Sometimes it feels like our years traveling in the Caribbean were just a dream. The present, with its mundane tasks, disrupted community, bad news, and “stuckness,” seems very real, while the life of adventure, beauty, and travel, far away. Therein lies the danger of nostalgia: to feel discontented in the present by glorifying the past. But I know that there were hardships, boredom, and loneliness there, too. That’s just life, the good with the bad. I woke up to a fourth day of rain, so no doubt my mood is affected by the wet, gray days. 

I feel like Puddleglum in C.S. Lewis’s book, The Silver Chair, a prisoner of the Queen of Underland:

“Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things-trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we’re leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that’s a small loss if the world’s as dull a place as you say.”

I know there is More. Bigger. Brighter. I’ve seen it, I’ve been there, and I’ve communed with other travelers in the Sunlit Lands. As I work on a second revision of my memoir (which feels as if it shall never be complete), I am reliving the memories, and whether I dreamed them up or not, I will allow myself to spend some time looking at pictures and longing for the beauty of the world. The rain will no doubt pass, and sunny days come again. I stored these memories for just such a dreary moment.

Some random adventures mined from our flickr photostream…

Tree shadow on a hot afternoon

A snow-sparkled field under full moon

The song of a whale heard far away

Soap bubbles blown on a cloudless day

Chromis darting in coral caves

A boat afloat on foaming waves

Brand-new eyes of baby’s first blink

A curling wave at the ocean’s brink

Sapphire stones in a velvet case

A blue-swirled marble in the dark of space—

Blue beneath and blue above:

I ask you then, what’s not to love?    

–Tanya Hackney, September 7, 2013

I love/hate being at a dock. Does anyone else feel this way? There are pros and cons to every mode of living on a boat: anchoring, mooring, docking, or hauling out and taking a trip.

It’s hurricane season and we’re in the Florida Keys. We’ve been on a mooring for a year, which is a long time for our boat to be in one place. We tied up to a seawall last weekend ahead of Laura to get out of the mooring field, where we felt vulnerable to storms (and the pinball effect of other boats dragging). We’re in a place where boats survived Irma, so we’re feeling secure for September.

We’ve got A/C, so I’m sleeping better, new neighbors who are friendly, and we’re taking evening walks. We’ll use the next few weeks to do a galley refit–appliances, sink, and counter-tops. Our older kids are able to come and go without arranging multiple dinghy trips ashore.

But…I miss the breeze, the sunsets, and the freedom and privacy of being our own island. Plus, mooring is less expensive! We knew there would be a period of time when our kids got close to independence when we would need to stay put for a while to help them get on their feet, but we certainly didn’t plan for a pandemic that would limit even opportunities to escape occasionally to the Bahamas. Being tied to a dock accentuates that loss of freedom.

So, we’ll appreciate the benefits of being tied to land for a few weeks, and when hurricane season is over, we’ll be happy to head back out!

Take Two is a custom wooden 48′ catamaran designed by Dirk Kremer and launched in the Netherlands in 1991. She was built for charter in the Virgin Islands, and we have the brochures to prove it! No, those two on the front are not Jay and Tanya (we were still in high school in 1991). And yes, that is a pretty accurate diagram of the floor plan.

We’ve been steadily improving the boat since we purchased her in 2008. While there are lots of pictures of our boat anchored in interesting places, we seldom post photos of the interior. If you’ve never been aboard, here’s a photographic tour of the inside! (Out of respect for my kids’ privacy, I tried not to take any invasive photos of their spaces.)

Eli turns 19 this week and officially graduates from our homeschool when I send in his last evaluation. There won’t be a big party, or a family trip, but we’ll find a way to make it special. While circumstances limit our present opportunities, they can’t take our happy memories. Five years ago, we celebrated Eli’s birthday with a trip to Dry Tortugas National Park with friends. During that fun and busy summer, the photos never got posted.

