This past summer has been both fantastic and exhausting. July started with a 7 day trip riding coast to coast across the country of Scotland. Riding through bogs and across mountain passes was an incredible experience, where we thoroughly enjoyed the people, cuisine and history of the Scottish Highlands. As Dan and I rode our sturdy Highland ponies along the beaches, we looked longingly out to sea at the passing boats and imagined a day when we would be sailing the magical shores.
One day home, then I was back aboard a plane, traveling another three hour time zone jump. I spent a week in California and then drove horses and kids 10 hours to Oregon for our national vaulting competition. By the time I drove the horses back to California, and boarded a plane back to New Jersey, I had spent 27 days traveling. Gruelling does not begin to describe the majority of these days away from home, as it was either spent riding for 8 hours a day across challenging terrain, or feeding, coaching and supervising a dozen kids. The last two weeks of this marathon was spent without my sailmate. Without him I seemed lost and uneasy, as if a large piece of me was missing
Even after arriving home, it was weeks before we were reunited with the Dove. She sat idly, bobbing in her berth, surely upset at the parade of passing boats that did not include her. When we finally did arrive to free her from her lines and let her sprint along the banks of the Chesapeake, her decks were overflowing with bodies. The question, "When are we going sailing," is the first thing family and friends ask when they see us. It is only natural for us to include as many people as possible on our weekend visits, as we love to share our lives and adventures.
Our first outing in far too long, included a crew of guests, Philip and Shelby, our son and daughter in law, as well as some family friends. Dan and I settled down quickly as he navigated and gave orders to his makeshift crew, while I ensured that everyone had a beverage and comfortable place to sit. The wind filled in and bodies lined the rails, toes dipping into the waves dancing along the hull. Our cruise to nowhere was perfect: wind, air temperature, and voice of Jimmy Buffet melting into a perfect afternoon. Earlier this summer, Philip had revealed to me during one of our sailing outings, that Dan and I were going to be grandparents. Shelby is expecting her first baby, and the son of a son of a sailor was announced on the sea. Now, the silhouette of Shelby, and the rising mound of our future little sailor, lined the rail with a row of smiling and content faces.
Contentment is a great description of how it feels to sail, but there is a greater prevailing feature that dominates the sailing atmosphere. I believe the best description of it is peace. When motor boats power by, the smoke curling from their stinky bilges, heavy hulls pounding against the waves as if they are slapping the water in front of them into submission, their angry noises as they plow past reinforce the aura of peace, even as their invading noises fade. The beauty of sailing as my husband often states, is not where you are going. With sailing, you are already there. The quiet sounds of the waves lapping gently across the bow, the tinkling of halyards, and the ruffling of full sails, is one of the most peaceful mixture of sounds on the planet. When you watch the faces of our guests, you can sense the contentment and peace, reinforced by the smiles and laughter.
This particular voyage ended with the promise of a perfect sunset. We all disembarked from the Dove and made our way to the end of the dock, regretful that the day had to end, but looking forward to the beauty of its final moments. The back wall at the end of the dock faced the sunset, and we hoisted one another onto the four foot wooden wall, and lined ourselves up to watch the quickly departing sun. A few boats bobbed in the water between us and the path of the setting sun, colors swirling and melting into the horizon. The sun, a giant ball of orange, cast a bright path along the water, and sent diamonds of light sparkling on every ripple of water. The group sat in relative silence, fascinated by the unfolding drama of color and light. It was a perfect end to a perfect day, and peace and contentment were ours to hold on to, if only until the light faded and we filed back to our cars, sad the day had come to an end.
Finally back on my floating home, after more than a month away, it began to dawn on me why I am so at peace when I am on the Dove. The most magical part, is that no matter what life has thrown at me, what problems and concerns are dwelling in my mind, I have total and complete release from these concerns once the sails are up and the wind is sweeping us away. At home, from the moment I awake to those long moments before I am able to sleep, troubles and negative thoughts invade my mind. I try and listen to my mother's advice and think positively, put negative thoughts out of my mind the moment they enter, but I have not mastered that skill. I can come up with new and imaginative ways to complicate problems, dream up worst case scenarios, and dwell on issues that should have been laid to rest long ago. It is a sickness really, and sailing is my cure. Dan and I plan on spending a rare 4 day weekend over Labor Day, enjoying time alone aboard the Dove. I am sure I will have insights and adventures to share, but until then, may you find peace, contentment, and beautiful sunsets.