Why is it SO Hard to Leave the Dock?

by on in General

Jay has attempted to write on this topic, but he said it was too hard. I thought I’d give it a go, but it means admitting a few painful things, so bear with me.

Reasons we like to travel (or, why we sold a house and bought a boat):

• The freedom and independence
• Openness to new experiences, people, and places
• The simplicity of traveling with a family inside your home
• It’s fun, beautiful, and satisfying
• We learn new things
• It’s less expensive than life on shore or connected to a dock
• Love of Change

Why we like living in a marina (or, why it’s so hard to leave the dock):

• Comfort: nice laundry room, hot showers, convenience of a car
• Good friends on shore
• We like the town we’re in
• Sometimes we need a place to “sit tight” so we can work uninterruptedly
• Illusion of safety from bad weather or mishap
• The boat needs fixing, and is never “ready”
• Aversion to Change

So what’s wrong with us?

A guy stopped by in his dinghy one day and commented on our boat. He had been cruising with his family and thought we had a good thing going, but couldn’t figure out why we were sitting at a marina when we could, ostensibly, be cruising in the Caribbean somewhere. We ourselves feel frustrated that it has taken so long to do the things for which we bought the boat in the first place. Sometimes we don’t travel because our original goals were unrealistic—whether it’s because we still need to be working, or because the boat needs more than we thought it would, or because we have more children than we ever dreamed we’d travel with. Other times, we just get stuck (call it inertia). Like after Rachel was born; we just grew comfortable and could not get ourselves to untie the boat, even though we were physically ready to leave and had places we wanted to go. It may be due to circumstances beyond our control. We’ve been trying to leave Ft. Pierce to go to the Keys for a few weeks now. We’ve done all our last-minute projects, provisioned the boat, done the last load of laundry, checked the systems, waited for weather, and said good-bye to our friends. But at the last moment, we decided to call ahead and found out that there’s no mooring ball available right now. And sometimes, it’s just plain hard because we choose not to do things the easy way. Making something as simple as, say, a PBJ, involves grinding grain to make bread, pureéing peanuts for peanut butter, and picking berries to make jam. Trip planning takes on a whole new dimension for people like us.

We always feel a sense of elation when we break loose, but it comes with a simultaneous feeling of fear and pressure. When we try to leave and have to rethink, postpone, or abort, Jay and I respond differently. Jay feels a sense of relief, because living in a familiar place feels safe and comfortable, whereas sailing in the ocean leaves one feeling out of control and vulnerable. I, however, feel an overwhelming sense of disappointment which dredges up feelings of failure that come from some primal place which defies logic. He heaves a sigh and I start crying. I immediately feel like we’re never leaving, like the whole point of living on a boat is to go somewhere, and like all my preparation has been for naught. He argues logically (thank God) that we are already successful, that we’re raising our family the way we always wanted to, and that the travel is a bonus. Plus, he reminds me, we like it here; that’s why we’ve stayed so long. Of course, he’s right, and it takes me less time to realize it each time, but I still can’t seem to control my immediate emotional response, and it brings him down.  It’s totally ridiculous—I really wish we could just have a good laugh about it and say, “Oh, well, we’ll try again later.” It makes me wonder if maybe we don’t have what it takes to cross oceans. That’s the sort of thing you don’t find out until you’re in the middle of it. Or maybe we still are learning how to work as a team, how to be patient, and how to “go with the flow.” In any case, the other thing about us is that we’re damned stubborn, so we won’t be giving up on Take Two or the traveling life anytime soon.

Rocking the Boat

by on in Recipes
I’ve been struggling to learn guitar for a long time.  
 
I had the regular boyhood daydreams of electric guitars, leather pants, and bleached blonde women.  Then later in life I imagined myself swinging in a hammock, sipping an umbrella drink, and strumming Jimmy Buffet songs.  The only difference between these two unrealities being that the second time around I had a wife who thought I was in desperate need of a hobby.  Tanya bought me a very nice acoustic guitar for a birthday gift, and it has been a source of mutual frustration ever since.
 
