Life aboard is measured by aural stimuli
Issue 65 : Mar/Apr 2009
A gull’s cry pierces the morning quiet of the marina as I open the hatch and emerge into the mist with my coffee. That sound bridges time . . .
I am 10 years old, wandering an ocean beach, awed by the sight and sound of waves and intrigued by the salt-air smell and treasures along my way in the sand. I am filled with the thrill of discovery in a place so different from the wheat fields of my home. The seagulls’ cries seem a haunting call and imprint on my mind this wondrous world of salt water and sea life. An intense and secret dream is born: to return and live life near the water.
Stretching out on the cockpit cushions, watching the steam rise from my coffee in the cool morning air, I wonder: is there truth in the wisdom of philosophers who say that what we ardently believe will inevitably come to pass?
Giggling, three little girls in a dinghy row by with an irregular, splashing rhythm of oars. They clumsily ply a course around the beautiful cove at the marina’s edge . . .
Growing up inland, I had never set foot on more than a rowboat before my husband and I went in search of adventure. It’s funny, though. The thought that we might dislike the boating life never entered our minds. When we stepped onto the deck of our newly-purchased sloop with all of its challenges, we had only thoughts of loving it.
The clang of a halyard diverts my attention . . .
In the storms of winter a marina becomes a giant wind chime. Wind whistling through masts and lines creates an ominous howling. It’s a romantic, wintery sound to those in love with living on the water, the winter storm of poets.
Making a home on the water is not a passive way of living. Here, one is a participant in the passage of seasons. The birds, sunsets, ripples of water, the sounds of wind and rain — all make me feel like I’m part of a beautiful painting come to life. Hours can slip by while I enjoy the antics of birds and seals. I understand better than ever before that I am part of nature, not separate from it. I now appreciate the concerns of those devoted to preserving this wondrous world.
Sounds of my husband puttering in the galley mixed with strains of mellow jazz emerge from below . . .
The peacefulness of life aboard allows creativity to emerge. He loves to cook, and seems inspired in the nautical environment. For me it’s the urge to write. Thoughts and ideas dwell within us all that, too often, stay submerged in the frantic bombardment of the daily routine. Sitting cross-legged on deck, refinishing wood on a sunny day, takes me far away from commuter traffic and from work in a driven, impersonal world. Looking out over the marina on a winter’s day, the vision of snow-covered boats resting on steel-gray water set against billowy clouds — it’s a world I want to share.
A pounding hammer draws my attention . . .
Always, people are hard at work on boats. Some are craftsmen sanding a fine finish to beautiful wood, others are “jury-rigging,” otherwise known as creatively solving a problem. Someone may be hunting the origin of a leak or trying to get the varnish on before the cool of evening. I brought little skill to the task of refitting a boat, but I have discovered that enthusiasm and motivation often more than compensate.
Our love of the boating life grew as we made the transition to life on the water. A boat will not be molded and shaped to fit all the dimensions of life on land. We must have maturity enough to let the new environment reshape the style of living. In unexpected ways I’ve gained perspective about myself and life. Sitting on the dock mixing resins one day, I experienced pleasant memories of learning to follow my first recipe as a young girl. Creativity emerges in solutions found for challenges unique to living on the water. Tracing a leak and repairing it produced a better feeling than I ever received from self-improvement classes. The boating life stretches the mind and stimulates the imagination.
The boat beside me creaks and moans, pulling against its lines . . .
I’ve come to admire those who resurrect older wooden boats. These vessels, survivors of a passing era, deserve to be appreciated and cared for, not shunted aside. Some people understand this and spend many devoted hours working to preserve the life of these lovely creations. How gratifying to see a sad old boat perk up.
Laughter erupts down the dock . . .
It’s a sound heard often here. Mostly it’s good people meeting other good people, chuckling at strange solutions offered while congregating to solve a neighbor’s problem, or lounging on deck in early evenings, laughing at oft-told adventures.
Off in the distance a motor sputters and finally starts as a neighbor prepares to cast off . . .
This is the perfect life for one who longs for something different, feels bored, or wants a challenge. The constant here is change — expecting people to come and go. Ever present is the option of having a change of scene for a day or forever. Some time ago, an older couple who had lovingly built their boat did what most only wish for: they sailed off into the sunset. Finally escaping to the life of their dreams, they’re now at anchor in the Mexican sun. Though not in perfect health, they have left a major cause, the stress, behind. They didn’t let lack of either youth or good health stop them.
Another gull cries out, setting off a cacophony of noise . . .
Sometimes they erupt as though one in their midst had discovered something important, and the others join in the excitement.
The three little girls have completed a jagged circle around the cove. Their course has become a little more accurate with oar practice. Listening to their splashes and giggles, I hope they remember the sounds of this peaceful moment. Maybe some day it will draw them back to this wonderful life, as memory of the sounds of the gulls drew back that little girl who walked along an ocean beach so many years ago.
Marilyn Michael is a psychotherapist and author of The Snyder Michael Method: A Neurotherapeutic Approach. She has lived aboard for 20 years in view of the Space Needle in Seattle, Washington. She shares her life with a husband who does all the cooking and writes a humorous food column for boaters.
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