry perfectly. She wails loudly and tearlessly for about thirty seconds, or until one of her brothers comes to pay her some attention. I picked her up after hearing this alarming sound when I first arrived, and she quieted immediately. I had a good chuckle, realizing how smart little humans are.

These visits, in addition to my stop in Sarasota to meet with my midwife for a check-up and to hear our baby’s heartbeat, reaffirmed my desire to do this whole baby thing again. The logistics, however, are a bit tricky. Plan A entails bringing the boat back to the Tampa Bay area in March, plugging the boat into a dock and waiting comfortably, near friends and family, for the baby’s arrival. Or, we can do like we did last time, and leave for a “two week’s vacation” and not come back. I guess that would be plan B. People have babies everywhere, right?  We’ve pretty much abandoned plan C, which was to go straight to Panama and have a baby there. That seemed a bit premature. We are eventually headed that direction, but we were planning a leisurely trek through the Caribbean island-hopping before we spend our time there, possibly preparing to go through the Canal.

The biggest hindrance to our happy-go-lucky attitude is our desire to have this baby naturally. People are always suggesting locations where we might find “U.S. style medicine,” but that’s exactly what we are hoping to avoid! Ideally, we would stop a couple months before the baby is due, find a local midwife, have the baby in a birth center or similar location, with as few interventions as possible, and recover at home. The birth center in Sarasota represents the perfect scenario for us, as it is homey, but away from home, close to a hospital if there’s an emergency and completely supportive of a natural, drug-free birth. It’s just a little hard to get to from, say, the Bahamas.

Although the other four children were born in a hospital setting, I always had midwives and always insisted on the nurses leaving me alone as much as admissible—fewer needles, fewer monitors, fewer, or no drugs. I’ve had good experiences, although I come off as a bit of a troublemaker. The average American woman arrives at the hospital, asks for her epidural and promptly falls asleep through the first part of labor. They are docile and need minimal help. The natural mom, on the other hand, requires constant companionship, and can be demanding of time and attention, always wanting to change positions, go for walks, labor in the shower, and so forth. She never just lies there, waiting for a baby to show up. It’s called labor for a reason! Of course, those that opt for a less painful birth may pay a price (and not just financially), since one intervention often leads to another (not to mention the risks of paralysis or spinal headache). An epidural can slow labor, requiring a drug to speed it up again. Sometimes the baby objects to this drug and appears distressed, and suddenly, what was a natural, normal process becomes a medical emergency requiring invasive surgery. The U.S. has abysmal rates of C-section, and also high infant mortality among developed nations, and much of this is due to the medicalization of childbirth. Of course there are lives saved by C-sections, but some are also unnecessarily lost.

What does all of this have to do with a life afloat? It is yet another aspect of a similar theme: we desire to do things thoughtfully, not just be a part of a system, to take responsibility for our lives and health, to be self-sufficient while recognizing our interconnectedness with life on this planet. Everything we do, including raising children, fits into this schema.

How can we make a thoughtful plan, but then ultimately leave the outcome to chance? It requires faith in Providence. We will make the best decision we can based on the variables of which we are aware, but be open to a different approach that may be better than we could have planned. For now, plan A is in motion, but we shall have to wait and see if our path leads that way or to another, as yet unknown plan.

Jay and I are pleased to announce that we will be adding a new crew member at the end of April/beginning of May 2011. That’s right. A very small, but significant, crew member.

People with whom we share this news often have interesting reactions.. I wish I could say that it is all congratulatory, but, sadly, that is not the case. I have no idea if you are frowning right now as you read this, or laughing your socks off.  If you know our family personally, I would like to think that you are saying, “hey, they have four cute, smart, mostly well-behaved children—more power to ‘em!”  Some people actually have the audacity to ask us if we know what causes this condition. To those of you who might wonder, we say, “Yes, and we’re very good at it.” (That smart response I owe to my sister-in-law who just gave birth to a very beautiful baby girl—the sixth little one in her family.)

The things that we say are often put to the test. This keeps us from becoming hypocritical. A good example of this is, “We believe that children are a blessing, not a burden.” Of course, we do not deny that parenting is the hardest job entrusted to humanity, or that it presents curious and difficult challenges (like, “how do we get that lego out of his nostril?”) We simply believe that child-bearing and hand-rearing are the most significant and lasting contributions we can make here on earth. If we do a good job, the legacy we leave may last generations after we are gone. Spiritually speaking, it is a job that has eternal value.