Aaron was bit by the guitar bug early.  We raise our kids on the classics, and Aaron has developed a real appreciation for classic rock.  He wanted to play guitar, electric of course, before he knew anything about bleached pants and leather women.  Stubborn purists that we are, we bought him an acoustic instead and signed him up for lessons, promising that if he stuck to his lessons, the electric would come.  You can probably guess what happened.  The lessons were boring and tedious, interest waned, and then we had two acoustic guitars and three intensely frustrated people.
 
Years pass and I bump into a colleague in the Atlanta airport.  He has an electric guitar on his back and a discussion ensues.  He always wanted to play guitar, and now his kid wants to play guitar, but it’s so hard.  Have I heard of Rocksmith?  No?  Rocksmith is fundamentally a game, but with a real guitar and the intention that you actually learn to play.  It works because it’s fun.
 
I was intrigued and so picked up a copy of Rocksmith and a red Stratocaster.  Oh man, is that ever fun.  And the kids are into it.  For the last three days, that red Strat has hardly had a break.  Such a workout, in fact, that we’ve already worn out a set of strings.
 
I’ve realized that electric is better than acoustic for learning.  It’s smaller and less prone to damage.  The strings don’t have to be pressed as hard, so it’s not as painful.  It’s quieter when unamplified, and even amplified can be plugged into headphones.  And it’s more fun.  Rocksmith can work with an acoustic, but really, why would you want to?
 
Why are we talking about learning guitar?  Isn’t this a sailing blog?  Not really, but I’ll give you a sailing analogy anyway:  
  • To be great at either, and I mean truly excellent, it must be learned as a child.  A late-learner is never going to sail like Jimmy Spithill or wail like Jimi Hendrix.  
  • The fundamentals are not that important.  Jimi played a right-handed guitar upside-down after all, and there have been well-documented cases of compete newbies sailing all the way around the world.  
  • Modern tools go a long way toward replacing ancient knowledge.  Learning to read sheet music is akin to learning proper navigation.  While I would never suggest that either is unimportant, they do create a barrier to entry that isn’t really necessary for basic recreational enjoyment.  Rocksmith is for guitar what GPS is for boating.
Only time will tell how well the whole thing works out, but it’s looking good so far.  Rock on.
 
Red Guitar 
 

Top of the Hill

by on in General

“In his heart, a man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” –-King Solomon

If forty is over the hill, then today marks the metaphorical summit of my life. I find that thought both comforting and terrifying. How happy I am to have awakened this beautiful morning to sunshine and calm breezes over blue water, to pelicans diving for fish right outside my bedroom window, to a sweet little girl who came blanky-in-hand to snuggle, to children who were sweeping the main cabin clean as a special surprise for me, and to a husband who makes a great cup of coffee (to make up for the pelicans and toddler waking me way too early). Some good friends made dinner and a birthday treat for me last night, and I struggled to think of a wish as I blew out my candles. Sure, there are things on my “bucket list,” goals I have not yet accomplished, places I still want to go, but, on the whole, I have everything I have ever wanted and I am so thankful for each of my thirty nine years.

At the same time, there is no guarantee that I will get to slide down the other side of the hill—and what a slide it will be, especially if the illusion of time passing faster and faster proves true (where
did all those years go?)  The terrifying part of staring down at the slope ahead is that have no idea what the terrain looks like. I had the sense of making a controlled ascent, though I now see very clearly that much of the good in my life is serendipity and not according to my plan. In fact, the older I get, the more I realize that I have no idea what is good for me, that even my desires change, and that trying to control things is what limits joy and contentment. I can honestly say that if today were the last day of my life, I would look back without regret, but what I want more than anything else is to keep learning new things, to live more fearlessly, and to plumb the depths of love, so that whatever the years ahead hold I will be able to say the same thing at the bottom that I say here at the top: life is sweet and God is good.

