I have tried to write this blog post many times. I wrote about our hectic summer, the anxieties of Kara starting school, and how our land life differs from our sea life (laundry and swimming have different importance). None of them conveyed re-entry to me. They were all about stuff and not about the huge change we are living.

Today it hit me. Why did I think re-entry would be easier than cutting the dock lines? Yes, we have more space and the daily things seem easier, but some things are much harder. The big picture isn’t as clear to me. This morning when I walked Kara to school we got to talking about safety in cyberspace. She told me that by law she isn’t allowed an email account. I said that I would trust her to talk with her friends, but I would worry about her talking with strangers. I asked if she could think of some adults she could email. Her first suggestions were Hugh and Anne on Serendipity and Howard and Lynn on Swift Current, our buddy boats, the safe adults. This is what makes re-entry hard. It is never the stuff that hangs me up, it is the people. I miss “my people” - to quote Howard. I miss the caring adults I can call on for anything, whether to see if they still have eggs, can help us unravel the prop from the fishing net (thanks again Serendipity) or a safe place to send Kara for an hour while I screw my head back on tight. I miss the cruisers out there who dinghy up to welcome us to an anchorage, or catch our lines at the dock. I miss the excitement of going to a new place, and the sense of accomplishment from learning a new bus system. I am jealous when I read about friends in far off places. Gato Go turns me a deep green with envy whenever I read their blog, and Bella Star keeps me wishing we had made the right (not left) turn with them. I would love to see the different side of the world where they are living.

That said I don’t miss carrying groceries back to the boat. I love telling Kara I bought Ice Cream. I don’t miss the anxiety of preparing for a passage. I love it when it rains and I have forgotten to close a window - mopping up a puddle on the floor is so much easier than drying our mattress after I forget the front hatch! I love watching Kara get ready for school in the morning, because for the most part she prefers the weeks to the weekends - she loves school that much. After three years of too few kids, she is relishing in too many. I love feeling the fall air - we chased summer for so long that the morning nip and dry air makes me smile.

Our re-entry is on-going. It might have been easier to re-enter in Seattle, where our pre-cruising friends live. But, coming to Sag Harbor has been great for us. We still work as the Taking Flight Crew, doing most everything together. Dave and I walk Kara to school, and pick her up together. We have the best conversations during those 20 minute walks. Dave and I get the list of irritating boys each day, and hear the praises given to Kara’s teacher. Kara is finding many friends, and Dave and I are starting to find new playmates. I know that we will find our Sag Harbor community soon, but I feel lucky to hold our buddy boats in my heart.

We are home! This is our new home, but my old home. There are a thousand cliches and sit-com theme songs running through my head. My only regret is that we didn’t sail into our new home port, but if we wanted to sail we would have had to wait five days.

As we motored past Greenport I kept thinking about my father, and how I’m now sailing in his playground. When we rounded Cedar Point Lighthouse I remembered my mother telling me how the lighthouse was for sale when she first got married. I’ve always wondered what my life would have been like growing up on that spit of land. Just to make sure I understood the symbolism of returning home, an osprey alighted from a nest in the new light. Welcome to your new nest.

A soon as we were secured to our mooring ball Kara asked to go to the library. She has been limited to what we can download for so long, that the thought of browsing was bliss. Kara and I were welcomed by Susann, the best children’s librarian. In ten minutes Kara had two books she couldn’t wait to devour. The library is the community hub for Sag Harbor.

While Kara and I hit the library, Dave reunited with his truck. He can’t wait to tinker in the toolshed. We have one more week on the boat, while the house is rented. So, as much as he is hankering to repair the dock, he is contenting himself getting Flight back in shape. The miles have worn hard on her, especially this year, so we can’t wait to give her the TLC she needs.

After 10,700 miles, two years ten months and 10 days plus nine countries Taking Flight has a new home. When I look at our route it seems that our path holds the United States and Central America in our cupped hands.

Yesterday we crossed into New York State, and in the best way. We sailed into New York Harbor and up the East River. This was as monuments as sailing under the Golden Gate bridge for me. I sat in the cockpit with my camera ready to click away at all the icons - Coney Island, the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, Empire State Building, the UN, The Chrysler building and on and on. I also tried to document my own history - my grandparent's apartment, my grandfather's hospital, my mother's apartment and the hospital where I volunteered. I can feel the tendrils on my roots rejuvenating as I return home.

