Wedding Season

As promised, here's the update, complete with pictures!

We've been crazy busy with outfitting, and since my internet access is so sporadic, I'm not sure when I can update next. I'm trying to get my back fixed, contacts ordered, teeth cleaned and filled and ladyparts examined before we sail, so it seems like every dime that doesn't go towards food or gas is given to one health professional or another. As a result, buying a cheap laptop has been de-prioritized for awhile. I promise I won't abandon this blog and I will update whenever I get the chance, but that chance will probably only be every couple of weeks.

It's hard to try and sum up my daily life in Rockland in words. On the surface, it seems pretty simple- I wake up, start working on the boat, eat lunch, go back to work, and then spend an hour or two with friends before passing out, only to do it all again. There's lots of sanding and painting, and I'm still not convinced that the boat actually goes anywhere. But on the other hand, I'm noticing subtle changes in myself- I'm more tan, more fit and more energetic than I was when I started, and I'm also far more in tune with my environment. As a cook/culinary student for the last few years, I hardly could tell you what season it was, let alone what the moon or tides were doing. Now I'm starting to recognize the effect of the changing tides on the boats in the harbor, the position of the sun in the sky during the workday, or the direction of the wind. I'm still certainly no seaman, but I'm starting to be able to tell the difference between my ass and my elbow, and to see the environment's impact on both.

Here are some photos from the journey thus far...

This is my home. The stove is over 100 years old but recently refurbished. To the left of the photo you can see my bunk- close enough to feed the stove without getting out of my sleeping bag... almost.

This is my lovely assistant, John. He had just gotten into a minor altercation with the paintbrush spinner when this photo was taken. They have since recconciled.

This was taken at our "galley-warming" party. I'm not entirely sure what exciting thing was happening at the top of the ladder, but it must have been pretty darn cool.

Stay tuned, folks. I'll keep you up to date as best I can.

...and you thought I'd forgotten you

Okay, I know it looks like I did the typical awful thing- starting a blog, publicizing it, and then abandoning it after just a few posts. That's simply not the case. I have just been way busy doing wonderfuly exciting and stimulating things. Unfortunately, since I don't have a laptop handy, you'll have to wait for a real update until the 31st when I take a short trip back to civilization.

There will be pictures and stories galore, I promise!

Hairy-Chested Romance

The title of this blog comes from a dear friend of mine, who has not only walked in my nautical footsteps, but was in many cases one of the first women to do so. I have yet to find a better phrase to sum up the profound sense of nostalgia, beauty and tradition that seems to inform the thoughts and actions of so many of the people who are drawn to schooners.

So last night I was hanging with my mom at a church mother-daughter banquet when they had a unique parlor game. Our table won, through no help from me. The game was a purse scavenger hunt. We were required to produce such items as grocery recipts, childrens toys and dental floss from our purses. I contributed nothing, though if the list had been a little different, I would have kicked some serious butt.

Things I carry around with me:

1. Folding Benchmade knife
2. Steri-Strip skin closures
3. Super glue
4. Sandpaper (left in my pocket from bowsprit sanding duties, transferred to purse later)
5. CPR certification
6. String
7. Digital camera
8. Duct tape wallet

I've never been overly girly, but between my lack of purse contributions and my paint stained hands, I felt singularly foriegn among the perfumed pink church ladies. I can't say I didn't enjoy it.

In a similarly romantic vein, here's an old song about sailing:

Farewell to Princes' landing stage River Mersey fare thee well

I am bound for California, a place I know right well

So fare thee well my own true love

When I return united we will be

It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me

But my darling when I think of thee

I have sailed with Burgess once before, I think I know him well

If a man's a sailor he will get along, if not then he's sure in hell

So fare thee well my own true love

When I return united we will be

It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me

But my darling when I think of thee

Farewell to Lower Frederick Street, Anson Terrace and Park Lane

I am bound away for to leave you and I'll never see you again

So fare thee well my own true love

When I return united we will be

It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me

But my darling when I think of thee

I am bound for California by way of stormy Cape Horn

And I will write to thee a letter, love, when I am homeward bound

So fare thee well my own true love

When I return united we will be

It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me

But my darling when I think of thee

I've shipped on a Yankee clipper ship, "Davy Crockett" is her name

And Burgess is the captain of her and they say that she's a floating hell

So fare thee well my own true love

When I return united we will be

It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me

But my darling when I think of thee

Back on your heads!

Avast!

It is I, your intrepid heroine, returned from another week in Rockland! After taking a (very) long shower, eating some lunch and acting as cat furniture for a little while (my cat missed me) it's story time once again. Today, let's talk about the word, "schooner." The first schooner was built in 1642 in order to more effectively hunt the elusive schoon. A distant cousin of the snipe, the schoon was an agile marine mammal renowned for it's soft chartruse-hued fur. Unfortunately, due to many factors including the effectiveness of the schooner as schoon-hunting vehicle, water pollution, lack of schoon-industry regulation, dutch schoon disease and the popularity of chartruse in the fall collections of Paris designers in 1709, the schoon was declared extinct in 1740. The schooner, however, continued to be a useful boat for more pedestrian pursuits such as smuggling, blockade running, privateering and oyster fishing.

Okay, maybe not, but I like my version. In all honesty, the process of educating myself on all things nautical is going slowly. There's a lot to learn, and I'd say that if there was a list of Things One Must Know In Order Not To Look Like A Flippin' Idiot On Your Schooner, I'd know about 5% of the items on said list at the moment. (side note: if anyone has such a list, email it to me. please.) But when I get really frustrated, I remind myself of a few things:

1. This stuff is confusing. For example- a bowline (BO-lihn) is a knot. a bowline (BAU-line) is a line, which is a rope, but don't call it that. There is a different name for every scrap of wood, metal, canvas or rope (but remember, don't call it a rope, it's a line) on the entire boat and none of them make sense. Even worse, nothing is spelled like it sounds, so translating between written resources and spoken directions is difficult. Folks'll make fun of you if you pronounce "forecastle" wrong. Trust me.

2. I've been working my butt off. I haven't had much time to study anything in my off hours, because there simply aren't many of them. There's just so much stuff to be done to get ready on schedule that there isn't much spare time for education. I clean things. I sand things. I paint things. I try to remember the names of the things that I clean, sand and paint.

So all in all, I think I'm doing alright.

The fun project of the week did (of course) involve sanding and painting, but I was at least out sanding and painting the bowsprit and jib boom (long pointy nose thing on the front of the boat.) Weilding my orbital sander like a conductor with her baton, I danced blithely over chains and wires, seemingly supported by only the air itself, or perched like a figurehead of yore, restoring the appearance of my proud vessel to mint condition.

Okay, there I go with the romantic embellishments again. More accurately, I spent a great deal of hours crouched, clinging to the chains like a nautical dingleberry, realizing that not only is our bowsprit a huge pain in the ass to sand and paint, but that many people before me have realized this and thus half-assed (or in some cases quarter-assed or even sixteenth-assed) the sanding and painting, making my job much much harder. To my credit, though, it looks nicer now than it has in awhile.

I'm starting to feel like I'm actually making progress in terms of getting into shape. I don't like to weigh myself, but I feel more energetic and a tiny bit less flabby. I'm going to start rowing (at 6AM! Gah!) a few times a week starting next week- that should be tough, but definitely worth it. I have an actual suntan for the first time in years. I promise I'll post photographic evidence soon for those of you (hi Sean!) who didn't believe I was even capable of such a thing. Apparently I don't burst into flame and turn into a pile of ash when exposed to sunlight!