Walking by the captain’s lounge at the marina, on my way to the local bakery I catch a glimpse of the headlines on the big TV. “House deliberates impeachment of president over incitement of insurrection”.
I almost trip on the sidewalk as I contemplate those words. The birds are all still chirping, the grass is still green, but those words are a news headline today. The world has changed irrevocably.
I have a mask in my pocket. It’s as important as a wallet or phone to remember as you leave home. These are the times. Covid. Trump. Chaos. Fear.
But me, I’m walking with a purpose. It’s wintery cold here in central Florida, but there is a spring in my step. I’m oblivious to the local sewage spill and orange cones which warn that the sidewalk is closed and the pond water is toxic. I’m going over in my mind all the things I need to do to shut down our connection with civilization or what it has become. Cancel Amazon Prime, cancel the pay-as-you-go mobile phone service. Buy feta cheese. Buy bulk toilet paper.
We are leaving. We sailed, well limped into the USA in October with a torn mainsail and a broken engine, and fears of the ‘the Covid’ that had taken hold here like an invisible monster. We’ve discovered we are not risk averse. We have used our time here to fix and replenish the boat and indulge ourselves. We have dined out. Dined in, among people. We have walked the aisles of Walmart amongst it’s coughing Walmartians… boy have we shopped.
We should have shares in Amazon. And Aldi and Trader Joes. We have dived head first into consumerism. But there comes a day when we are fed up, shopped out. And this year it’s all compounded by a deadly virus and a wild political climate. Those blue blue waters and uninhabited islands beckon. Simple, beautiful, peaceful. Oh, and the inevitable daily sundowners don’t hurt either!
Shiloh too is almost ready. She’s getting tired of all the black birds using her as a giant toilet for their missile berry poos. She is feeling the constraints of the ropes, tugging and creaking and strapping her to the wooden dock. Freedom calls. Her new engine is installed and purring. Bottles of oil and dirty rags are strewn around the cockpit. It’s starting to feel like a boat again and not just a floating little condo on dirty water.
A diver will arrive in a couple days to scrape the mossy beard and the crunchy uninvited barnacles that have made themselves at home on her hulls over the past few months. A diver. A man, who will literally willingly climb into the brown opaque expanse below us, where visibility is zero. Where alligators lurk and massive elephantine manatees loll listlessly. He is a brave soul.
This is a job we happily tackle ourselves in the crystal clear waters of the Bahamas. Sure, sharks hang out there, but you can see them a mile away! Here however, we are so far out of our comfort zone it’s unfathomable.
As a matter of course, an 8 foot alligator was dragged, thrashing and kicking, out of the waters below our dock the other day. Locals and divers nodded and shrugged and went on with their day. Some discussed the cooking of it’s meat. I was in awe.
And there are the manatees. They are grey and huge and not extremely intelligent, yet somehow loveable. Like underwater giant seals/cows/legless elephants who are affectionate and will literally drown themselves if you provide them with a continuous stream of fresh water. I can’t help wonder what was the master plan for their existence.
I ponder this and other deep thoughts over my decaf Americano with a spot of cream and one stevia… aware that within a couple weeks all of this – the coffee shops with the pretentious orders, this local wildlife, the politics and the madness will all be behind us.
This will be our 8th season in the Bahamas! Time flies in paradise.
But we will miss the friends here.
We will miss walking right off the boat and into a park. We will miss arugula and 48 cent avocados! We might not miss the meth addicts lurking around the parking lots, nor the midnight drag races in our nearby park. We definitely won’t miss the blaring ‘rap offs’ between blinged out trucks at 2am either.
But Florida is special to us. It is a seasonal home with all the amenities imaginable. It is home to so many special friends and some special wildlife.
As I walk back past the marina office, the gang waves. Employees, fellow boaters. The community is alive and well and ever welcoming. I wave back. Hi guys! And just then, out of the muddy waters, a young energetic dolphin pops up with a fin wiggle. Yep, we’re gonna miss this place.
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