The last couple of days I have been thinking about the way people delineate, protect and shape the space that is known as a back yard.  People didn’t always have these private spaces; they have evolved over time and have evolved in different ways.

As hunter/gatherers, the world was our back yard and we were free to roam it, hunt it and explore it freely, alone or collectively.  As people learned to cultivate crops, they needed to remain in one place and the idea of owning land evolved and with it the idea of “my” land came into being.  With that notion came the desire to protect and preserve one’s ownership and exclusive use of that back yard space.  And so, people planted hedges and erected fences and walls in an effort to keep others out and to preserve the illusion of private space in their back yards.

Then towns became cities and people crowded together and moved into smaller homes and apartments where they lost even this small ability to connect to their own private outdoor land. Window boxes and balcony planters became the only way to get their hands into the earth.

I remember being charmed by the community gardens outside of Zurich where city people had a very small plot of land, fenced and unique where they could become country people, if only for a little while.  Most had a diminutive cabin which could be used to store tools and to spend the weekend in, close to the land.  Some spaces contained miniature gardens, sporting small statues and perfectly manicured, pea gravel walking paths amongst multi-hued blooms.  Others were more utilitarian with rows of rosy tomatoes and green peppers, mounds of zucchini and yellow squash blossoms and beans tendrilling their way up string trellises. Still others were miniature arboretums, where their owners fertilized, pruned and shaped small trees into lovely providers of green-textured shade.

Our own backyard has been a source of psychological sustenance for us.  It has evolved from a steeply sloped grassy hill, where our boys learned to muscle a lawnmower across the dew-slick slope even, as it tried to kill them by enlisting gravity’s aid to roll over on them.  Now it is a less lethal, terraced space with paver-surfaced walkways and patio areas flanked by a multitude of bee and butterfly attractors. 

(photo credit: Jean Coleman)

Some birds migrate through while others are full time residents, delighting us with their calls and posturing as they take advantage of the free and abundant food provided each morning.   The stream wends its way under a small bridge to dash against artfully placed rocks and then tumbles into the pool below the waterfall, where only goldfish have survived to swim in lazy circuits of the pond.

(Photo Credit: Jerry Coleman)

We have shaped our space to nurture our need for quiet contemplation.  Appreciation for the flora and fauna has blossomed as we have loosened the need for complete control over what lives and visits.  Native plants have been allowed to volunteer and have replaced beautiful but less hearty varieties once installed by an optimistic landscaper.  The armadillos now plow through the vegetation, mostly unmolested.  Raccoons and we suspect one otter have tried to snack on our fish with only minimal success.  It has become much more of a “live-and-let-live” space than it was in the beginning and we have become good with that.

And now we have left that space behind for a year in the capable and enthusiastic care of a young couple whose first act of occupation was to install an additional birdfeeder, which we consider a very good omen.  We have traded an enclosed and private space for a backyard that will have no limitations and little privacy and again, we are okay with that because it will change every day or two to expand and contract with the location in which our boat is moored or docked.

So far, our back yards have been: misty, watercolored shades of gray where nothing is distinctly discernable even though we know there are boats and buildings nearby in that fog; a tall ship from New Hampshire being restored by a team of scruffy but dedicated liveaboard young men in St. Petersburg’s downtown city basin; a lovely and historic Inn situated upon a long-abandoned Calusa midden dating from 100 B.C.

We have shared our backyards with multi-million dollar yachts in the Sarasota Marina, with a flock of mallards who call Cabbage Key home, with ospreys, pelicans and cormorants hunting for breakfast and with dolphins jumping for the sheer joy of it.  (Photo credit: Jean Coleman)

There are magnificent sunrises and sets and views of flats lying exposed by ultra-low tides, ripe with the pungent scent of sea-life in distress.

(Photo credit: Jean Coleman)

The human neighbors are no less amusing.  We have met Loopers who can talk the hind legs off a donkey and recluses who are never seen outside the confines of their vessels.  And then there was the couple who waved a hearty good-bye to us yesterday, put their dinghy up on plane and at full throttle made the fatal mistake we were warned against by a fellow live-aboard who advised us, “Don’t ever drive where the birds are walking!”

