We have begun!
Last night, when we sailed by the stars along the Connecticut coastline on a trial run, I thought my heart would leap out into the sky. Overhead, all was velvety blue-black pierced with pearly stars and blending into shimmery black ocean. The smell of the sea, the feel of the wind on your face and your arms, the flapping of the sails—oh, it was magic!
We are really on the way! The sea is calling, calling, Sail on, sail on! and the gentle rocking of The Wanderer makes me think of Bompie—was it Bompie?—holding me on his lap when I was young, whispering stories into the air.
The first leg of our journey will take us through Long Island Sound to Block Island, and then a short hop on to Martha’s Vineyard, a loop around Cape Cod and up the northern coast, and then on to Nova Scotia, and finally the long stretch to Ireland and to England, land of Bompie! Uncle Dock estimates that it will take us three to four weeks, depending on how long we stop when we spy land.
Cody is keeping a journal, too, only he calls it a dog. When I first heard him say that, I said, “You mean a log?”
He said, “No, a dog. A dog-log.” He said he is keeping this dog-log because he has to, for a summer project. “It was either that or read five books,” he said. “I figure it’ll be a lot easier keeping a dog-log than reading all those words somebody else wrote.”
Uncle Dock maintains the official captain’s log, and in the front of it are neat maps that chart our journey. Uncle Stew and Brian said they’d be too busy “to record the highlights,” and when I asked Uncle Mo if he was going to keep any sort of record of the trip, he yawned. “Oh,” he said, tapping his head, “I’ll keep it all in here. And maybe I’ll sketch a few things.”
“You mean draw? You can draw?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said.
I was surprised, because it doesn’t seem like he has the energy to do much of anything.
We all have daily chores (from Brian’s list) and duty watches, and Uncle Stew came up with the idea that each of us has to teach something along the way.
“Like what?” Cody asked.
“Anything—navigating by instruments, by stars—”
“Right,” Cody said. “Easy for you, but what if we don’t know any of that stuff?”
“You must know something you could teach us,” Uncle Stew said with a little smirk.
“How about juggling?” Cody said. “I could teach you all how to juggle.”
“Juggle?” Brian said.
“Doofus,” Cody’s father said.
“I’d like to learn how to juggle,” I said. “I bet it’s not as easy as it looks.”
“What’s juggling got to do with anything?” Brian asked.
“Well, if you think it’d be too hard for you—” Cody said.
“Who said anything about hard? I could juggle. It just seems a stupid thing to learn on a boat.”
I’m not sure yet what I could teach, but I’ll think of something. We have to decide by tonight.
The weather is perfect today—sunny and warm—the current is with us, and the wind has been gently nudging us toward the hazy cliffs of Block Island. I’ve been to Block Island before, once, but I don’t remember who it was with. My parents and grandfather? I remember walking on top of a big hill with lush purple and yellow flowers and scraggly brush growing around the rocks. And I remember the old blue pickup truck with lawn chairs in the back and riding along narrow lanes, staring out at the ocean and singing: “Oh, here we are on the Island of Block, in a big blue pickup truuuuuck—”
My grandfather bought me a captain’s cap, which I wore every day. We went clamming at night, and I scouted airplanes in the cottage loft.
And every summer after that, I longed to return to Block Island, but we never did. There wasn’t time.
I’ve thought of something I could teach my boat family: the stories that Bompie taught me.
Dock and Cody have just caught two bluefish. Success! But I didn’t like watching Cody club and gut them. We’re all going to have to do this, though. It’s one of the rules. It’s my turn next, and I don’t want to do it.
But the bluffs of Block Island are in sight, and the bluefish is filleted for lunch, and I am hungry....