The Sea Gull Has Landed
Front page news and sleeping on the ground
This is Clouds Form Over Land, weekly writing about life at sea and going ashore.
We arrived in mid-June after a two-week sprint from Charleston, South Carolina, a little over two years after sailing west under the Golden Gate Bridge and into the unknown.
Despite chipping away at this goal at the pace of five miles per hour, the enormity of what we’ve done is still sinking in as I get my bearings. We signed a lease, applied for updated driver’s licenses, and our cat was printed on the front page of the local newspaper.
Our time in the Intracoastal Waterway and Great Dismal Swamp was some of the best and most tiring of the route. We developed a rhythm of waking at 5 AM and arriving at the next port ahead of the threat of afternoon thunderstorms. Hurricane season had technically begun on June 1, but the path of the storms usually curves into the Gulf of Mexico at the start of the season.
After thousands of ocean miles with no other boats in sight, it was a delight to be in the company of others enjoying the inland waterways in their various vessels and with fishing poles along the shorelines. Relying on our 44-year-old diesel engine wasn’t ideal, but we made it without any major plot twists. We pulled sweaters and sweatpants out of deep storage in the hull and shed layers throughout the day. The palm trees turned to pine and waterfront homes spread out as we got further from the ocean. I fell in love with sailing in temperate climes at Latitude 38 in San Francisco Bay and the symmetry of our route was a comfort amongst lots of change.
I’ve fancied myself a pro at adapting to changing conditions, but when the conditions stopped changing my gears got a little jammed. Suddenly we’d lost the sturdiness of the route that had guided us for the last few years and the focus abruptly shifted toward “what’s next”. I anticipated having a thesis statement of sorts by the time we stepped off board, but instead found that the conclusion of the journey hadn’t left much capacity for thinking beyond three days at a time. I’m also pretty lousy at sitting still.
Living aboard a boat requires regular tending to the systems and the living space can become unlivable quickly as the detritus of the day stacks up on small surfaces. We think of our boat Azimuth as the fourth member of our crew — as full of life as me, my partner, and our cat. Continuing along our route required staying focused and continually clearing obstacles. Each harbor was home to folks who only planned on stopping through, and we intended to make it all the way to a city we love. A friend pointed out how uncommon this is in the modern-day, yet connected across centuries of folks sailing to distant shores to start a new chapter of life.
Now we are set on generating ideas, getting back to work, following whims and hunches, and sending down fledgling roots into rich soil. We’re reconnecting, getting haircuts, and receiving care that feels like Christmas in July.
We are used to living in hot heat without air conditioning, and while it is often uncomfortable, it does help one attune to the environment. A couple of nights of camping and sleeping on the ground was just what the doctor ordered.
Driving on the highway, shopping at the grocery store, and shifting from hot outdoors to cold indoors have been some of the more acute adjustments, or “culture zaps” as I’ve been thinking of them. The volume of media in this country is another rush, but tuning into the radio for the local goings-on is a balm for my frayed attention. I’m also enjoying the abundance of sandwich and salad options.
I’m tempted to pack in more here about impressions upon arrival, but there’s always next week. Cya then!
Generating more to-dos feels out of sync for summer, so I’m swapping the Can Do List with present particles. Feel free to chime in with yours in the comments!
Reading: Farm City by Novella Carpenter and Old Man and the Sea by Earnest Hemmingway.
Making: forest green knit socks and strawberry jam.
Observing: Ebony Jewelwings in Pocahontas State Park and history of the Chesapeake at the Steamboat Era Museum in Irvington, VA.
YOU DID IT! You miraculous creature, you. I'm so happy to read this. I'll play along on your questions!
Reading: I'm about to go to bed with a hard copy of Stephen Jenkinson's "Die Wise". In my teaching I'm rereading a book that I bought new which is now yellowing with age, which made my head spin this morning; Coleman Barks' Translations of Rumi in "The Essential Rumi". On my e-reader I'm working on "The Spear Cuts Through Water" by Simon Jimenez after adoring his "The Vanished Birds".
Making: My silliest recent making was a delight: when I was on the phone with you last week, I traced my ukuleles and banjulele onto cardboard and cut them out. I then taped them to the wall to test where to hang them beside my desk. During the pandemic nights on our boat, I played and James and I sang. I got out of the habit during our moving-to-land year, and I've hung them to call me back to playing, which I do very badly and with great gusto and joy.
Observing: the baby violet-green swallows from the nest in our eaves fledged today. The air was full of fumbly gleeful swallows and their wild chirping all day long. It was magnificent!
May the skills you have cultivated on your journey-in-motion serve you well in your journey-upon-land, beloved. I'm so, so glad to have found your friendship along the way.