Because we believe this so strongly, we made a decision awhile ago not to do anything permanent to prevent children. That’s a tough one, since the boat was built comfortably for eight, and we can’t seem to swear off the activity that causes babies. We have gotten pretty good at timing, but it seems that one always seems to slip through the lines of defense. And thank goodness!!! If we had had our selfish way about things, we would have two boys, perfectly spaced. And that’s it. And how can we even imagine a life without Sarah? Or Sam, who always brightens our day?

We don’t regret a moment of the roller coaster ride of pregnancy and parenting that have been our life for the last ten years. (Well, maybe a few moments, but on the whole, we wouldn’t trade it for another life.) Were they all planned?  Of course! But not by us. We timed the first child and the others just showed up at the right time.  And this is yet another case where I would say that God’s plan is better than mine.

So, as we contemplate trying to cruise for a few months before we need to settle down to prepare for a new baby, and as we begin to make all the needed adjustments to our plans, we recognize that this is a gift. We don’t know what this person will add to our family, but as we have seen time and time (and time) again, it will be something wonderful. Challenging, of course, but wonderful all the same. A guaranteed adventure.

And to add some extra spice to the adventure, we are thinking about heading to Panama in time for the blessed event, to give the child citizenship in that country. We’re having trouble figuring out what that will be like (since I really like to go the non-medical route), so if anyone out there has a tip or a lead or a good birth story about natural childbirth or midwives in Panama, please email us!  Plan A is to play it safe and go back to Tampa Bay, but Panama is not off the table. Whatever happens, it will certainly make a good story someday.

We recently took a road trip. We had several errands to run—family to see, shopping to do in our storage unit and at Costco, friends to visit, cars to take care of, a life raft to pick up, and so on. It was a lovely trip; all the things we have missed were present in spades, and after having done without, were more appreciated than ever. The air conditioning was colder than we remembered, the date night was more pleasant and the French food more delicious, the family more precious, the friends more dear, and the Costco full of more things than we could fit in the back of our vehicle.

In short, we crammed a lot of enjoyment into four days. We were not, however, without concern or thought for Take Two and the two cats aboard. We had left the generator in an automatic-run state, secured hatches so they let in air but not rain, left extra food and water for the cats, and had asked a few friends to keep an eye on things. We were not sure what, if anything, would happen while we were away, though we could easily imagine a few worst-case scenarios.

We returned on a sunny afternoon, bailed out the dinghy, which had filled with rainwater, and unloaded the truck, heading back to our mooring ball at a brisk pace. We cautiously peered around inside the boat, looked at the battery monitor and checked on the cats (who meowed ceaselessly, “where have you been???”) but everything appeared in order. What a relief!

We all found ourselves a cool drink and stood around on deck, surveying our small domain. It was so good to be home, surrounded by the water, the sky, and the wind. They all felt like familiar friends welcoming us back. After being so comfortable in air conditioned rooms and fed so well at restaurants, I thought the readjustment to life afloat would be difficult.

Instead, I realized how happy I feel here, how cozy and comfortable our floating home, and how much we belong out on the water. It was a comforting confirmation that we are still on the right path.  Though this life costs something, it is worth every sacrifice. In the words of the old song, be it ever so humble, there is no place like home.

Have you ever gotten up in the middle of the night with your children? I mean, on purpose, when no one was barfing or crying or peeing the bed? To go stare at the sky, say, at one in the morning? That’s not a requirement, as far as I know, for being a good parent (though there may be some minor statute regarding homeschooling parents). But it is a delight, and not to be missed.

The first time I woke my children, it was just Eli and Aaron and they were very young. I coaxed them out of bed on a chilly winter’s night with the promise of meteors and hot cocoa in a thermos bottle. We tried to find a dark patch of sky under which to place our tarp and heavy blankets, but the lights of Clearwater, Tampa and St. Petersburg made for abysmal star viewing. We saw (maybe) one meteor, and that one was a long shot. There was just too much light. It was disappointing, though the fun of getting up in the middle of the night to drink hot cocoa makes for a good memory anyway. We always talk about that as the meteor shower that wasn’t.

This time, I planned ahead and came prepared. Every summer, the Earth’s orbit takes her through a field of debris from the comet Swift-Tuttle, and even sand-size particles can produce fireballs with long, streaking tails. I read up on the shower, studied the star chart so I would be able to easily find the constellation Perseus, for whom the shower is named. The meteors can be seen all over the sky, but if you trace their origins, they appear to be coming from the region Perseus inhabits. It’s well worth it, by the way, to find some illustrated Greek myths for children and read the story of Perseus defeating Medusa, the birth of Pegasus, and that celestial family including the easy-to-find Cassiopeia, Cepheus, and Andromeda.