The day was not perfect. Our plan was to leave at 9:00 am and motor to the Verazzano narrows, but Dave wanted to make an earlier start and sail. Good thing, for our windlass chose this moment to die. The windlass hauls the anchor up, so poor Dave took on the job. This East Coast mud in pernicious, so he needed to hose the chain as it came up. He worked the dual job. A half hour later we were on our way. It seems that the boat is falling apart beneath us. If we weren't so close to the end, we would be finding a place to spend three to six months repairing all the things that are breaking down on the boat.

Underway at last we popped the chute and tried to rebuild our enthusiasm. It was short lived as the wind died and the current built against us. We crossed the shipping lanes to the East side of the entrance, while another sailboat (Indigo) crossed to the West side. They proceeded to clean our clock. They found back eddies to escape the two plus knot ebbing current. Our plan was to reach the bridge as the tide turned, but when we were going 3 knots, motoring at 1800 RPMs. Indigo was long gone. It turned out not to matter, for our three knots turned to 5 as we went under the bridge. The current shifted so quickly that by the time we were in the middle of the harbor we were enjoying the flood and an extra two knots.

Many people try to transit Hellsgate (a tight passage connecting the East River and Long Island Sound) at slack tide, but not us. We wanted the push up river, so reached Hellsgate with 3 knots with us. I just love it when we go over 10.

With our windlass out of commission, we are staying on mooring balls until we reach Sag Harbor, and our own mooring ball. This brought us to Port Washington. When I was in High School I spent a summer at Cornell and my roommate, Makiko, who lived in Port Washington. This is a very easy place for cruisers, with a supermarket across the street from the dinghy dock. We walked to a movie theater and Dave and I had Indian food. A great day.

We have just completed our last overnight passage of our adventure. I hope now that 8, 11, 2 and 5 will just become numbers to me, and not our watch schedule. We had a great sail up the New Jersey coast under spinnaker until nightfall. I was able to sail my first watch, but the wind died for Dave and the iron genny took over. I got the best sleep during a passage ever. I will also confess that for the first time since MIssion Bay in 2001 I fell asleep during my watch. The sun rises so early, and I get my deepest sleep just before dawn, anyway my last half hour was that deadly time for me.

Yeah, yeah, yeah! We are done with those things!

Also - tomorrow June 17 we will be sailing up the East River. We should be going under the Verazanno Bridge at 11:30 am, then through New York Harbor around lunch and finally up the river.

If I was haunted by my mother in the Chesapeake, it was my father whose memory whispered in my ear for this part of our journey. When I was in High School my sister Lucy sailed our boat (The Grapefruit) from Sag Harbor to Georgia. I was part of the crew for the first month. As it happened my sister had an interview for medial school (Johns Hopkins), so my Dad came down to take the boat across the Delaware and through the C&D (Chesapeake and Delaware) Canal. I was his crew. I've always said this is where I learned to respect Washington, because my trip across the Delaware was horrendous. We were going to weather with a favorable current. This meant that we sailed into a cruel chop that pounded the boat and us. When I went below to get lunch I was so seasick that I couldn't look at food, and made my father a sandwich while starting assiduously at the horizon. When we reached the Canal and found relief from the wind and waves, my father found another reason for my mal de mar. During the relentless pounding we had taken on some water, and the batteries were wet. The sea water and battery acid reacted to release chlorine gas, poisonous. I steered the boat as my father dumped the batteries over the side. When we finally reached the marina it was dark, and I stood on the bow to toss the line. I missed. It fell in the water three feet short of the helpful man on the dock. My father lost it, after his stressful day and yelled at me. I lost it, after my stressful day and ran down below, head first into the quarter berth. As a sailor, my reaction was far worse than my fathers. I have no idea how he got the boat secured, but he did. Then he came down below and apologized to me for yelling, that he knew it wasn't my intention to mis-throw the bow line. I can't remember if I ever apologized for abandoning the bow and risking the boat.