Tanya

Migratory Birds

by on in General

We are feeling left out of the annual migration of boats. We watched in October as the long lazy Florida summer ended with the first cool, dry days, and on the north wind the snowbirds began to blow in. We are on the east coast, along the Intracoastal waterway, connecting the frozen north to the balmy south, and in one of the last civilized stops before long passages to the islands and their turquoise waters. In previous years we have joined other boats as they crossed the Gulf Stream, but we never fly in formation, so we’re not really part of the flock. We’ve often commented that we sometimes feel alone—the rare family in a sea of child-free couples, but we’re also alone because we don’t do what everybody else is doing.

This is not necessarily by choice, really, because who wouldn’t want to head off into the sunrise for tropical adventures as the temperatures begin to drop? But the stage of life in which we find ourselves dictates when and where we travel, and whom we seek for company. That, and we own a twenty-plus-year-old boat that we are still refurbishing.

We live at a popular marina, and see lots of boats coming and going. We often see familiar boat names, ones we’ve heard on the VHF in the Bahamas or seen in Boot Key Harbor. And the ports of call look familiar too: Ontario, Quebec, Maryland, Delaware, and Virginia are common. The Chesapeake-to-Bahamas migration is a popular one, with the same folks traveling the same routes, sometimes for a dozen years or more.

Sometimes a friend unexpectedly comes into the marina, like Bob on Pandora, whom we met last year in the Abacos with his wife Brenda. We ran out onto the dock waving and shouting, and got to spend some time with him while he was here. Not unlike birds, cruisers form a small and close-knit community, and you never know when or where you’re going to meet up again with an old friend, but you inevitably will.

Other times, we watch as boats come in battered by wind and waves and bad weather, like broken-winged birds, jibs shredded, engines dead, pumps running. This is always a heart-rending sight, regardless of the circumstances, and a lesson to never let your guard down where the sea is concerned.

November has passed and it’s past time to be heading south. I’ve seen all the tee-shirts on the docks displaying the places boats have been on their migrations: St. Maarten, Abaco, Barbados, Grenada. Places to which I wouldn’t mind being en route. Sometimes I long to be free to fly with the others, but staying longer has offered other opportunities, like deeper friendships with locals, social activities with other children, overland expeditions, ease of finding food and boat parts, a place to work and to work on the boat. This is the trade-off: we don’t sail on a schedule, so we’re free to stay as long as we’d like and to go only when we’re ready, but sometimes we are left behind when the flock moves on.

Gift from the Sea: A Book Review

by on in Book Review

I was recently introduced to a treasure of a book by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea. It’s one of those small volumes you might find on the bedside table in a guest room, nice to look at and slim enough you could read it through in a few hours. But looks can be deceiving; it would be a mistake to dismiss it for its size.

My first impression of the book, which consists of a series of life lessons for women using seashells as metaphors, was that it was going to be a bit sappy and sentimental. But by the second chapter, I began to see the beauty of Morrow’s well-written comparisons, and I began to pay attention more closely.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh was a busy lady: besides being the wife of Charles Lindbergh, the famous flyer, she was a mother to five children, a writer, an environmentalist and a world traveler. But she was never too busy to take a step back and reflect. Both she and Charles were in the habit of taking vacations, both together and alone, and they liked islands and beaches.

This book was written while Anne was on one of these small getaways, and she found the simplicity she craved in the patterns of life one develops on an island. Every day held a little work, a little rest, and something to stimulate the body and mind—and time, plenty of time, to enjoy some refreshing solitude. I recognized it immediately—it’s the way I feel when we’re sailing instead of living at a dock somewhere, plugged into a “land life.” When we’re living “on the hook,” as we say, in an anchorage, life is reduced to answering a few questions: What’s the weather like? What should we eat? What boat chores need to be done? What should we do when the work is done? There’s no running around like headless chickens. I spend a lot of time with the kids, but also find time to just enjoy a sunrise, an afternoon kayaking, or a sunset drink it the cockpit with Jay. And when we have neighbors aboard, there’s time for leisurely conversation, no feeling of being rushed because there’s nowhere else we have to be.