There is very little light to compete with the stars and planets here in Marathon, so I spent some time a few nights in a row, watching for meteors, to make sure we would have success. On the night they peaked (early a.m. August 13th), I woke everyone up at one, as planned, and we brought pillows and cushions to the top of our main cabin and stared at the sky. At two o’clock, we took a snack break, and went back to bed around three.

In that time, we saw, on average, a meteor a minute, or “shooting star” as Sam likes to say. Sam saw, on average, two each hour, but that is because he was so excitable and chatty that he didn’t actually lie still and look at the sky. Sarah would exclaim, “I just saw a fireball!” and Sam would reply dejectedly, “I didn’t see it!” We would then chant, in unison, “You have to look at the sky to see it.” It was more like a meteor trickle, to be more accurate with our metaphors, but it was marvelous all the same. In addition, we observed the Pleiades in all their beauty, up close, and Jupiter and his moons through the awesome binoculars Jay got me for my birthday last year. And we laughed about everything, because, evidently, everything is funny at two in the morning. Especially farts.

It was so successful that I got multiple requests to try again tonight, but I am too tired!  We decided to make it an annual tradition instead, and bake star-shaped cookies in preparation for the midnight snack and star party. Even if you don’t live where you can see the Milky Way on a nightly basis, it would be worth it to go out on a clear night and throw your own star party. I know I’m not the only one who gets these hair-brained ideas, but I am often handsomely rewarded for following through with them. Happy sky watching!

I know I have to get used to it, but I don’t have to like it. The hard part about being nomadic is making new friends and then so quickly saying goodbye. Sometimes it is I who do the leaving, but sometimes a new friend sails off and leaves me feeling grateful, but forlorn. We have recently befriended another sailing family with whom we discovered common values—Davina is a fellow mom who has courageously left the dirt and submersed herself in the sailing world. But it is time for them to move on, and I’m so grateful for even that short time we shared. I’m hoping we’ll see them “out there” before too long. If I’ve learned anything about the sailing community, it is that their world is small and they keep bumping into each other at opportune moments.

In looking back over my life, I see how the right girlfriend has always been there at the right time, and so this is my humble tribute to those women who have helped make my life full and satisfying.

I don’t even know when it started. I have always had a friend—and I don’t take that for granted, because the world doesn’t promise that you’ll always have a companion for the journey. But I’m still friends with the girl who walked with me to school when we were six. I consider this a blessing.

I moved a lot as a kid, but everywhere we went, I made a friend. Of course, I’ve lost touch with many of them, but they all made the transitions to new places easier. There was Amanda in Texas, Jeni and Aubrey in Florida, Susan and Rebecca in high school, Heather during my college years in Vermont, and Kim and Amy in Paris. The same has been true in my adult life; Ellen, Kim, and Rhianna were there when I was a newlywed, figuring out what it means to be a good wife. Jen, Debbie, Angela and Sharon helped me as a beginning teacher. There were fellow moms like Becca and Annie to help me adjust to motherhood. Nicole helped me through a tough year when we moved back to Florida and I felt so lonely. And my neighbor, Tarin, went out of her way to make me feel welcome in Clearwater, and became like a sister during our time there. There were the homeschooling moms who met me when I was just getting started. Joan, Tina, Tracy, and Mindy had older kids that helped me see that the investment was worth it, and Kim, Mary and Margo were—and are—in the trenches with me. There were others who mentored me, or prayed with me, or just took me under their wing, people like Kim, Mary, Linda, Janice, Jan, Anne and Betty. And countless others. It’s starting to sound like an Academy Award acceptance speech. And how could I forget my sister, Sascha, sisters-in-law, Tennille and Robin, my cousin Gretchen, my mom, and my two mothers-in-law? Maybe I do take them for granted, but how fortunate I am to have that luxury…I know they love me no matter what, and they are never farther than a phone call away.

With this fruitful history, I shouldn’t be surprised that the transition to living on our boat came with the introduction of new girlfriends, but somehow it is always amazing when I find a kindred spirit. I am surrounded by the five people I love the most in this world, but I still get lonely sometimes for a good girlfriend. And just when I am missing the old ones the most, a new one turns up.

Learning to sail brought Josie, a teacher who became a friend, and Lupe and Leighia helped me figure out how sailing families adjust to living aboard. I met Kristin when our family was divesting itself of our worldly goods—including a vast children’s library and teaching supplies. I know that stuff will not go to waste, and how lucky I was to share the time in Bradenton with her and her precious family. When I was feeling lonely and isolated, a family with four boys sailed into our marina last winter and I found instant fellowship with Vicki.