With this history I was a bit apprehensive to take my family through the canal and down the river. Of course it would be different. First, as much as I loved the Grapefruit, Flight is in a different league of boats. She is fast and has all the electronic tool my father would have loved, but never got to play with. We have an inboard engine, instead of an outboard (in fact our outboard for the dinghy is the same horsepower as the Grapefruit's engine). Instead of a tide table bought at the bait store's counter, we have programs that calculate the currents throughout our route. We have a chart plotter, that shows us exactly where we are in relation to the known shoals, while the Grapefruit had charts that where huge, and with little detail. We had weather reports from NOAA, with graphics to explain the upcoming forecast, while Dad had the VHF weather report. Dave and I were able to play with different scenarios for an hour, before determining that we would take the outgoing current through the C&D (a 6:00 am start), then anchor until 3:30 am the next day, when we would take the outgoing current down the Delaware. As long as we maintained 5 knots we would take advantage of some very advantageous currents, and if we went faster all the better. My poor father and I had no way to maintain 5 knots, in fact we didn't really know how fast we went over ground.

We anchored Flight the night before on the Bohemia River, but a squall system came through and it was a sleepless night. We had fair holding, but little protection from the winds, top that with the anxiety I felt about returning to these waters and I semi-slept at best. The next morning we sailed to the entrance with a 1 to 2 knot push. We reached the Canal, furled the sail and entered. The canal is wider than the part of the ICW we transited, and at 7:00 am it was empty. We passed the marina where I abandoned the bow, and I sent a belated apology to my father's spirit. We pulled out the sail, for the wind was behind us, and enjoyed an easy trip. Kara woke just before we set the hook around 9:30 am, 20 miles in just over three hours. The anchorage looked exposed, but was protected from the expected winds and had excellent holding. We spent the day on the hook, Dave and I resting up, Kara doing schoolwork and playing. Looking South we could see a nuclear power plant, and North a factory of some sort. With this backdrop at sunset Kara called me up on deck. The pink haze and purple clouds were stunning, and I was glad to spend time enjoying them with her.

3:30 am came very quickly. Anticipation kept me up, and a restless Kara kept Dave awake. As we raised the anchor a sailboat exited the C&D canal, so we watched their lights speeding downriver. By 4:00 am we were on our route and had the sails out. We were going 7 to 8 knots, and were proud of ourselves for finding the helpful current. At sunrise we put up the chute, but the added speed of the current meant that we moved our apparent wind forward more quickly and the big sail couldn't handle it. We had slowed down to 6 knots. After dropping the chute and unfurling the genoa we were still at 6. A check of the current, and it should have been over a knot push. The sailboat ahead was stretching away from us, straight down the middle of the shipping channel. That was when we thought of back eddies, we were out of the current. a quick correction to the shipping channels and our speed climbed. 8 knots, sweet. 9 knots this is great, but I don't want to be greedy, this is enough. 10 knots! We were sailing over 10 knots and sustaining it (well for about 20 minutes). We maxed at 10.4, of course when I checked the currents I saw that we were getting a 3.2 knot push down river.

Dave and I have a problem with quick starts. The GPS gives us an ETA that we can never reach. For our 54 mile trip we saw ETA's at 10:00 am when we were going super-fast. We knew it was unreal, but it is hard to see that time creep later and later. We were able to carry the current down the river to Delaware Bay, and then we faced the adverse current. All the water we rode out on the ebb, was rushing back in the flood. We were in more open water, so we saw currents in the 1 to 1 and half range, not the threes up river. We kept our speeds up with the spinnaker, until finally the wind died. Its a good thing the euphoria of 10 knots lasts, because rounding Cape May was slow going. Kara and I sat on the bow admiring the lighthouse and looking for dolphins.

Now we sit at a marina in Cape May. Yes, another marina, but there is a nasty weather system coming through with 40 to 45 knot winds. After Washington DC and searching for a dock as we were dragging, Dave and I are more cautious. Our marina is away from the city, but hope to explore it tomorrow by dinghy and foot.

We are one state away from our new home. Next week we should sail up the East River. I invite all my New York friends to watch us take Flight home.