It was an amazing week to share with close friends. Max and Mia joined us on the boat for the overnight passage from Marathon, and Amy and Kai joined us on the ferry from Key West. We spent several days touring the fort, playing hide-and-seek, snorkeling, diving and swimming off of Take Two, eating good food, and playing games. During this trip we adopted Amy’s expression, “take a cookie when the plate is passed,” meaning, “grab the good in life whenever you can because you don’t know what tomorrow holds.” I’m so glad we took the cookie!

When I first returned to the United States, I felt a bit like a fish out of water. It seemed like I had been left behind by all my friends. I didn’t have a job or driver’s license or car or phone or computer, and they were all busy and connected. I also missed the life of relative freedom and adventure we’d left behind. Well, exactly one year has passed since then, and I still miss the travel, but I now have all the above-named things. Including the car. Especially the car. That’s right folks, Eli has wheels now.

I’ve had a driver’s license for a while. I was almost 18 when we came back to the U.S., so I could get a license as soon as I could pass the test. Of course, mastering the use of a 5,000 lb. Chevy Suburban was no easy task for someone who had never driven before. Staying between the lines on the road was a delightful challenge, but parking was a dreaded ordeal. None of the three student drivers in our family was allowed to take the wheel when both parents and/or Rachel and Sam were in the vehicle: too many eggs in one speeding metal basket. So I had to schedule driving practice.

But I eventually got the hang of it. After a few months, I passed my driver’s test and got my license. I started being allowed to take the beloved family car to work (yes, I have a job now), to friends’ houses, and generally wherever I wanted to go. That is, as long as nobody else needed the car. In a family with seven different schedules, it wasn’t often.

I started shopping for a vehicle. Something durable, something that could haul cargo and people, something that looked cool and manly, and something that was not too expensive. A truck checked all the boxes. I was mostly shopping on Craigslist and Facebook, and Dad helped me find some good ones. I called people. Dad and I drove down U.S. 1 and looked at a few trucks. I eventually found one that looked sweet for my price range: a 2005 Dodge Ram 1500 with about a hundred thousand miles on it. We drove down to Key West, looked it over, and then bought it. Simple as that.

I drove home with the radio (my radio) blaring the whole way. It was an interesting experience. On the one hand, I was several thousand dollars poorer. On the other, I was one Dodge Ram truck the richer. That was too weird a thought to get used to in the hour drive back to Marathon. It still seems strange.

The next day, Aaron and I went down to the DMV to get our plates. Aaron had all his paperwork in order, but I didn’t. After sitting in the hot sun with a mask on for an hour or so, it turned out that the guy I had bought the truck from had forgotten to sign the title. He was good enough to meet me halfway and save me an extra hour’s drive. I met him in Big Pine Key that afternoon and got the signature, cursing myself for not noticing the blank dotted lines the first time around.

I went back to the DMV to get my license plate. (Seriously, do they pay those people to be unpleasant? Granted, I can understand how sitting inside all day dealing with the endless procession of befuddled morons like me with only half their paperwork can be taxing.) The whole ordeal was an exercise in patience. But beyond that, it was actually kind of a cool experience. There I was, signing an application for a vehicle title like a real grownup. There I was, whipping out my debit card and paying hundreds of dollars in sales tax like it was nothing. Big boy stuff.

So now I’ve got wheels. It’s funny how it can take only a few months for the totally alien to become second nature. Parking was like that for me. It used to take me at least six tries to get the Suburban right where I wanted it. I practiced parking maneuvers for hours in the weeks preceding my driver’s test. Now, I just pull in like a boss and shift it into park. The same goes for a lot of the things I do now. Phones, cars, jobs: all that seemed like another world a year ago. Now they’re a part of my everyday life. The truck may be just another step towards the scary adult world, but it’s a pretty sweet one.

We’re entering a new era as a family: our first two boys (or should I say, men?) have recently acquired their first vehicles. Both chose trucks.

