Arethusa

 

Fond memories, Dave with cup of tea, Bobby Giovino in yellow slicker, and me. 

A Nantucket holiday

Dave, Jackson (eight-years old at the time) and me, left Provincetown Harbor for a short family vacation. We were heading for Nantucket. We sailed across Cape Cod Bay, sailed wing-on-wing through the Cape Cod Canal and now, with all sail set, jib, main, and mizzen, Arethusa was pulling, leaping forward, crossing Buzzards Bay. This part of our journey would take a couple of hours and so Dave told us the story of the islands that we were passing. We snuggled in the cockpit, taking in the distant views of land.  "Elizabeth, Martha, and Nan were the names of the king's daughters. Elizabeth was kind, generous to the people, giving to the church and so the king gave her the Elizabeth Islands as a gift. Martha was gentle with her mother and helpful to the people of the castle, so the king gave her Martha's Vineyard. But Nan was selfish and spent most of her time looking in the mirror and worrying about herself,  so the king gave her nothing. And that made Nan very mad. So what do you think she did?" Dave asked Jackson. "She took the last island for herself, a daring move. See? Nantucket."  Jackson started laughing, saying he got it, "Nan took it. Nan took it." 

The weather was perfect, winds light. We left Buzzards Bay and entered the terror known as Woods Hole Cut. There are other ways to reach Nantucket Sound, but this one is the shortest. Dave asked Jackson to spot the buoys, point to them, and call out the numbers.  Dave brought the sails in tight. He had a pair of binoculars next to him on the seat and the wheel in his steady hands. He had been through these waters with the Wildflower and with Justin Avellar onboard the Hindu. But this was the first time under full sail. For him it was like winning the Derby. The buoys came up fast, I could see rocks jutting out from just below the surface, only feet away. Jackson called numbers and pointed. I checked the chart book that lay open on my lap and pointed to the number in the book.  My heart was racing. The narrow passage seemed to be littered with markers, signs, and buoys, never mind the rocks and the boats moving in all directions. Dave had a big grin on his face. He was showing us that all we had to do was be prepared and pay attention. He steered the boat as if he was driving the Indie 500. And he had it all under control. On the other hand, I felt wild and not the least bit in control, a mixture of happiness and fear, blood pumping as if I'd jogged a mile, and yet exhilarated.  Dave adjusted the wheel, looked around, bending his body to see under the sail, checking the area around us. I could feel the confidence that radiated from him. We passed the NOAA buildings, The Wood's Hole Institute, and the ferry docks. Across Nantucket Sound I could see the low lying island of Martha's Vineyard. After passing the marker on the other side of the Woods Hole Channel, we fell off the wind to port, and began a steady sail up the sound to Nantucket Island. I could just make out a shadow on the horizon, our destination.  I'm a Jersey girl, brought up on lakes and ponds, so coming into Nantucket Harbor for the first time is enchanting.  And coming into the harbor under full sail is absolutely thrilling, a once in a lifetime experience. We sailed between the two rock breakwaters that stood out from beneath the water. The entrance is narrow. I  realized right away how small the harbor was, not wide and open like Provincetown Harbor.  Looking as if he'd been doing this all his life, Dave brought the boat up into the wind, let go the jib sheet, ran forward, dropped the mainsail, picked up the gaff and then picked up a mooring line from a white ball - all in one smooth move. He set the mooring warp over the bow cleat. Arethusa slowed its forward motion, fetched up and lay still. Beneath his dark beard, Dave's smile was a joy to behold, like he'd just won the Bermuda Cup. "Holy Moly!" was all I could say. "Smooth move, dad," Jackson added. We were folding the sails onto the boom when a boat came alongside driven by a man in a uniform. "That was quite a sight," he said. "Picking up the mooring was a nice maneuver, but I'm sorry you can't stay there, it's a private mooring." Dave thanked him, said we would move, and started up the engine. The Harbormaster, whose name was also Dave, said, "I watched you come in. Not many sailors would be capable of that little trick. Have you been sailing long?" I laughed when my husband replied that we bought the boat two months ago in Maine. They started talking about fishing and the Harbormaster told us to follow him. "I'll put you on a mooring closer to the wharf." He gave us a key to the showers and told us it cost $10.00 per night. "Stay as long as you like." Nantucket is one beautiful island with a history that dates to 1659. We enjoyed two glorious days exploring the streets, shops, and harbor before setting sail and making the return journey. Once we were back home I admitted to Dave that I was getting to like this thing called sailing.

