Safely anchored in Shinnecock Inlet, dreaming

On this first day of August anchored in a calm spot in Shinnecock Inlet, we find ourselves dreaming of the winding paths we could take in our near future. In the meantime, the curtain has yet to close on this insane adventure.

We have gone forward with plans to sell our boat, our sturdy home, who protected us in the most epic turn of events we could have possibly imagined. Okay, there’s no way we could have imagined it. It’s not something that could ever truly be put into words for another human to understand.

A couple months ago we sold everything we owned aside from a few carloads stored in an old shed back in Maine, and a couple backpacks of belongings we arrived at the dock with 11 days ago. We have no car, no house, nothing to cook a meal with or make a bed with. Does it bother us? Not really. We will figure it out—we always have.

It’s like moving out of your parents and into your first home. Which, ironically, we have two children doing just that. Our oldest son is going into his sophomore year at the University of Southern Maine, and my next oldest son will be moving into the dorm for his freshman year at Eastern Maine Community College in a month.

Our youngest son is nine, and currently in a summer camp. I wrote to him yesterday with a kid-version of the current situation and asking suggestions for what we should do next—that ought to be entertaining. I proposed glacier mountaineering in Greenland, living in a hot air ballon, and moving to a desert with lizards and cacti for neighbors—nothing we would actually do, which he knows. I hope it makes him smile.

This wild ride feels like it has been months instead of weeks. A lot of hurry-up-and-wait, boredom and angst in a hotel, then unexpected boredom while at sea between destinations, followed by hairy situations out of nowhere in a snap-second. Though we have not, nor will we, regret this insane adventure. We have a hell of a tale to tell—and many more ahead of us. Which is as daunting as it is fun to contemplate.

A person only has so much time to pursue aspirations, goals and dreams. Most people follow a proven path of learning to do a thing, years of pursuing the thing, getting better at the thing, tucking money away like a chipmunk for a long winter, and never having even considered such an incredible endeavor. And if they did consider it without the moxie to pursue it, at some point they wonder what would have happened if they had.

I strive to never be taken for ordinary or walk a straight path. May we never be boring, live in regret, or lay there old and worn out thinking of the things that could have been. Instead I want to tell wild tales which my grandchildren will undoubtably take for dementia setting in. Or maybe I’ll never live to meet them.

That’s the the devil of it—you don’t know when the last day of your life will be. Dark? Yup, but it’s a serious thing to consider that most people dance around and keep to themselves. And if you are unfortunate enough to be given how long you have left while wearing a drafty Johnny on a cold table, you may find you became that person wondering.

As we bob around in this gratefully gentle bay our dreams swirl freely. There are so many marvelous things we could do next—but how does one choose? The time to choose it is short. We could be leaving any day. It won’t be on the ocean, nor mucking out the stalls of a barn.

We do have a primitive camp on a big lake in northern Maine. It’s hidden away with no neighbors aside from moose and bear. There is a quaint outhouse and enough things to get by. We could add some solar and bring our Starlink to modernize it just enough to suit our needs. It has no road or path to it. The trees cover it from above and there is no dock on the water marking it’s place. It can be reached by a canoe or a hike. Once we snowshoed to the camp across the lake—an epic story for another time.

It would be the perfect place to focus on my writing and resurface only when I wanted. My personal life has been a chaotic one. I’ve been told I’ve lived the life of two cats—who both used up all nine lives. And that was before all this. That was back on the farm.

There are other paths we have in mind, of course. But I’m keeping them up my sleeve for now. Our little secrets. I’ll divulge as things become clear. Some will drop out of the race early while others will endure and become true possibilities. Think of it like a magic eight-ball— sometimes it will say ‘things are becoming clear’ but with another shake you’ll get ‘try again’.