Life on Land

And showing up to the (web) page

This is Clouds Form Over Land, weekly-ish writing about life at sea and going ashore.

Turning rags into rugs, again.

Two months ago, I walked into a luxury grocery store and had to make a quick exit.

The small space was filled with tasty treats - countless charcuterie choices, unique floral bouquets, hundreds of chilled beverages, and seven kind and cool workers tasked to help me find just what my heart desired. The abundance was overwhelming.

My grocery routine in the eighteen months prior was non-existent. I gathered the resources we needed to survive from whatever was on hand: collecting rainwater from jury-rigged tarps, foraging for fruits, and purchasing anything else however we could. We bartered with other boaters and paid in local currencies for produce out of the back of a pickup truck, small stands, and the occasional big shop at Walmart or the local equivalent. I stocked TVP (textured vegetable protein), sprout seeds, rice and beans, and even MREs in case the going got tough, but there was always food to be found.

I had fewer choices and more of a care-free, come what may attitude. I leaned into fermentation so that I could turn powdered milk into fresh yogurt, black tea into sparkling kombucha, and cabbage into a long-range source of Vitamin C - no scurvy on my boat! We caught fish by dragging a line, ate a lot of rice and lentils, and had no temptation for online shopping without a mailing address. This lifestyle was a dance between how my ancestors survived for millennia and the possibilities afforded by being alive now with our mix of technology and possibility.

My days were simple and filled with purpose, even if it was often hard-fought. My nervous system was soothed by time at sea, as well as stretched and strained to seek safety within our extreme isolation.

I’ve never been a “go with the flow” person, preferring to know how long the flow will last and where it leads. In the absence of that certainty, I ground into the present and tend to have a hard time turning the page. I have lived some portion of my days in thirty-five countries and met countless astounding people that I may never see again. Life has continuously rewarded me for extending beyond my comfort zone, but I am also so tired at the end of this voyage.

I couldn’t stay in the delightful grocery store in my hometown because the specificity of the products available there and the support to locate them was an overwhelming confrontation with the complexity and convenience characteristic of this country.

My preferences have been worn down by how superfluous and limiting it can be to hold fixed desires outside of one’s home culture.

I’ve been living on water, in a moving vessel, traveling at the pace of the weather forecast. Now I live in a square house that is always where I left it. There’s comfort in the stability of leaving items unsecured on countertops and the view out the window staying virtually the same, yet slowly bending toward autumn.

Now I can pluck any product from the internet and have it at my doorstep within a known timeline. I can ask a sales rep in the store for assistance in English. I can use water and electricity with no fear of running out. I can go to numerous thrift stores and find high-quality items for only a few dollars. I have sourced our curtain rods, two chairs, and a textbook about the atmosphere off the curb during walks around my neighborhood. I am harvesting the city.

Scott challenged me to go for a walk and collect ten leaves.

These days, I can walk ten minutes up the road to swim laps with a friend. I can walk five minutes down the road and sit by the river. I can bike to the grocery store and the library and my friends’ houses. I can drive to my family in one sitting if I need to get there fast. I played in an outdoor water polo tournament at my alma mater last month. I sit on the porch with my cat and coffee every morning. I have attended two weddings, overflowing with love and the promise of shared futures. I swam in the river and exclaimed, “this is free!”. I started a job that’s an even better fit than the job I left on the other coast. So much goodness is culminating in this last sigh of summer.

We have a whole extra room in our house where I sit at the computer and get paid to project manage solar microgrids for clients around the world. My sewing machine sits on the desk too, patiently waiting for me to log off. There is a giant table for big projects and dinner parties. My roommates are kind and make a lot of art. In the next few days, a pullout sofa will arrive and someday friends will visit and sleep on it.

I’m living the life I dreamed of, and it’s even more overwhelming than that grocery store. With community comes complexity and convenience and things much, much bigger than one’s self. I am still just passing through, moving faster and slower than I was before.

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Reading: A Darker Wilderness by Erin Sharkey with

Book Club for the Planet

Making: Sauerkraut, kombucha, and chocolate chip zucchini bread.

Clearing: fabric scraps and the last of the boxes.

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A note on the schedule —

I’m trying and failing to show up weekly. Hopefully, I’ll be back on Wednesday :) Folks who are supporting monetarily, thank you so much for this boost during a strange time. Everybody else, I appreciate your time more than you know!