Morrow writes: “Here on this island I have had space. Paradoxically, in this limited area, space has been forced upon me. The geographical boundaries, the physical limitations, the restrictions on communication, have enforced a natural selectivity. There are not too many activities or things or people, and each one, I find, is significant, set apart in the frame of sufficient time and space.”

Just as Anne discovered, we’ve learned that life finds a nice equilibrium when you are living simply, and closely with the natural rhythms of sunlight and seasons. She talks about finding that simplicity and balance, shedding the unnecessary, both in the outward patterns, but also in the inward spaces. Living life with grace, with an inner stillness, will help when we find ourselves, as we inevitably will, busy again with childrearing, working, cooking, cleaning, volunteering, and caretaking. Stepping away can help reset the priorities, so that going forward, we can make choices that keep us from feeling fractured and frazzled.

She uses the shells she finds on her morning walks to illustrate the various facets of a woman’s life. The characteristics of each shell are looked at closely and analogically—each one representing a phase in life or in a relationship. My favorite chapters were those that illustrated the stages in a marriage. When the relationship is new, she posits, it is like a Double-Sunrise shell, two people in love, a perfect, unclouded union. As life changes for a couple, and they begin a family, the relationship shifts into one of teamwork and functionality, not unlike an oyster shell. It’s not necessarily pretty, but it is efficient at growing and changing to meet the demands of its environment! Jay and I are knee-deep in the oyster beds at this point, so I wasn’t sure where she was going to go next. I had always thought that after the kids left, we would simply go back to being who we were before we had children. Not necessarily so, according to Mrs. Lindbergh. I found her illustration of the possibilities of the empty-nest stage to be so compelling, so exciting, that I actually can’t wait to see what the future holds. It completely inspires me to live and love well now, in this time where we work so often in separate spheres, so that we will come into the post-child-bearing years ready to be something entirely new, having come fully into our own, but also reaching new depths of inter-dependence.

Being a beach-lover and shell-picker myself, I found this book to be so refreshing and eye-opening that I will probably never look at a beach or a shell in the same way. I feel more than ever inspired to live fully in each day, and to seek contentment in the now.  If you’re looking for a gift to give a mother, sister, daughter or friend, I would heartily recommend Gift from the Sea for a woman at any age and stage of life.

FAQ: What advice can you share with dreamers?

by on in Frequently Asked Questions

Not surprisingly, we get questions from people all the time, asking us how to get started on a sailing dream. Sometimes the questions are from people who have never sailed in their lives, and often they are from families, people who want to break free from the “system” but are not sure how to do it.

We like to think of ourselves as part of the welcoming committee for people looking to live aboard and cruise with large families. We think this is a great lifestyle and an achievable dream for many. But it’s not for everyone. There are certain traits necessary to get—and keep—the ball rolling. And an ability to sail is not necessarily a prerequisite; anyone can learn to sail, but not everyone can live in a tight space with their spouse and numerous progeny and cope with frequent breakages, unpredictable weather, discomfort, and constantly changing plans. These are challenges about which we have tried to write with honesty and good humor, but they are indeed challenges, and there are moments when Jay and I feel completely inadequate and wonder why we thought we could do this with five children.

If you’re contemplating sailing away with your family, there are ways to find out if you are ready to take on an adventure of this magnitude. There are baby steps to take now, and giant leaps when you’re ready. Of course, the advice we offer here is experiential, well-reasoned, and logical, but sometimes the most successful adventurers are those who defy logic, and just go out there and do it, those who ignore advice like mine.

That said, we would still argue that there are common traits we find in fellow cruisers and live-aboard sailors which make them successful. Someone once told me that the test for boat ownership is a willingness to take all one’s money and stuff it down the shower drain and turn on the water. Now that we own a boat, I would say that’s not far from the truth. Aside from holding less tightly to one’s material goods, three things must be present in order to leave a land life (whether for a short time or for the long haul), and start a sailing adventure: the simultaneous abilities to dream big and to take small steps toward an end goal, and the ability to push past the inevitable obstacles.

