It's Tuesday around noon. The unexpected but much welcomed strong southeast winds continue to carry us northward at an excellent pace.. Our destination at the moment is the weather carousel known as the North Pacific High. Its center seems to have taken up residence about 1,500 miles due west of Portland, Oregon. We hope to reach this point on Saturday and then turn northeast out of the windless center of the high until we catch the prevailing westerly winds. This will be a very big turn for us; we will finally be truly homeward bound, heading straight towards the coast of Beautiful British Columbia!

Our original gently curving boomerang course from Hawaii to Vancouver now looks more like a giant carpenter's square due to our need to go further north and further west than planned. This, of course, has added distance. The total length of our route is now just over 2,900 miles, our longest passage to date. So far we have knocked off about 900 miles. Only 2,000 more to go! We are still hoping to arrive at Victoria's Inner Harbor, our planned landfall, by the end of July. But this will require improved cooperation from the unpredictable wind gods, Cumulus and Nimbus!

Returning now to Vanuatu, a tough but sensitive Joanna, teased relentlessly by the youngsters in the village, has decided to seek comfort and a sense of worth in the shelter of her father's carving shed. Ambrym Island, the site of our story, is famous as the home of the most gifted wood carvers in Vanuatu. We visited many such carving sheds in search of a memento of this special country. We eventually settled on an exquisitely carved mask that now sits on Sarah Jean's chart table. We named him Ambrym. He is a key member of our crew, at least when we are at anchor he is not wrapped up in the cupboard for protection!

VISION OF JOANNA - A Continuing Tale of Adventure in Vanuatu

CHAPTER 3

The smoky haze of burning coconut husks hung like wispy blue fog amongst the towering banyan trees. Its pungent aroma permeated the village; even scenting the colorful laundry as it hung to dry. Joanna's pink flip flops slapped the toughened black soles of her feet. The sandals were her most prized possession. She was the only child in the village with shoes of any sort; a gift from an Australian cruising family that had visited Papa last month looking for a carving.

Joanna poked her head through the curtain covering the door of Papa's shed, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. Papa, sitting on a small stool in the center of dirt floor, dressed only in his tattered black shorts, looked up and broke into a wide, affectionate smile, his eyes beaming with delight.

"Jo Jo!" he exclaimed, "How nice to see you. What brings you into my dark little shed?"

Joanna was not sure exactly why she was there except she knew she needed a little attention and maybe some sympathy. She looked down at her dusty pink flip flops. "Papa" she asked "Why do the other kids tease me so much? Why do they hate me?"

Papa put down his chisel and looked up, looked directly into her eyes. His smile softened. He could see her pain and confusion. Papa reached out and placed her tiny trembling hands into his calloused palms. "Jo Jo" he said, "Remember, they are just little people who still have so much to learn. For now, they think that teasing you will make them feel good about themselves; make them feel better because they have good eyesight; they have something you don't have."

Papa leaned back and picked up his chisel. Joanna watched him work the tool into the wood. He spoke without looking up. "Give them time, Jo Jo. Soon enough they will learn that acts of kindness are much more rewarding and will make them feel much better about themselves than acts of selfishness and cruelty." He put down his chisel again, reached out and pulled her onto his lap. "Jo Jo, you're very special; you have many gifts that are much more important and valuable than good eyesight. I know it. Someday the other children will know it as well. They will respect you and will be your friends. For now you just have to be kind and patient, even if they are not."

Joanna slid off his lap and pulled on one of her blond curls as she did sometimes when embarrassed or at a loss for words. She was not sure she fully understood what Papa had said but knew she now felt much better. She also felt a deep closeness to Papa. He always made her feel loved. She wanted to spend all her time with him; do what he did; become a carver. But there were no woman carvers in her village or anywhere on Ambrym. It was not kastom - it was not the tradition.

"Papa?" she said in a quavering voice. "Will you teach me how to carve?"

He kept his eyes to his work, as if ignoring the question but she knew he was thinking of what to say. After several minutes he replied, "Jo Jo, women can't be carvers. It's not our way."

Joanna was not surprised by his answer. It was what she had expected but she was far from ready to give up the fight. She moved forward so she was just inches from his face and climbed back onto his lap. He looked up to meet her gaze. "Papa," she said with slow deliberation. "I thought you said I was special and had many gifts. Maybe one of them is carving - maybe it's in my blood, like it is in your yours."

At that moment Papa thought that one of her special gifts might be persuasiveness. He reached up to a cluttered shelf behind his stool and took down a small sheathed knife fitted with a braided hemp lanyard. He put the knife in her hands. "Jo Jo", he said "Go behind the shed and find some soft breadfruit wood to carve. Let's see what you can do. No lessons for now. It's either in your blood or it's not. Come back in a few days and show me that you are a carver."

She headed towards the doorway, her heart beating wildly with excitement and fear. Could she actually do it? Papa called after her, "Keep that knife well hidden! And practice your carving where nobody can see you. This has to be a secret. Can you do that?"

Joanna nodded, quickly wiping away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She stepped out of the dim hut into the blazing afternoon sunshine.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .