Leaf Dropping Season

Emptying my drafts folder from the voyage

One of my seasonal practices is rounding up the scraps of writing from my drafts folder and sending it along to paid subscribers of Clouds Form Over Land.

I held some back at the beginning of spring, thinking I’d build a backlog of scheduled posts for when life got busier with sailing and arriving, and then I held them back in summer as I wobbled along on my land legs. I’ve been struggling to show up here, parsing the personal from the sharable, weighed down by the task of integrating such a big experience with my new circumstance. And also holding on for dear life as I went back to work and emerged as a social creature

Tideline in the Chesapeake Bay. June 14, 2023.

An incomplete list of things that excite me about life on land (in July)

1. playing water polo again

2. dishwashers

3. laundry machines

4. mailing addresses

5. friends

6. family

7. picnics

8. camping

9. bike rides

10. craft supplies

The Path in front of the Gem Store (from April)

The main road through the Florida Keys is US 1 and there are no crosswalks for the miles around the marina near Marathon. This was our first encounter with the United States after 18 months of sailing offshore other parts of the Americas. We did our errands on foot as usual, this time bobbing and weaving through 40 mph traffic. The sun beat down on all that road and radiated up to our ankles. That built environment is perfect for those traveling by car — each shop with ample parking out front and little distance to cover outside of climate-cooled spaces. There were few folks making the linear route along with us, and we were a hardy bunch. There was the elderly couple who grabbed my elbow to cross a particularly busy entrance at the Home Depot, the teens speeding along on scooters, and the other wayward sailors schlepping groceries and boat parts. We all tucked under the shaded structures of strip mall overhangs and said good morning or good afternoon or good evening.

All the concrete and cars felt like a suburban hellscape compared to the reefs and shores at the edge of the Florida Keys. Most people blasted right by this on their errands, enjoying the convenience of collecting their goods and moving about their day. We plodded along between the marine hardware store, cat cafe, and Publix, marveling at the differences north of the border, at what we give up for all this convenience. Elsewhere along our route, there were always cheap taxis, buses, or even hitchhiking available wherever the landscape required road travel. Here there were only expensive Lyft or Uber rides summoned via smartphone.

There was one bright, shady, vibrant spot along that section of Highway 1 - a landscaped garden path in front of the gem and rock store. Numerous species were present and a few frogs and lizards skittered about. It was amazing how the environment teemed at the edges when space was given.

Housekeeping (from April)

I recently read How to Keep House While Drowning, a “gentle approach to cleaning and organizing” by KC Davis.

KC rebrands chores into care tasks and brings compassion and creativity to the everyday labor of making our dwellings work for us. She highlights functional over spotlessly clean, and that one tidbit alone has been liberatory. She encourages resetting a space when it’s no longer working. To get a taste of her methods, try cleaning up a space by clearing this list in order:

1. Gather and dispose of trash

2. Gather and put dishes near the sink (don’t do them yet)

3. Put dirty laundry in the basket (don’t do them yet)

4. Relocate things that have a place

5. Address things that don’t have a place

One of the joys of living in a small space is that it can (usually) be cleaned in a few moments and a downfall is that it takes even less time to get dirty again. I made a practice of tidying (not cleaning) items back to their respective homes on board while waiting for the kettle to boil for coffee in the morning and tea at night.

Another trick is to pick up 10 things and return them to their homes. Often by the time I reach ten, some momentum has built to carry on, or perhaps I’ve gotten in the flow enough to stop counting altogether.