After the Pause

With many Endeavors, especially boats for some reason, there seems to be a period of dormancy after the project has been underway but with much of the work still to go. Usually there are some circumstances, like a move, that have me stalling for a bit. In this case it was Coronavirus and needing to focus on home-schooling our children that distracted me. There is no shame in with abandoning an effort in favor of a higher priority. Then Summer came on with our perpetual need to be out and living it up, and I was again filling my free time with my kids for the first half of the school year. I began running out of excuses at the turn of the new year, however.

I had a supply of firewood that would likely outlast the winter, and with Bill and Marissa fairly independent on their duck boat, I got back to laying a strip or two here and there. Shifting gears to work on the boat took a deal of initiative. I had strayed from the ritual of warming the barn and settling into my evening’s toil. It was now cumbersome to think about. Were the strips at the stems going to show gaps? What would the transition from the stems to the bilge of the hull look like? Trying to keep my doubts at bay, I made myself keep moving forward. It was January 5. After nearly 3 months of stagnation, I quite literally blew the dust and swept the

cobwebs from the progress I had abandoned and got to it. Was I doing the right thing? Shouldn’t I be with my kids? Lots of doubts, with little remaining to tie me to the character of this undertaking. The first strip after the hiatus was the most difficult. It took me the entire evening to get the feeling back, but by the time the glue was laid and the last staple driven home, I was back in the swing of the project. The feeling this bit of progress gave me was as valid as ever. My gut was signaling the feeling loud and clear: The path forward lies with this boat. As I left the shop for the evening, I scrawled across the new slate I had mounted to the door: Sometimes it just takes one strip. Always follow your gut.

With that reunion, the work became easier to get to. I stayed late a night or two and made progress in “closing the football” of the bottom of the hull. Bill and Marissa were out due to Covid for a couple weeks, and our jobs at work slowed down a bit with the cold. I decided to take the majority of a week off to focus on closing this hull, but it was tough to not hang with the kids and find time around my office duties. Still, I got in a number of hours and that football shrunk until I finally laid the “whiskey strip” in the hull on Monday February 8.

Julia had come down with a sniffle, so I decided to schedule a COVID test. As the testing day approached, so did my symptoms. Positive. Luckily, the light symptoms and quarantine gave me an extra couple days to work on the boat, but even with mild symptoms the virus was no picnic.

I got the hull flipped and nestled into its new cradle on the strongback. Now for the deck. I wanted a cool strip pattern, but nothing too extravagant where the eye would get lost in the detail. I do not like straight lines or sharp angles on a round hull, so I went for a couple sweeping stripes. They originate from the far side of midships at opposite sheerlines and sweep diagonally across the deck as they spill out at respective bow and stern. The strips had other intentions entirely. Those geometric, linear patterns with strips are far easier, as asking wood to bend and twist at the same time is a tough proposition.

I should be able to sand out most of the chatter between strips that meet unevenly and fill gaps between stubborn strips, but this boat will not be the most professional looking work of art when complete. The intention will be there, however, and the metaphor of a tortuous path that ends on point is made even stronger with the “character” that is built into the hull along the way. As I now begin filling the deck in earnest with dark cedar, the form and the lines take shape. The pattern is a bold idea, and it may just pay off.

As for the character of the project, it grows stronger all the time. The music I play (largely Jimmy Buffett tunes) lends itself to the atmosphere of playful folly, but I know in my heart that this is precisely the most productive thing I could possibly be doing. Afterall, my gut has yet to let me down. My kids are taking an interest and undertaking their own projects as I work on mine. We are becoming more and more at home in the shop, even if it is sub zero outside. The wood pile is dwindling, but so is the winter. This boat is now my priority, and there isn’t much that can keep me from pursuing it.

It is usually about this time in the process that a name comes to mind. A recurring theme that is present throughout the construction, unique to this vessel. There are few boats that I’ve built, even with others, that I haven’t named myself, as this tradition is an important one to me. So far, the list includes: Ripple and Whisper for my own use, then Gucci, Little Thing, KK Explorer, Sophie, Unknown, and Patches with classes I taught. After about 10 years remission from the habit, it was Trajectory for a client, and now this one a couple years later.

Interestingly, I had a name pretty well set as I established the strong back and laid the first few strips. Now, however, that name escapes me. This is because the intention with the vessel has altered just a bit. The meaning behind this construction becomes richer as I move forward. As such, the old name may no longer be valid anyway, although a new one has yet to replace it. Of course, the eventual name shall not be uttered aloud or put to paper until the christening, as it is bad luck to divulge the name beforehand.

This work is where my passion lies. Through programming and tripping, I feel that I am more thoroughly fulfilling my purpose here. The process of this construction and the waters I explore with it will be part of the story that draws the ARE community together. I have had a hard time taking it seriously in the past, since building pleasure boats doesn’t provide an essential need. Then I ponder the folly in which we engage in the name of vocation--I had felt I should do something serious, like provide shelter in a sustainable way. True Sustainability not being possible in a way that would be acceptable in today’s markets, however, I might try my hand at programming, teaching, and sharing. The lessons learned and relationships forged have already proven to make us more resilient as a community in a “serious” way. And perhaps we can redefine our relationships with travel, leisure, health, wellness, prosperity, and wholeness in a way that makes truly sustainable living and enhancing the Earth a more palatable option. Only time will tell, but I intend to find out. And rather than break my back and spirit in the process, I’ll be laughing most of the way. It is in those moments of bliss when the floodgates of possibility open anyhow.