|I never enjoyed "chores" so much. photo by Chip|
Land rhythm is slowly dripping out the ends of our fingers. Each hop away from our home dock takes a little more of the jangle out of our nerves.
I go to sleep now when I'm sleepy, without worrying about what time that is. I wake about the same time the sun comes up, shocking for someone who could make it through the first round of a sleep contest with teenagers.
We spend hours a day caring for the boat that cares for us, doing chores that on land might seem like drudgery but afloat seem almost sporting.
Our perspective on mileage has been completely recalibrated. Traveling 50 miles in one day is stellar, a real accomplishment.
Since we left Rock Hall in April, we've followed a trail of our own bread crumbs left behind over the last 10 years. Each port has brought up memories of where we were on our path to the water. Beaufort represents the last of those bread crumbs and fittingly so.
The last time we were in Beaufort, three years into our 5-year plan to sell everything and sail away, it was a calculated getaway from the beach and wine shop to put some dates on paper. That was March 2008, and it was the first time we nailed down our end plan.
And when we did that, we were staying in this hotel:
Right off our stern. Unplanned, of course.
Part of the rhythm of living on the water is falling into the ranks of boat people. In Oriental we joined the the band of water dwellers that flit along the edges of continents, popping onto land only when necessary and embracing fellow travelers as family.
|Pierre, with Pearl II in the background.|
This morning the lovely folks on Syarda were untying as we passed by. They were a little further up in years than we are and just adorable, happy, jovial even.
They seem almost as excited about our launch as we are and gave us a hardy wave and a honk as they crossed our stern.
|Syarda from Useppa Island, Florida, passing by.|
We will, Syarda, if the new rhythm of our lives carries us there.
Beaufort, NC 34°42.911N | 76°39.815W
|Sailor Chip, going ashore with the laundry.|