Two Boats

 The Wildflower and the Arethusa gave Dave plenty to do, constantly improving, rebuilding and adjusting. I was back to being a landlubber, mother, and working RN. Then came a day that is painful to remember, but a part of the story. I think it was because of an accident that I had, burned parts of my face, ear,  a trauma that I prefer to forget. Let's say it kept me out of the sun, off the water, and recovering quietly. We had owned the sailboat all of two months. While I healed, Dave began a new project. He reminded me of a bee, lots of energy, on track of a specific outcome, and could sense his plan coming together. Dave said to me one day, "I want to take a look at Arethusa's scuppers."  These are the holes that drain water out of the boat when it is moving. Then he said,"The cockpit feels a little spongy. There may be some rot. Might as well check under the floor while I'm at it." I knew what that meant, he was going to start ripping and tearing. Dave loved a good project, especially one that was connected to a boat. I loved to see his enthusiasm. His energy was infectious and I never said no.  I had witnessed what he could do. He built a twenty-three foot Swamscott dory, the Fanny Parnell  in his dad's garage in 1968. I sailed with him when it was launched, great sturdy, slow. I watched Dave and two of his friends, Marty, and Peter sail the Fanny Parnell in front of the breakwater in Provincetown Harbor. The dory Dave had built, was tipped on its starboard side with three big fishermen weighting down the port. That Fanny Parnell is now over fifty years old and sits in the parking lot of Moby Dick's Restaurant, in Wellfleet MA where kids climb in it and adults admire the full length planks. Dave built things to last. 

Arethusa was the project he took on in 1978. Rebuilding the cockpit was not unique and a good diversion while I healed.  He made a sort of workshop on the water: Dave bought a fourteen-foot float, attached it to a thousand pound mooring, and then tied the Arethusa to one side and the Wildflower to the other. "It's sort of my backyard on the water," Dave told me. The Wildflower provided generator, tools, and working equipment. Our home, seven miles to the harbor, is a short ride,a so he came home from work every evening, and sometimes during the day to pick up more tools or wood. "If I could clone myself," he said, "we could start our own boat-building business." I remembered the dory and what Dave said to me when he sold it. "The Fanny Parnell's not big enough." I knew then, that he had plans, dreams, and desires. 

Ripping out the cockpit on the Arethusa didn't take long, but the project kept getting bigger. "I tore out the floors in the cockpit today," he said. I listened as he explained. "I'll put in new ribs that are sistered to the old ones." He steamed wood in the garage and explained how the project was coming along. He brought home piles of debris that were sorted into keep, dump, and questionable piles. He bought boxes of screws, cans of glue, and all kings of epoxy and cloth. He purchased specialty lumber like white oak, cypress and mahogany from yards that it took all day to drive to. No fishing, no work for me and our funds were heading in the wrong direction. It worried me. It took patience and faith to keep going. That's when Dave would take me in his arms and say, "Let me know when the bank account gets really low and I'll go out and make a withdrawal from Cape Cod Bay and Trust." The work on the cockpit took more that two months. The anxiousness that I felt was soothed away with time. I went back to work. Dave was back fishing. "See I told you everything would work out, don't worry, but don't quit your day job just yet." We laughed. The Arethusa went up onto the the railway in Provincetown where her bottom was check and painted. A ladder was braced between the railway timbers and her hull. The ladder to get into Arethusa, seemed to be sixteen feet to climb, I was terrified of the heights but had to get back to that beautiful sailboat. I felt the attraction, looked forward to sailing again. I didn't know it at that time, but that rebuilt of the stern, scuppers, and cockpit would one day save our lives. 