Sure enough, their speeding dinghy abruptly grounded herself, throwing both occupants damn near clear of their vessel! They were too far away for us to actually hear the ensuing conversation but the postures and gestures made it abundantly clear that the woman had lost faith in her captain and he in his scout.

Jerry and I wanted to make this Great Loop adventure have a deeper meaning than merely being a wonderful travelogue and so became Ambassadors-At-Large for CART – Coins for Alzheimer’s Research Trust.  This is a Rotary program aimed at funding cutting edge research to find a cure for AD.

This morning, we ubered to the Rotary Club of Sarasota Sunrise and had a GREAT time!  President Bhuvan Unhelkar welcomed us, as did the members of his club and the 4 DGE’s from 3 different continents who were there prior to attending training California.

We shared a bit about our trip to raise awareness for CART – Coins for Alzheimer’s Research Trust (www.CARTFUND.ORG) and even raised $63 towards finding a cure!

We thank the members of RC Sarasota Sunrise for partnering with us and for being so warm and welcoming.  We even got to help put stickers on the Dictionaries that the club is donating to the local elementary school!

We hope to see all of you again soon! Thanks for a great morning!

http://www.suncoastnews.com/news/tarpon-couple-taking-alzheimer-s-cruise-for-the-cure/article_12beb88a-f6f7-11e7-a79a-e70d5218de90.html

TARPON SPRINGS — The journey began on Saturday, Epiphany, in Tarpon Springs.

When it concludes, in about a year, Jerry and Jean Coleman, a married Tarpon Springs couple, will have traveled more than 5,500 miles by boat, following a route known as America’s Great Loop.

The trip, however, is more than just a bucket list adventure. The Colemans, both past presidents of the Rotary Club of Tarpon Springs, are using it to raise awareness at other Rotary Clubs along the lengthy route about CART — Coins for Alzheimer’s Research Trust. CART is a Rotary program that funds cutting-edge research aimed at finding a cure for Alzheimer’s disease. Jerry Coleman lost his mother to the devastating neurological disorder last year.

“We are blessed to be able to make this trip of a lifetime and we wanted it to be about more than just us. We wanted it to be about something really meaningful,” Jean Coleman wrote in an email. “So many families are challenged with caring for their loved ones through a disease that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. If we can’t find a cure, this disease has the potential to devastate our current health care system. We see this as a way of being part of the solution and the fact that the boat is named Makin Memories seems wonderfully appropriate.”

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The Colemans, who operate Stillwater Counseling Center, in Tarpon Springs, and are health and fitness counselors who specialize in older people, are making the trip in conjunction with the America’s Great Loop Cruisers’ Association, a group that includes experienced Great Loop sailors to those ready to embark on their first journey. Aboard their “tiny house that floats” – a 41-foot trawler – they’ll take a route that heads south around the Florida Keys and up the Eastern Seaboard before cutting west toward the Great Lakes. The circuit completes itself by heading through the Midwest’s river system from Chicago to Mobile, Alabama, before re-entering the Gulf and heading back to the docks of Tarpon Springs.

According to www.cartfund.org, 100 percent of donated funds go toward Alzheimer’s disease research and the effort’s awarded $5.8 million in 34 grants to recognized U.S. research institutions.

A few weeks ago, some colleagues, of various ages, were discussing the seasons of life.   One commented that if life expectancy were graphed, she was astounded to find herself about two thirds of the way to the finish and in what some call the “winter” of her life. She remarked that her younger colleague was just finishing “spring” and entering the “summer” of her life.

It struck me as a pretty presumptuous way to think of one’s life and the amount of time one has left to live it, especially since, in this age of distracted drivers, mutant strains of drug-resistant viruses and handgun-toting maniacs none of us knows exactly how much time we have left.