Eli found a good used truck in the Keys and drove down with Jay to complete the purchase this week and bring it home. It resembles the truck Jay used to own.

Aaron has a Ford fixer-upper–something he used to talk about when he was a little boy. He’s good with his hands, loves tools, and wants to spend the time (under the truck) to make it his own.

We’re very pleased to see them taking steps toward independence and proud of both of them.

Feeling trapped or sapped? Why not travel by map? Here’s a homeschool idea you might enjoy.

I’ve been getting that familiar feeling of wanderlust. Take Two has been sitting for almost a year now, tethered to a mooring in the Florida Keys. We’ve used the time to visit family, catch up with old friends, build the cruising kitty back up, get our big kids more independent (driving, working, going to college classes, and planning for the future). While I recognize that this is what we came back from traveling to do, I miss the change of scenery and sense of adventure. With COVID-19, I haven’t even been able to satisfy the itch by taking road trips (the Keys were closed and I wasn’t sure if I could get past the road block to get back in.)

So I’m combating that stuck-in-a-rut feeling by upping my homeschool game. If we can’t travel for real, why not travel in our imaginations? I’ve had these two books on the shelf since I was a public school teacher, and haven’t used them since the older kids were in elementary school. So I asked Rachel what she thought of “a trip around the world,” and she was game.

We had just finished a Life of Fred math book, the last Adventures In Phonics spelling list, a chemistry curriculum, and world history up to the American Revolution. It felt like time for a break. So we looked at the world map, picked 12 countries, and set a course for a summer’s worth of geography-based learning. We invited a friend to “come along,” made up two notebooks full of maps, flags, and language lessons, created a global passport, and collected our first “stamp” on June 1.

We have already “traveled” to Brazil and Kenya. While there’s been some push-back about the required journal entries, I’ve heard no complaints about coloring pages, virtual tours, or new recipes. The documentaries/movies we’ve found have been wonderful windows into places we’ve never visited in person.  I’m pleased to see the connections we’re already making between countries we chose at random, like the comparison between big cats (jaguars of the Amazon vs. leopards of the savannah), or the Portuguese exploration of both the East African and South American coasts.

Last weekend, we made a Brazilian chicken pie, Empadão de Frango, and the traditional bite-size chocolate desserts, Brigadeiros, and enjoyed both while watching the 2016 film directed by Jeff and Michael Zimbalist, Pelé: the Birth of a Legend. (Spoiler alert: Pelé himself makes a cameo appearance!)

Many recipes from around the world can be found online (I especially like those from the “Global Table Adventure” blog by Sasha Martin, author of Life from Scratch: A Memoir of Food, Family, and Forgiveness) and in a cookbook from my shelf, Around the World in 450 Recipes by Sarah Ainley.

We break down our “travel” week like this:

• Monday: Watch introductory video (like Paul Barbato’s Geography Now or Expoza Travel on YouTube) while eating “airplane snacks.” Stamp passport. Color flag. Label map.
• Tuesday: Begin Duolingo language lessons/notebook language activities. Take a virtual tour of landmark(s). Color a page from Around the World in 50 Pages, illustratedby Hasby Mubarok. Write five facts about the country in travel journal.

• Wednesday: Language lesson on Duolingo. Watch a natural history video (by BBC or National Geographic). Choose an animal to write about in travel journal.
• Thursday: Language lesson on Duolingo. Watch a video on history of the country. Choose a person from that country and do a short biography.

• Friday: Read a folktale, listen to music, or do an art project or craft.  
• Weekend: Dinner and a movie! Find a family-friendly movie made in or about your country and cook a meal using authentic recipes.

So far, the geography studies have given fresh life to our homeschool, and by virtue of family movie night and international cuisine, the whole family is along for the ride.

On a boat, silicone is often used as a sealant, adhesive, or lubricant, to waterproof a kitchen sink, bed a hatch, or grease an O-ring, respectively. But food-grade silicone is great in the galley, too.