Nantucket Dreaming

Dave and I bought the forty-five foot yawl Arethusa back in 1978. We had been sailing it for six weeks when one evening at the supper table Dave asked, "How about we go somewhere, take a few days off, and sail to Nantucket. What do you think?" Of coarse I said yes, but inside I was a nervous wreck. Leaving land is not easy, I had a job and a home. I thought about how much I didn't know about sailing, about all the things that can go wrong when you are alone on the water. Gradually I began thinking that a short trip somewhere would be fun. I was absorbing the sailing life, excited by it, thrilled to be able to do this. We talked about what we would need. "I'll put the Wildflower on the mooring. We've got the charts. I can bring Arethusa to the wharf, get fuel, water, and take onboard whatever you want to bring from home." I was in for a new experience. "We just need Jackson, food, and plenty of cash," Dave said.  I looked at my husband and said  to him, George Bernard Shaw wrote: Some people look at the world and say why? And some look at the world and say, why not?"  I think you are in the second category."  We opened the charts, listened to the Beatles, the Stones and rocking hillbilly music, while we checked off items from our never ending lists and transporting them to the boat. In a week's time, we were waving bye-bye to home and heading away from Provincetown Harbor. For Dave this was a weekend away from fishing, his vacation. For me it was risk taking, excitement, and adventure. During the past six weeks we had been sailing around Cape Cod Bay, taking friends for short sails, and racing alongside of the beautiful Hindu. I was comfortable on the boat, I knew how to tie lines, and I could handle winches. I was ready, or so I thought.  I had much to learn. I didn't even know the names to the parts of the sail, what's a clew? What's the difference between standing and running rigging, abaft or aback? From Alfa to Zenith, forepeak to stern, ground swell to gybe, it's a language all it's own. Dave had been a student of a mariner's way of life all his thirty-five years. His knowledge came from hanging around fishermen, boat builders, and sailors. Born in Provincetown in 1945 to a family of fishermen, being on the water came naturally to my husband. We left the dock at dawn, crossed the bay and entered the Cape Cod Canal. The captain planned our trip, so that we would enter the canal with the tide going west, an ebb tide that had a maximum velocity of 5.2 miles per hour.  The seven mile cut in the land, dug in 1909, is thirty-two feet deep and four hundred-eighty feet wide, built to accommodate vessels to eight hundred-twenty five feet. The water pushes through, changing directions every six hours. The entrance buoy was tipping on its side from the wake of the tide. "I've got an idea," Dave said once we entered the canal. "Judy, take the wheel. Jackson and I are going to set the jib boom, to keep the jib set out to starboard while I set the mainsail to the opposite side of the boat, that's port to you land lubbers." This sail plan can only be used when certain conditions are met, breeze on the stern, moving with the tide.  It was our first taste of what's known as Wing-On-Wing. What a treat it was.  I waved to people in cars passing on the bridges over our heads, to people walking, biking and fishing alongside the canal. I wondered if they imagined a mythical creature, a dragon navigating the passage, or the goddess the boat was named for, as I did.   

To Be Continued:

Hold on to the love

Our losses are magnified because we feel them together, but are alone and we can't be together to hold each other during this grieving time.  Our community is mourning the death of Scott Stewart. I met him through my friend, Dianne whose daughter married him. His family adored him. He was fifty-one years old, witty, energetic, helpful, a loving husband and father, and the kind of man that people love being around. He grew up on the lower cape. He worked hard, rebuilt houses including his own, loved the beach, and he had many friends.

His wife Tracy will feel the pain the most, you could see the love they shared when they were together. A friend sent this to me after David died. I don't know who wrote it:
"I believe the hardest part of healing after you've lost someone you love, is to recover the "you" that went away with them."

It takes a long time; patience is required. I cry on a daily basis, but I also laugh, enjoy a good meal, cuddle with my pooch, and love. I love my sons, their families, my friends, my dog, and a walk on the beach. I was told that love never dies and I believe it.

They say we are in this together. We are. I feel your lose, Tracy. You will move forward  taking the love with you. It does take time, the ache lessens but never goes away. The days will bring sunshine and eventually joy, because love never dies.

Oh WOW:
Three wild turkeys just walked past my window, the dog started baking like mad, and I laughed till I cried. I told DD to stop barking, let them be, you never know - if things get really bad they may be our Thanksgiving dinner.

I'm sending you some love today. Fair winds.