If you are reading this post, you’re probably already dreaming big. (That, or you’re somehow related to us, and for following us faithfully, we thank you.) There are two kinds of dreams: the night kind, with fuzzy edges and images that are hard to remember, vague and undeniably romantic; and the day kind, a crisper, clearer picture formed by your conscious mind. Dreaming only of sunsets and clear water and a fish on the line isn’t enough. You have to have a really good mental picture of what your live-aboard life might look like—a sort of snapshot that you can come back to and stare at when all looks bleak and impossible.

After you have your idea and have somehow gotten your spouse and family on the same page (their support and enthusiasm are of critical importance), you have to then take your mental snapshot and draw a flow chart on the back. What are the steps you have to take to get closer to sailing away? Things to consider are finances (Are you free from debt? Can you work while you travel? How much will this cost? What will you do with your house and belongings?); comfort with discomfort (Can you live without air conditioning and long, hot showers? Would you mind hand washing dishes and clothes? Who in your family gets seasick?); and skills (Do you know basic first aid? Can you sail? Do all your kids swim well? Can you fix things? Will you homeschool?). Sometimes the answers are unknowable until you’re in the thick of it, but in most cases, you can begin to alter course degree by degree, trying new things (taking a sailing class, going on a long family vacation in an RV, not using the dishwasher, downsizing to save money for the boat) and making small decisions that will get you closer to your goal, like setting a deadline and making a yearly plan (then sticking to it, or your dream will never make it out of La-la Land).

Lastly, hold tenaciously to your dream and your plan. Ignore nay-sayers, even if they are in your own family, look for people who share your passion and learn from them, and recognize the obstacles to your success and surmount them. Read lots of inspiring stories, and stories of survival. Things will indeed stand in your way, and leaving a normal life will be harder than you think, but you must be more persistent than your circumstances.

I would be remiss if I did not mention that through all of our phases—from castle in the clouds to the reality of living aboard at the dock to island hopping in the Bahamas, we have prayed for guidance. Many times our faith has gotten us past our fears and sometimes wisdom granted has saved us from foolish mistakes. We have prayed for friends and our lives have been filled with fellowship we might not otherwise have found. We have been filled with gratitude for safe arrivals, natural beauty, unexplainable “coincidences,” and good health. All the advice in the world is no substitute for an earnest and humble prayer.


Other suggestions for the dreamers out there:

• Read Cruising World magazine, anything by Lin and Larry Pardy, and Tom Neale’s All in the Same Boat. Read Voyage of the Northern Magic to get an inspirational story of a Canadian family that circumnavigated the globe with almost no experience.

• Go to boat shows—we like the Strictly Sail Shows. Crawl around on different boats. Meet real people who do what you want to do. Buy a signed copy of a sailor’s book.

• Watch inspiring family movies like The Astronaut Farmer or episodes of Paul and Cheryl Shard’s Distant Shores.

• Take a crewed charter vacation on a sailboat before taking any life-altering steps. It will offer invaluable insight about whether or not you will love living on a boat and may even raise questions you haven’t yet thought to ask.

• Make a five-year plan if you’re starting from scratch. That’s about the right amount of time for learning, saving, practicing, shopping, and downsizing.

• Write about your experiences as a way to document the changes you go through, keep a record of good memories, and inspire yourself if you get discouraged. Maybe it will be inspiring to someone else someday and the whole thing will come full circle. Funny how that happens…

T.G.F.F.

by on in General

“The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control…” –from the Apostle Paul’s Letter to the Galatians


Our travels over the last month took us hundreds of miles both north and south, east and west. We are home now, back to abnormal life, and I have had some time to think about the lovely and generous people we stayed with and visited while the boat was hauled out. I am finding it hard to write about the supportive and loving people in my life, because there aren’t enough of the right kinds of words. If only I could get these beautiful friends all in the same room—what fun! But part of my joy is getting to visit one everywhere I go. Who gets to have a close friend in every city? Why am I so fortunate? It is a gift for which I struggle to express thanks.