Having a galley on a boat instead of a kitchen in a house means finding ways to simplify and maximize storage space. I love to bake, but don’t have room for all the specialized equipment I used to own. For example, I replaced bulky muffin tins with silicone baking cups, which take up very little space when nested.

I also have a silicone bundt pan, purchased by my friend Jennifer on S/V Cerca Trova. We were trading it back and forth all winter in a bundt-cake bake-off; it was a win-win arrangement (or should I say, gain-gain?) where she baked a cake, took two pieces and gave us the rest, then lent me the pan so I could bake a cake and give away two pieces. It does a great job, and stores small.

I also have silicone baking sheets in two sizes, which makes cookie-baking a snap. I also use them to bake rolls, biscuits, scones, pita bread, and Stromboli. They’re a good replacement for parchment paper, which often has plastic or chemical components.

In the freezer, I use washable/reusable silicone storage bags, which replace plastic gallon zipper bags. They are sturdy and stand up better than plastic.

Our silicone-topped OXO spill-proof ice cube trays, which have lasted for years, provide us with ice for frozen drinks.

And when we have extra, we can pour smoothie into our silicone popsicle makers for a frozen treat. These were a gift-that-keeps-on-giving from my friend Annie on S/V Sea Trek.

“Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.” —Jonathan Swift

I don’t know what Gail Gordon saw or felt when she first stood on the property that is now Casa Agua Azul, a home for abused and abandoned children on the shores of Lake Izabal in Guatemala, but it must have been powerful. I don’t know how, short of many miraculous coincidences, she’s been able to share her vision with the right people at the right time to make what was once a wisp of an idea into a solid place where children run laughing through the garden. And I don’t know how God will continue to sustain it and provide for the house parents and staff, and the seventeen children in their care, but I know that He will.

I know how I felt, the first time I met Gail four years ago at a Wednesday morning Bible study I attend when our boat is moored in the Florida Keys: intrigued. She was asking for prayer about plans for a property she had purchased, and about the endless difficulties of getting it cleared, cleaned up, rebuilt, funded, licensed, staffed, and operational as a children’s home. I took note but had no way of knowing how important that little piece of information would be to me, or how God can multiply one small act of faithfulness. When we found ourselves sailing into the Rio Dulce for hurricane season in 2018, I thought we were coming to Guatemala get our boat painted. I guess I forgot that God’s plans are always bigger than our own.

In October of 2018, as I walked through the gates of Casa Agua Azul, I was incredulous. I had seen photos from when friends of ours, fellow sailors Eric and Annie, had gone to Guatemala to help clear the land—back when it was abandoned and being used as the village pigsty. The place I saw was a hive of efficient and cheerful activity: a large clean building had been renovated and was ready for its first inhabitants, women were preparing lunch in the kitchen, and a team of missionaries was building private quarters for the house parents, Jerry and Griselda. People were moving rocks, working on pathways, and creating beautiful green-spaces under the mango trees.

I remember the people I met that day, the prayers for Jerry an Griselda, and the conversations about vision. I myself had a vision that day. While looking at the house, I saw many beautiful murals and scriptures that had been painted on the walls by volunteers. An empty wall on the second floor beckoned—and I imagined what I would paint if ever given the chance. I don’t know why I even had that audacious thought—that I would paint a mural! I had never painted art on a wall before, but I got a picture in my mind of what it would look like completed.

In September of 2019, I flew back to Guatemala to visit a friend who was having a baby. I spent a day at Casa Agua Azul, playing with the kids and visiting with people who, a year before, had been strangers to me, and were now like family. I barely recognized the property as I stood on the porch of Jerry and Griselda’s finished house: there was a playground, a covered visitors’ pavilion, a boat slip (dug in part by the hands of my own boys), a lovely garden with pebble pathways. There were now a dozen children there—laughing, playing, arguing, running around, doing all the things normal children do.