Glenn Miller and his Orchestra

Dancing around a may-pole on May 1st is a tradition in many countries, dancing to celebrate spring. We may not feel like celebrating anything these days, but I think it's important that we still dance. Music, movement, rhythm, what could be better? This morning I listened to the music of Glenn Miller and his orchestra from an album entitled, A String of Pearls. And I danced to celebrate life renewed, the coming of warmth, and the hope that springs eternal in our hearts. This music was written between 1937 -1942, before and during WWII. The music was meant to inspire love, hope, and faith that Johnny would come marching home again. We are fighting another kind of war, but our hearts are still inspired by faith, hope, and charity. We see it all around us during this CORVID-19 outbreak. But I danced today because I am grateful. I'm grateful that I can still dance. I'm grateful that I have family. I can make a cabbage soup today, I have a love bucket, and I have so much more.

I'm not forgetting those who are suffering. I cry everyday. I pray. And I understand the fear that we live with. We are living this tragedy together, and yet I've never felt so alone.  We now know that what effects people in China, Italy, Britain, Korea, Brazil, India, and anywhere else on the planet -- effects us all.   I will do what I can to protect myself, my community, my family. This stage in American history will soon belong to the past, just like Glenn Miller's music. We will look back at today and shake our heads, knowing what we have endured, knowing we did the best we could, just like those soldiers that Miller wrote his songs for.
And right now it means keeping at a distance from those I love. We are a people of love. We need each other, face to face. I don't get the same feeling from a screen. Face time doesn't let me put my hand on the head of my grandson to feel the new buzz cut his dad gave him. I love that fuzzy feeling from a newly shorn head. The summer buzz we called it.

I try to learn something new each day, it's a great way to pass the time. It's amazing what we can accomplish. I planted spinach, swiss chard, lettuce, and peas. I will do everything I can to protect the plants from rabbits, squirrels, and rodents. I'll put up fencing once the plants are above ground. I may try moth balls, and I'd use a BB gun if I had one. Last year the rabbits ate all my pole beans just as they were forming the string bean. Oh I was so mad. But I'm learning. This year I'm going to have the raised bed screened off. I'll show those buggers.
It reminds me of this terrible virus plaguing our world, we need to learn and protect ourselves. With help from our scientists, doctors, and teachers we will find safe passage through this storm. We will once again dance around the maypole and celebrate new life.
The music will play on, so get up and dance. We have to celebrate the renewal of Mother Earth. Stay safe, warm and dry.  Fair Winds.

Bumpy Ride

"Looks like we're in for a bumpy ride," Dave used to say every time the forecast put the winds in excess of fifty mph.  Back in 1986, Dave had the F/V Richard & Arnold on his mooring because hurricane warnings had been posted. Many of the boats in our Provincetown fishing fleet were  rafted together on the Coast Guard's moorings out in the cove.  Dave planned on staying on board, tied to the mooring, with the engine on, jogging into it. He said it was our livelihood and he would do everything he could to keep it safe.  The meteorologists named that storm Bob, with hurricane winds reaching over eighty mph. Dave called me on the CB radio and told me he couldn't leave the wheelhouse, couldn't see through the heavy rains. He said for me not to worry, (as if I wouldn't anyway), he would keep the engine on, he was safe. He said we had the best mooring in the harbor. I prayed. It just so happens that we have a son with the same name. While Dave was keeping the boat afloat, hoping the mooring would hold, I was home with the our sons, Jackson and Bob, and my sister Susan. The winds were howling. The four of us were playing Monopoly on the floor of the living room when the power went out. I gathered up lanterns, candles and flashlight, and checked our water supply. A sudden knocking on the front door caused us all to jump.  Thinking it might be someone in need of help, we hustled to open the door. It was the UPS guy with a box in his hand. I berated him for being out in a hurricane. We offered him hospitality, but he said he had packages to deliver, it was safe, and he was doing fine. He gave us our surprise and we wished him well. We were so excited to open the package that had been delivered in the middle of a hurricane. It was a gift from Dave's cousin, Angel who lives in Florida. She was thanking us for having the family out on the boat the previous month, while they were visiting. The present was an electric tea kettle. The four of us sat on the living room floor, in candlelight and admired the kettle that we could not use.  We huddled under blankets and pillows for the rest of the day. Around four o'clock that afternoon we heard and felt a thunderous noise. I kept telling everyone to stay away from the windows, but of coarse the boys had to know what that horrible crash was. Everyone peered into an eery green atmosphere to see our massive seventy-five foot Aspen tree with a twelve foot circumference, lying on its side, across our front yard. The top of the tree was well into the neighbors front yard. It had landed so that no wires, houses, cars, or persons were injured. We had so much to be thankful for.
After twenty-four hours, an exhausted Dave made his way back to his family who were more worried about him then about themselves. After all, the tree had missed us, the UPS guy said everything was fine out there and we had a new kettle. A bit of yard work was waiting for Captain Dave, but that could wait until the sun came out. We still have two of those huge trees in our front yard, and they continue to grow and thrive, and yet every time the wind picks up above fifty knots, I shudder.  Stay safe, warm and dry, my friends.  Fair winds

