Margaret and Barry at Mardi Gras in Gloucester, NC

There’s nothing like a little publicity to mess up a great local event. That must be what the folks in Gloucester, North Carolina were thinking when their down-east Mardi Gras celebration got written up in Our State magazine. As one volunteer confided, “We were hoping for a little bad weather, to keep the numbers down.”

Be careful what you ask for! The evening before the event, Mother Nature dumped an unprecedented foot of snow on the area. This was not a little bad weather. For an area where snow shovels are rare (we saw people raking their driveways), it was a LOT.

Still, Barry and I were only 15 miles down the road, and we had four-wheel drive. It was no problem to drive to Gloucester, a tiny town about as close to the end of the road as you’re likely to get. Our route was lined with snowmen, including one wearing a bikini!

When we arrived, we found friendly folks serving up seafood gumbo with big ol’ crab legs, chunks of fried turkey, red beans and rice, and king cake. Everyone seemed to be wearing a silly mask or hat, so our colorful outfits fit right in. “Wait a minute,” said Pam, when we ran into her, “don’t y’all live on a sailboat? Where do you keep those costumes?”

And then someone shouted, “Laissez les bons temps rouler!” and rowdy dancing began. It was the zydeco band Unknown Tongues, who had started this community Mardi Gras celebration 18 years ago. They set our feet and hearts dancing, right there in that wacky North Carolina snow, especially when they played “You’re Gonna Look Like a Monkey When You Get Old.”

(Weird, small, coincidental world! I just realized, when I read the Our State article, that proceeds from Mardi Gras go to the Woodrow Price Scholarship Fund. That would be the same Woodrow Price I wrote about almost a year ago, when my Dad came to visit.)

Margaret poses with the Official Mardi Gras Snowperson

The first people we met were the best-dressed of the whole event

Barry and a new friend practice their flashing technique

Barry liked both the front and back of this headpiece

Margaret poses with a bumper sticker that's perfect for her

This kind fellow passed out a taste of gumbo to the folks waiting in the food line

This fellow knew how to accessorize, with a tiny ukelele and a rubboard tie

The tooth fairy came, with plenty of teeth and dental implements to share

Great sunglasses

Proud lady in a feather mask

This lady makes a special mask for the event each year

This tie was so bright, it practically glowed green

Man in feathers

Don't let the elegant brocade jacket fool you -- this lady could DANCE

Two masked ladies caught in the unladylike act of eating gumbo

The bonfire was necessary to thaw us out for dancing

Dancing like a bunch of monkeys in the snow from Margaret Meps Schulte on Vimeo.

Last fall, I went to Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania, not because the town’s name is so cool, but to document an amazing chicken pot pie recipe. I’ve been raving about Pennsylvania Dutch pot pie ever since.

A couple of weeks ago, Barry found leftover Christmas turkey and gravy in the fridge. Could it be turned into pot pie?

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” I said. “Making it from turkey instead of chicken might be sacrilege.”

Barry just looked at me and waited.

“All right,” I sighed. “But you have to watch the video first.” So we sat down and watched the Pot Pie Nirvana video. This put me in the mood and showed Barry the technique.

Then we rolled up our sleeves and made pot pie together in our tiny boat galley. This proves that two people can cook almost anything in a kitchen with less than three feet each of counter space and floor space, if they are extremely patient and affectionate with each other.

Barry shows off the dough in the bowl. It was cold enough to wear our Santa hats inside the boat.

Barry rolling out the noodles. This shows just how tiny our galley is -- Barry's working on top of the icebox, next to the stove.

Barry's using our rolling pin on top of a silicone mat to roll the noodles.

Barry uses a plastic knife to cut the dough into square noodles.

Barry cutting the noodles on the silicone mat.

Margaret made some of the noodles, too.

Dropping the handmade noodles into turkey broth. For a pot, we used a pressure cooker without the lid.

Margaret blows on the spoon before testing the pot pie. Burning her tongue at this point would be a tragedy.

Margaret stirs in leftover turkey from Christmas dinner.

