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We are Home!
by Ryan and Wesley Harris
05/08/2009, Ventura, California

We have made it home, and excited to see our friends and family. It did not take long for Mom and Dad to re-enroll us back into our middle school, Cabrillo. One of our first language arts project was to write a poem about each of us. Our journey and experiences are reflected in what we had to say. You decide...



Poetry of what I am...
by Wesley Harris

I am the one who sails in the breeze,
I am the salty taste in the air,
When you are at the beach or sailing way out there,
I am the one who's there.

I am the one who is making streaks on the hill,
I am the one with skies ripping through the snow,
I am the one holding a ski medal in the air,
I am the mountain higher than the air,
And I will be staying way up there.

And when I die,
My memory will always be found there.



"Me Poem"
by Ryan Harris

Sailing, sailing as fast as can be,
No one can sail as fast as me!
Skiing, skiing racing down the hill,
Skis take me around at my own free will!
Exploring, exploring whooshing through the trees,
Running into a bunch of bees!
Whenever you do these things,
Think of me,
Ryan.
Sailing, sailing been around the world,
Skiing, skiing been down every hill,
Exploring, exploring seen everywhere.
When you think about these things,
Think of me,
Ryan






To California!
By Ryan and Wesley Harris
04/29/2009, United States/Mexican Border

On the night of the 29th, we crossed the border and entered American waters. We were all on deck to see our boat cross the border line on the radar screen. We have almost completed "our" circumnavigation and we have only 100 more miles to go! Now, San Diego to Avalon to Ventura!

So-Crates: The Memory of a Bird
by Ryan and Wesley Harris
04/25/2009, Cabo Colonet, Mexico

Dad was half way through his shift, when he heard a soft thud and he looked over his shoulder; it was a small bird, a sandpiper. It apparently must have been worn out, and landed on our deck for a break. Dad wanted to catch it, but he didn't want the bird to jump over the side. The bird in the end wedged into the fender rack and that was the time to catch him (assuming that it was a he).

Dad woke us up and showed us the bird; he gently grabbed it and put him in a plastic container. We put a towel under him. We warmed up some water and put it in a plastic bag, and wrapped it in a cloth. We put it in and the bird we named Socrates (pronounced Soo-Crates) huddled around it.

We took over the shift and every few minutes looked at the bird. We put bread, nuts, and some fish in, but he wouldn't eat it. When mom woke up we showed her Socrates, but we also noticed that his wing was bent back. Mom told Dad after his nap about Socrates wing, and he took a look. They grabbed the medical supplies. Dad found some gauze and we wrapped it around Socrates and made a sort of sling. While he was out we pet him, and he seemed to like it. He would put his beak on you while we pet him, and he seemed to like us. It was very cute.

The wind picked up, so we went to an anchorage. We had a nice dinner of curry that my dad made. Right before we went to bed, we heated up his water, rewrapped it in the cloth, and moved him to our room. We all fell asleep.

I woke up and went to heat up Socrates' water. I brought his cage to the salon to heat up his water, but when I took the water bag out, I noticed some blood on his gauze. I touched him, but he was cold and didn't move. He had passed... I told everyone, and we came up with the conclusion that he had hit the windmill and had internal bleeding. We held a U.S. Navy burial for him, "Good-bye Socrates, go to the sea, from whence you came".





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