It was Vicki’s advice, and example, to pray for a friend when I come to a new place, that I will take to heart. I don’t consider it an accident that my life has been interwoven with others’ so seamlessly. And whether we get to travel together for a few days or a few years, I will be grateful for the time we’ve got. I can just say, like that rambling award winner—Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Today marks several anniversaries for our family. Jay and I were married 13 years ago today (my brother and his wife were married 12 years yesterday—happy anniversary T&T!). They have been, quite honestly, blissful years for which I am very grateful.

Our cats, Sugar and Spice, also turn 13, as they were acquired as 8-week-old kittens about 2 months after we were married. I am not sure if their years have been blissful, but they have been eventful. Every time we brought home a new addition, they seemed to roll their bright green eyes and retreat further under the bed. They have, since we moved aboard, become much more outgoing, and our kids seem to have calmed down enough to even befriend the cats. Or maybe the cats can’t avoid interaction in such a small space; who knows?

Last, but not least, today marks the one-year anniversary of our having moved aboard Take Two. In this year, we have learned what difficulties we can live with and what luxuries we can live without, how to coexist in a small, moving space, and how to laugh together more often. We have definitely become more flexible, and as time goes by, we care less about making a plan happen and more willing to let the plan happen to us. We have transitioned from being dirt-dwellers to live-aboard cruisers, which is no small feat for a family of six in the span of a year.

I propose a toast—to the two people who made this family what it is, and who, despite their fears, followed a dream. And to two intrepid sailing cats, who miraculously “made the cut” and seem to be thriving. And, of course, to Take Two and her adventurous crew. Happy anniversary!

Every journey starts somewhere. Our hailing port is Clearwater, but our journey really started in Bradenton, at the end of "G" Dock at Twin Dolphin Marina, where we were lovingly referred to as “the Robinsons” (as in Swiss Family).

A rebellious and fun-loving lot to whom the normal rules do not apply, our friends there on "G" named the dock-end “H” and proceeded to put up a tent for shade (with twinkly lights for holidays), fans, grills, football games on TVs, Corn Hole, water balloon launchers, robotic dinosaurs, wading pools for dogs, fishing poles, and tables replete with everything from Low Country Boil to Sunday morning Bloody Mary makings. There is only one way to describe the mayhem that happened there every weekend: fun.

At a time when Jay and I had tired of the suburbs and were ready to try something new, we bought a boat, found a place to dock it and were immediately introduced to the ringleader, Pete, and fun commenced. We were in dire need of lightening up and it was impossible to be serious around the Moe-Larry-and-Curly types we found hanging around on any given Saturday on H Dock.

More importantly, our children, who might have been summarily rejected, shushed, or looked down upon on any other dock in any other marina, were welcomed, if not with open arms, then with a got-yer-nose and a high five. Our kids consider these thoughtful and fun-loving adults as, well, peers, and friends to boot. And the dogs! Our kids were in heaven: fishing with Jack, taking Rosie for a walk, petting Bella, getting kissed by Savannah, or being herded by Patches.

This is a special group of people—Pete and Joe, Mike and Jean, Rob and Nancy, Don and Susan, Dave and Julie, Doug and Judy, Dick and Jane, Wayne and Terry, Mike and Marilyn (and others who come and go)—people who make dramatic and daring rescues in the Manatee River, who are always available to grab a line or, at the very least, offer “helpful” suggestions while you are docking, sailors and power boaters alike who are able to set aside differences in the name of Margaritas and SPAM bake-offs.

When we walked down the dock that first evening when Jay delivered the boat, I was sure we got the sidelong glances that said, “Oh, no—here come the kids that will ruin the party!” And when we saw the weekend crew, we were thinking, “Oh, no—here come the adults that will ruin our kids!”  Instead, our kids proved themselves able to interact with the grown-ups without being too obnoxious (and we could always send them back into the boat if they were), and the grown-ups proved that they could keep their mouths (and conduct) relatively clean until 8:30 p.m. After that, of course, all bets were off, but then Jay and I would often come out and join in.

Lest one think we received all the benefits of the H Dock fun, I’m sure we provided plenty of free entertainment—Sam grew up before our eyes during the two years at Twin Dolphin, and his antics (including going for frequent dips in the drink) kept us all on our toes. Our kids’ climbing and swinging were like a weekend circus act, their treasures from the sea were frequently on display, and Jay’s constant tinkering with boat projects provided subject matter for plenty of conversations and a few jokes.