I remember talking to the man who is now my husband when I was in my mid-forties.  He asked me if I had considered what I was going to do with the second half of my life.  Given that the women in my family live well into their nineties, I hadn’t even considered myself to be at my life’s midpoint yet and smart-assed him that I’d “let him know when I got there.”

But now I have successfully managed to live into my sixties and things are changing in ways I never anticipated.  My memory has become unreliable and in some cases treacherously betrays me.   And my body, which has historically been strong and capable now tires a lot more easily and has developed some aches that portend to be chronic even as I try to ignore them out of existence.

The upside of all of this is that there is no more need for speed.  We are no longer bent on getting somewhere at a certain time; we are relaxing into the beauty of the moments that string together to end up being called a journey.  We are slowing down and are finding a joy and wonder in our new found stealth mode of being.

We have traded a fast boat for an aged and stately boat, which magically and reliably draws dolphins to ride her bow wave.  She allows us to remain eye-level, on the wingtips of pelicans in flight as she propels us sedately forward.

We have traded 12 speed racers for collapsible bikes with 12 inch wheels.  The pace is commensurately slower and has allowed us to witness deer jumping the fence in front of us and remaining at the sides of the trail, unfazed by our quiet presence as they alternately forage and keep watch for the faster bikes that send them flying for cover.

We have watched an eagle fight to bring a tangle of Spanish moss larger than himself back to his nest in an impossible sequence of problem solving steps until he finally defied gravity by shear will and muscled himself and his burden in ever ascending spirals towards his beloved.  Just when we thought he would fall victim to gravity’s relentless pull, he mustered enough inner fortitude for  one last beat of his mighty wings, and collapsed over the edge and into his nest, his present for his waiting mate secure.  We let out the breath that we hadn’t known we were holding in sympathetic effort for his struggle and cheered for him and his success. Remounting our bikes, we congratulated ourselves for witnessing something that, had we been on faster bikes, we would have missed.

And so, we gratefully enter this new season of our lives.  Not fall or even winter but the season of slow.  A season so pregnant with possibilities that we can hardly even imagine what this next year will bring but we anticipate it the way that children anticipate birthdays and Christmas.

Photo Credit: Leland Sandberg

Part of becoming full time live-aboards is learning to be constantly aware of the moon phase and its influence on tidal pulls.  The recent Wolf Moon on the night between 1 and 2 January 2018 was a Supermoon. A supermoon exists when the full moon coincides with the moon’s closest approach to Earth in its orbit.  Supermoons exert a greater influence over tides, making high tides higher and low tides lower than normal.  Supermoons also make the moon appear a little brighter and closer than normal, although the difference is hard to spot with the naked eye and this one was shrouded in cloud cover so it was easy for us to overlook until the next morning at low tide!

We came on deck to see the lowest tide we have ever seen in our marina, including during Hurricane Irma.  Boats were laid over all around us and we were aground as well though just barely.  We were grateful that we had reversed our docking from a stern-in to a bow-in posture a few weeks ago so that the business end of our boat was in deeper water and it was mostly just the bow keel that was aground.

The sailboat next to our was heeled over so much that its mast was almost over our flying bridge but her owner wasn’t much concerned, declaring that, “These things are made to do this and you just sleep in the V-berth because it is hard to fall out of a V-berth!”  Gotta love the attitudes of folks who have lived aboard for 15+ years. Nothing fazes them!

One man who is on the Loop commented that, “This is the first time I’ve ever been hard aground while in a slip!”  I guess there is a first time for everything!

The next Full Moon  is on January 31st. It has no given name, which makes it a Blue Moon. However, this next Blue Moon may appear to be red from some perspectives.   It will also cause a total lunar eclipse, so it is known as a Blood Moon.  Click here to see an animation of a total lunar eclipse.  Chicago, LA and San Francisco will enjoy the best view of the next total eclipse in the USA.

We have scheduled our departure to coincide with a high tide falling and so should enjoy a swifter departure down the Anclote River on 1/6/18! Paying attention to tides also pays dividends in reduced fuel usage!  Happy New Year! J&J