In listing their names and why I love them (for thank-you notes that may not actually make it into the mail…sorry), I realized that their attributes taken together mirror the above quote. As friends feed the spirit, it makes sense that they would embody these words. At the risk of sounding like an academy award-winner, I would like to thank the following girlfriends by name, in the order in which I met them on our trip, for teaching me important life lessons and for showing me depth in each of these areas:

My sister-in-law, Robin—courage and hope
My aunt, Barbara—hospitality and faithfulness
My cousin, Heidi—perseverance and faith
Ellen—kindness and faithfulness
Julie B.—gentleness and peace
Amy—love, joy and teamwork
Sadie—selfless love and thoughtfulness
Marina—goodness, faith, and perseverance
Kim—love to the nth degree, joy
Tracy—faithfulness and self-control, the pursuit of excellence
Tarin—prayerfulness, goodness, and joy
Julie Z.—love of life, optimism, and spontaneity
Kristin—enthusiasm and perseverance
Josie—patience and hopefulness

There are others, of course, too many to name here. Becca, for example, supported me on the phone in an anxious moment and told me to keep driving west (to California) so she could give me a hug. That’s love. Sometimes we have to settle for compassion and prayer, but that goes a long way. Some of these friends I have known my whole adult life, others I have just met. But they (and their precious families) walk with me through all the trials and triumphs of married life and motherhood. Thank God for friends!

Haulout 2013, Day Twenty-Seven

by on in Recipes
We’re back in the water.  Third time was the charm.  New seals were ordered on Day 25, installed Day 26, and we were launched at 10am on Day 27.  This time without any leaks.  Looking back, Day 27 was the end of our last painfully long haulout.
 
With the seals replaced we can say without exception that everything in the engine rooms is new.  That feels good.  I could have saved myself a bunch of time, money, and stress if I’d just planned to replace the seals from the beginning.
 
But now that’s over and the engines feel fantastic.  Four cylinders, freshly straightened shafts, new motor mounts, and a good alignment make such a big difference over the old engines.  Ben wouldn’t let me run them hard, but I did talk him into a quick sprint to the turning basin and back.  He wants the boat to settle for a few days so he can fine-tune the alignment before we really break them in.  But I was dying to know two things:  can we get the full RPMs, and can we get hull speed?  
 
The initial answer to both questions is “no”, which has me a little bit miffed.  Being able to get full RPMs is the primary measure that engine manufacturers use to determine if an installation is “healthy”.   But there’s still hope.  The new cutless bearings will loosen up over time and allow the shafts to spin more freely, and maybe the break-in process will help.  We’re only about 500 RPM short.  There’s also a chance that our throttle cable is just a tad too long and we’re not actually getting to full throttle.
 
For speed, I think we’re about a knot-and-a-half below where the calculators say we should be.  We were hoping for 9, but are only getting about 7.5.  The difference is probably some combination of the RPM issue, the down-angle of our shafts, and the fact that Max-Props are more about sailing efficiency than motoring performance.  Taking all that into account, we’re probably faster than we should be, maybe because of our sweet underwater shape or because the scale on Billy’s Travel Lift says we’re heavier than we really are.
 
In any event, its way better than it used to be, and we’re happy to be back in the water.

Home at Last

by on in General

The weary travelers are home from their wanderings. The stories are too many to tell, but could I write them all, they would involve things like circus bears, midnight lobstering, a baby sloth, a daring rescue, a daughter's tea party, a last-minute phone call that saved the day, wine and chocolate,  new boat friends we met while neither family was on their boat, running out of gas, and late-night attempts to solve all the world's problems. I am so incredibly grateful to the loving people in our lives who made us feel welcome in their homes that I will have to write about that later when my heart is less full and I can get my head around it. I feel simultaneously elated at being back on the water and awed by all there is to do on the boat, but, really, there is no place like home.  

This message was brought to you by Starbuck's Coffee, with additional thanks to the author's father-in-law for a certain Starbuck's gift card, for their part in keeping the author alive on Florida's highways and making it possible for her to function after late-night talks and long nights in strange beds.