A whisper of hope

You might think that this new way of living, brought on by such a tiny thing, a Corid virus,  would be good for a writer. Chained to the keyboard with nothing else to do. Like everyone else out there, I am having difficulty concentrating. I get depressed, I miss seeing family and friends, I worry about loved ones in New York,  I pray for those with the virus, and for the families of those who have died. This thing that is plaguing us is something so new we have yet to understand the ramifications. How do you fight something so small it can only be seen with a microscope. The idea that we can be brought to a standstill by this killer virus, is unimaginable. It's like reading a sci-fi novel, only now we're living it.
I've always like the way bees live, with jobs, family, work, and order. We have to keep living like bees, only in some new, yet to be defined way.
I was used to the old ways, being a grandmother gives one a longer perspective.  I had a sort of routine, writing, housework, three o'clock pick up of grandkids from school, shopping at the local grocery store, coming and going as needed. I'm now separated from it all. I am alone.
I spend more time binge / binging, (that terrible habit that I used to keep at a minimum,) now it absorbs me. I've wizzed through the English mysteries. Then it was on to Irish mystery, Canadain TV series. I have to admit Australian TV is a gas. I'm now working my way through New Zealand and Brokenwood murder mysteries. I've seen movies by the dozens. Loved, loved, loved The Green Book and Rocketman, wonderful films. I've watched series that I'd never heard of before. I'm either searching for the new norm or reminiscing about the way we used to live.
Dave always called me Pollyanna because I always saw the brighter side of everything, the glass half full. I remain positive, even in the face of this horrible, terrible crisis. The new normal is just around the corner, another new normal in a lifetime of new things, people, places. We all know that the only constant is change. I am hopeful that this will provide us with new opportunities, new ways of doing things, new ways of staying safe. We must remain hopeful. I can honestly say I hate what is happening, the disruption of civilization, like an earthquake that disassembles structure. In the aftermath we come together and help each other to rebuild. Life is precious, let's celebrate it. We need to remember that love is with us always, even when family and friends are not. We will get through this alone and together.  Fair winds dear friends.

Still writing

Watch for the Crow.  New title for next Crowley mystery. I'm working on the new book, and yes life gets in the way sometimes, but I'm loving life, the grandkids, DD, walks, and eventually the new book. I still get down, deeply, but then I work on the second memoir- Arethusa- and I am filled with memories and love. I tend to get philosophical when I think about this new path I am on. I'm on my own for the first time in fifty years. It's different. Dave told me that you can only keep one thought in your head at a time and it might as well be a positive one.  He also told me that I'd be okay.  He was right on both counts. I am okay.

Writing my second memoir, the book Arethusa, gives me great pleasure. It also wrenches my heart because I will have to let it go when it is finished, and then I'll have to find another way to keep the memories alive. I am reluctant to finish it, so I turn to - Watch for the Crow - fantasy in the form of historic murder in our small fishing town at the end of the cape.  Similar to the first two, The Fishermen's Ball, and Dead Low Tide, but different in many ways. I can only hope I'm getting better.


Hope is what is needed in people's lives today. I have hope. I say "there is much to hope for". There are great possibilities. There is infinite knowledge. There are so many good people. There is every thing you could wish for. There is hope for a positive future.  And remember you can only keep one thing in your brain at a time. Store those dark thoughts and find one spark of light, one positive thought, one beam of knowledge. Hope is wedged in-between faith and charity. Now there's a thought to keep in mind.