We are sailing in a sailors playground. The Chesapeake is known for bringing delight to everyone who moves by sail. The water is protected, so no sickening swell. The winds are frequent, and sometimes quite challenging. We have sailed in similar water in the Sea of Cortez, San Francisco Bay, the San Blas archipelago and might I add Puget Sound. What makes this different are two things, first the depths, or lack thereof and second the shear number of other boats. We are still a bit queazy going full speed in tenfeet of water, but since that ten feet holds steady for miles it seems silly to be tentative. When you visit a playground you should expect to find others playing. Annapolis, the heart of the Chesapeake is known as the “Sailing Capital of America.” They have the boats, lofts and races to prove it. There are plenty of fishing boats, cigarette boats, trawlers and jet-skis, but I think the masts out number them. Only San Francisco and Seattle had this variety of boats. The big, old, small and new all mixed together and are being used.

My mother has been a constant companion to me this trip up the bay. My mother loved Osprey and their nests. She found the large, ungainly lump of sticks that the osprey call home to be endearing. The osprey have found that most buoys, especially the day markers make perfect bases for their nest. Every green and red marker had a pair, most with chicks. One man told me he saw a nest with a toddler’s lacrosse stick (called a fiddle stick) used to decorate the Coast Guard provided condo. The osprey and the eagles glide across the bay, with their large wingspan, often trying to steal each others fish. My mother would have loved the displays.

Annapolis was a special treat. When I was pregnant my mother and I came to Annapolis to look at boats. It was part of Dave and my great plan; to grow a crew member, buy a bigger boat and go cruising again. My mother was a somewhat reluctant partner - she wasn’t crazy about her grandchild cruising, whether because of the dangers or just because she didn’t want to miss watching one of this precious generation growing up. During our junket we had an accomplice, Scott Morrison a college friend of my sister Lucy and a boat broker. Mom and I really enjoyed Scott’s company, and I took much of his advice to heart.

This trip was so different than that time nine years ago, for instead of seeing as many boats as possible, we explored this city. Having lived on the West Coast for thirty years, returning to the East Coast has shifted my historic perspective. Annapolis played an important part in colonial and federalist history, as the first Capital of the New Country, the site where Washington resigned as commander of the revolutionary force. It is here that Kunta Kinte was delivered to the slave market, and so where Alex Huxley’s roots began. Maryland was occupied by Union forces during the Civil War, since they were a slave holding state, but also North of Washington DC. Oh, and then there is the Naval Academy, with its collegiate and military traditions. We took an historic tour with MIstress Ruth, who dressed in colonial garb walked us through the academy and the historic district.

Mistress Ruth told us the origin of some of our favorite phrases. “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead,” came during the Civil War, when Captain Flag was trying to pick his way through Mobile Bay Georgia that had been mined with torpedoes. When he realized that he could not see the explosives, and therefore had no way to logically avoid them, he just went forward. As a side note, he survived. Dave and I have been tempted to “damn the crab pots”, but since we can actually see them, have opted to be more cautious. John Paul Jones shouted “I have not begun to fight” as he took his sinking boat up to the British warship for hand to hand combat. Jones won the battle, and the British ship, a good thing since his sunk before reaching safe port, and needed the warship to finish the voyage. And then Mistress Ruth told me the answer to one of my mother’s puzzles. When Kara was a baby she loved a series of books written by Mary Ann Hoberman (a college friend of my mother’s), who takes familiar songs and turns them into stories. My mother began to ponder Yankee Doodle, and why the feather is called macaroni. Well, Mom according to Mistress Ruth in pre-revolutionary times macaroni was a new, novel treat, a meal used to impress your neighbors. So when Washington stuck a feather in his cap, in the slang of the day he called it the bomb or phat or groovy.

While Mistress Ruth showed us the past of Annapolis. Scott showed us the present, the sailing side. First we met a the sailing hangout, the Boatyard, with good beer and and good food. Then he drove me and Kara around to do our shopping. We finally got to Trader Joe’s, and what a relief that was. Kara thought we bought enough food for a month, but already some favorites are almost gone (the sesame and honey covered cashews were quick to go). Finally Scott told us where to go for the finish of the Wednesday Night Races - the bow of Flight in the mooring field. This weekly race ends at the yacht club, so the finish takes the boats down the river, and to get cleaner air, many of the racers opt to weave through the parked boats. It was fantastic to watch these skilled sailors as they stretched to the line. I just wish it had been a downwind finish, because I would have loved to have seen all the spinnakers painting the mooring field.