I spent the day helping in the kitchen, reading stories to children, racing matchbox cars on the floor, and singing songs in Spanish and English, sharing my ukulele with small, eager musicians. During the ten months we had lived in Guatemala, our connection to this place had grown from mild interest to full-blown engagement. Our boys had been volunteering every weekend doing physical jobs around the property, digging in the muddy pit that would someday be a boat slip, hauling rocks, doing odd jobs—whatever was needed. A fellow boat-kid, Deon, often went with them, and several of my friends from the marina had come to visit, to see what it was we were so excited about.

We became friends with Jerry and Griselda, sharing meals at the house and on our boat. We celebrated the arrival of the first children at the home, Sofia and Otto, and watched Otto grow from a small and sickly baby to a healthy and happy toddler. After sharing my mural idea with Gail on one of our visits, I spent a month of Sundays with my nose to the wall, dabbing paint, and meditating on the scripture that is now written there: “How lovely on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news” (Isaiah 52:7).

In a country with desperate poverty, a history of genocide, child trafficking, and rampant abuse and neglect, a safe place for children is good news indeed. And I got to witness it happening in real time. When our boat motored slowly out of the river in April of 2019, we felt as if we had left a little piece of ourselves behind. Being a part of Casa Agua Azul changed us from estranjeros into familia and made us feel at home in Guatemala.

When I visited in September, I found a treasure on the third floor: a simple wooden cross hanging in a window with an inscription that reads: “You faithfully answer our prayers with awesome deeds, Oh God our Savior. You are the hope of everyone on earth, even those who sail on distant seas” (Psalm 65:5 NLT). It was a token left by Eric and Annie, and they couldn’t have known when they wrote on those scraps of wood how God would answer their prayers, or how He would give hope to these children, but they were a part of something bigger than themselves.

This is what it means to have vision: to get a glimpse of what could be and act in faith so that what is imagined can become real.

It has been one of the greatest privileges in the traveling life of our family to be a part of Casa Agua Azul. On our journey, we have seen such heartbreaking poverty: the ravages of systemic inequality, greed, human selfishness, war, ignorance, and environmental damage. We sometimes feel powerless in the face of the forces that shape our world and that push so many to the edge of survival. When we can, we help in small ways, but it is in partnering with ministries like Bluewater Surrender that we see the power of good multiplied. It is one thing to give financially, and entirely another to participate personally, to put our hands to work, and to engage with our hearts. Both are needed.

Since Gail first shared her vision for that property on the lake, many have come alongside her to support the growth and maintenance of Casa Agua Azul. I’m writing this with the hopes that you too will want to participate and to help meet the needs of 17 at-risk children. Normally, there is a large fundraiser this time of year that helps sustain the children’s home—and though they can’t hold the event, the needs haven’t changed; if anything, they have grown. But the work being done in Guatemala is crucial for breaking the cycle of poverty and abuse for the kids that call Casa Agua Azul home. Investing in children by placing them in a family setting where they can experience unconditional love offers the potential for real change. I know that what gets donated to Bluewater Surrender goes directly to caring for the children at Casa Agua Azul. I have witnessed the transformation firsthand, and I have seen how the vision is carried forward: one step at a time, with prayer and hard work, and partnership.

Vision means seeing where God is already at work, joining that work, and becoming the answer to our own prayers.

Will you join our family in supporting Blue Water Surrender and the Casa Agua Azul? Whether you make a one-time gift or offer monthly support, you’ll be a part of something bigger than yourself.

For more information or to donate directly, go to https://www.bluewatersurrender.org/

Book recommendations:

• In Pursuit of Orphan Excellence by Philip Darke
• When Helping Hurts: How to Alleviate Poverty Without Hurting the Poor…and Yourself by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert
• Becoming the Answer to Our Prayers: Prayer for Ordinary Radicals by Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove
• Little Princes: One Man’s Promise to Bring Home the Lost Children of Nepal by Conor Grennan