As for me, I will never forget my 34th birthday. My friend Heather was down from Maine, and we had gone outside on the dock to hang out while I filled the water tanks. An hour later, I heard a trickle of water, telling me that the tanks were overflowing. Of course, that was back when an overflowed tank resulted in floating floorboards inside the boat. The H Dock rescue team sprang into action, able men with pumps in hand to help me clean up at midnight! I have never laughed so hard at my own negligence.

There are so many good memories of our two years there that it makes it really hard for me to say goodbye. But it’s time to clean out our dock box, get out there and do the things we’ve been planning all along, and make new friends.  But no matter where we go in the world, no harbor, no dock, no yacht club, will ever compare to the friends we made at HDYC. We will proudly fly the H Dock Yacht Club burgee, and remain members even if we don’t make it to the meetings any more.

To all our friends at Twin Dolphin—we miss you very much and will come by for a visit whenever we’re in town!

Ever the one to make mountains out of molehills, I may have slightly exaggerated the dilemma in which we find ourselves. But why don’t you take my informal poll, anyway—it’ll only take a second.

1) Would you rather be hot or bug-eaten?

If you answered bug-eaten, you would be subjecting yourself to possible attacks of malaria or West Nile Virus. Where we are in the keys, malaria isn’t really a problem, but someday, we will be places where we must try at all costs to protect ourselves from mosquito bites. Here in Boot Key Harbor, we are merely irritated to the point of insanity by what we call the “ninja” mosquitoes. They are not the graceful and relatively harmless things we are used to. They are BIG, black, and sneaky. We resorted to breaking out the DEET-laden Backwoods OFF. But after a few days, the itching was a 24-hour-a-day irritation, even with the soothing salves and lotions we have on board. (Caladryl seems to work the best.)

Perhaps you, like me, are the sweet-blooded type, and are tormented by biting insects, and would rather be anything than bug-eaten. The option for us, then, is to put screens on all our windows, which pretty much kills all air flow through the boat. I know most of you are sitting in an air-conditioned room as you read this, so try to imagine, for just a moment, what would happen if the power went off on the hottest, stillest, most humid day of the year. You might open the window to get some air, but outside (you can actually see them throwing their little bodies against the glass to try to get in) are a hundred ninja mosquitoes, waiting to eat you alive. Now then, you have a better picture of our predicament.

After trying bug-eaten, we have opted for hot. Jay lovingly sewed Velcro on square after square of screen material so we could cover hatches and blockade the front door. The first night we did our lockdown at sunset, we trapped dozens of mosquitoes inside—they had been resting there during the day and came out at dusk to feed on human flesh. I painstakingly (and somewhat gleefully) smashed mosquito after mosquito until we were down to the last, sneakiest ninja killers, which I got once they landed on me and inserted their little hypodermic needles. The second night, we killed only three or four, but we could see their cousins swarming outside the door and trying to sneak in at the edges of the screen. Very determined, but unsuccessful.

We are much happier without the constant itching and scratching. However, with airflow greatly hampered, we are really roasting. You may be asking, “Why don’t you run the air conditioning?” The air requires so much power that we would have to run our 12kW generator 24-7 to stay cool.  We’ve tried charging the batteries at night, so we could run the air for a few hours, but the generator also generates its own heat; that with the residual heat from the day which is stored in the boat itself begins to warm up the cabins the moment we switch off the air.

Anyway, sailors don’t need air conditioning—all the places we want to go are not air conditioned. Mountains and waterfalls and other scenic locales are definitely not air conditioned. When there is a breeze, and we aren’t required to put up screens, the boat stays cool and comfortable during the day, mostly thanks to the Windscoops which look like little spinnakers and funnel air into hatches. In the afternoon, we can sit out on the trampolines under the shade of the awning and rest and relax (or, in some places, go for a swim in the front yard). At night, we all take quick, cold showers right before bed and turn on the fans in our cabins, which make sleeping possible. The only time we really feel uncomfortable is when it’s raining, but we are working on hatch covers that would shield us from water but still allow air in.

Are you ready for the second question in my little poll?

2) Would you rather be comfortable or have an adventure?

We have chosen a lifestyle that denies us many of the comforts we used to take for granted.  We now realize that we did not fully appreciate our cushy life ashore, and we have become more thankful people.  Shame on us if we complain now about being hot or itchy!  If we had wanted comfort, we would have stayed at home. The tradeoff is a life afloat—a spontaneous, fun, adventure-filled life.  We were pretty spoiled, so we are having to learn to remain cheerful despite discomfort. (And we are well aware that we still live better than 90% of the world’s population.) We are also learning to mitigate the risks before we get into hazardous territory, and for all of that valuable knowledge we pay in blood, sweat and tears.