Sea of silver linings
And I struggle to not become irritated when my honey-do list is not being quickly crossed off.
My days need to be structured, worked around regular trips to either swim laps or workout. My partner, Jim, is the exact opposite. He figures things will get done when they need to be done, and loses no sleep about them.
This past spring has not been easy for me. Preparations were coming along nicely for our sail to Alaska with a cast-off scheduled for late May. I had researched well and felt we were prepared for situations we needed to be ready for, both psychologically and physically. Engine spares, tools, safety gear — check.
Huge logs, uncharted reefs, drenching rain and condensation, fog, currents and tides — I felt I was ready for them all. Items were getting ticked off The List, and new ones were being added.
Then suddenly it seemed I was preparing for a different kind of journey. Toilet paper, hand sanitizer, bleach and flour were being added to the shopping list along with recharge cartridges for the PFDs, first-aid kit replacement items and toilet spares.
The List became multiple lists, each covering different possible outcomes. We started to question our departure date, given coastal communities were rightly asking to be left to isolate. Then the US border closed. Our Alaska trip was suddenly off.
We had a winter moorage contract in Victoria Harbour that was scheduled to end on May 31. Where would we go? It seemed like provisioning was going to be impossible up and down the Salish Sea. Overnight mooring balls in provincial parks were closed.
Our winter moorage program was extended by a month, giving us an additional bit of security, but I was still fretting.
Thoughts were whirring around my mind. What if we leave and the Greater Victoria Harbour Authority doesn’t let us return if coronavirus numbers jump? What if we get sick and aren’t near a community that can provide emergency care if one of us needs it? What if Jim gets sick and I have to handle some emergency situation on my own? What if my 88-year-old mum gets COVID-19 and I’m unable to get back to Victoria? What if my daughter, an ICU nurse in Manitoba, needs me for child care? Oh, I thought of every perilous possibility!
As the weeks passed, though, a strange thing began to happen on our vessel, Silom. I stopped making lists, and started making sourdough bread. I tackled small jobs like hand-sewing window coverings for the butterfly hatch, I deep-cleaned lockers, sorted the tool box and the spice box, napped away many afternoons, accepted that my former regimen of swimming laps and gym visits wasn’t happening again anytime soon. My kids seemed to be sorting out their work/childcare situations; Jim was even getting to my honey-ho list, in his fashion, at his own speed.
Days have passed where I have accomplished nothing on any list. Video chats with grandchildren happen spontaneously now, not at prearranged days and times. I’m OK if we stay in Victoria all summer, or go to the west coast, or have to change plans midway. I’m enjoying not feeling pressured to entertain and cooking fancy dinners for six on a small boat, although I sure do miss laughing around the table with family and friends.
And then, a week ago, after a few hours of making phone calls, a new plan started to form. Why don’t we go to the west coast of Vancouver Island this summer and finish our research on a new Salish Sea Pilot cruising guide that we began some years ago? There won’t be as many boats, with American vessels likely not being allowed in this summer. I impulsively started making calls and it seemed that the handful of marinas and most communities would welcome us to provision in their shops. Maybe this was an opportunity we should grab.
So now the chart table has another new list on the pile. I’ll call it Plan D and it slowly is taking shape.
Maybe there is a silver lining to this crazy spring. Am I learning to go with the ebb and flow? Will this make me a better partner, sailor and mother? I hope so.