Meps is ready to eat her pot pie. The beverage of choice is a Mike's Lemonade, in honor of the guy who introduced us to pot pie.

I'm ready to eat! Stop taking pictures and sit down!

How do you write a poem?
Fill yourself full of tears.
Let their blackness rise up, up
Until they overflow
And fill your inkwell.
Then set the tears
To the page.

This is not the poem.

Keep writing until the ink runs dry.
What you find beneath the tears
Is the poem.
###

About a week ago, I wrote about our decision to stay here in the boatyard for the holidays. At the time, I was feeling sorry for myself, and my tone was so wistful that friends and family responded with consoling emails (my favorite was the invitation from Australia).

Then the celebrating started, and I forgot to be sad.

My dictionary defines “jamboree” as “a large celebration or party, typically a lavish and boisterous one.” Some definitions involve Boy Scouts or country music.

One of our holiday activities was attending the Christmas show at the Crystal Coast Jamboree with the Bock family, boatyard employees, and liveaboards. But the real jamboree was the evening’s dinner, held at a Japanese steakhouse. The chefs flipped and twirled and tossed the food to us as though we were trained seals. At one point, Kenny egged Dale into eating some wasabi for the first time. “DAMN!” he exploded, practically spitting sushi. “What IS that stuff?”

Our solstice bonfire - Barry, John, Marilyn, Philip

The days grew shorter and the nights longer. On December 21st, we celebrated the Solstice with a bonfire — well, actually a little campfire on the edge of the sandblasting pit. We ate roasted weenies, melted cheese sandwiches, and toasted marshmallows. Most importantly, we ran a 100-foot extension cord and plugged in a crockpot full of mulled wine. We were warmed inside and out.

It takes more than food and fire to properly celebrate the Solstice, though. This is the window between the lunar and solar new years, when evil spirits inhabit the earth and must be kept at bay by merriment and partying. At least, that’s what Philip of Oryoki said.

Our merriment included dancing around the fire in leafy green headdresses and playing some extremely loud percussion. “Extremely” means that some steel boats are more fun to beat on than drums. We bid the moon farewell (guess who did so by actually mooning it) and listened to every song I could find in our collection about the sun. “Eu Quero Sol” and “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” were the most apropos.

Philip chases away evil spirits

Then came the event that was my real reason for staying over this Christmas: A North Carolina oyster roast. I stuffed myself on steamed oysters dipped in melted butter, and Barry ate multiple helpings of deer stew and hush puppies. Dale sucked down more hot vinegar sauce more than wasabi peas, though. Everyone was smiling as we stood around the fire barrel, relaxing and enjoying each other’s company without any of that silly boat work.

Meps gets ready to slurp an oyster

Warming ourselves around the fire

After the oyster roast, the boatyard closed for the holidays, but we kept the fires of holiday spirit bright, celebrating Christmas Eve and Christmas aboard our boats. Flutterby was chock-full of little wrapped gifts, sent from Washington and Florida and Oregon and Ohio, and cards — some of them homemade — from everywhere. Oryoki was decorated with garland and colored lights. We sported Santa hats around the boatyard and debated on which side the pom-pom should dangle.

Wonderful collection of cards

Our Christmas dinner was a delightful sort of scavenger hunt — I got my 12-pound turkey out of the refrigerator on Ula G and took it to the lounge to wash it. Then we plopped it onto the huge propane grill that we’d rolled from Pelican (a monohull) to Oryoki (a catamaran) to keep it out of the rain. The turkey was just the centerpiece — the table on Oryoki groaned under cranberry sauce and stuffing and homemade rolls and veggies. The butterscotch pie waited out in the cockpit, and the whole thing was washed down with Marilyn’s homemade egg nog.

I wore my Santa's helper lingerie all day on Christmas

Barry on Christmas Eve aboard Flutterby. Hot artichoke dip was a hit!

Nobody turned down the butterscotch pie with meringue topping (see Foodie Gazette for recipe)

Homemade eggnog by Marilyn - yum

Beginning on the 18th, each day the spirit of generosity and gratitude increased in my heart, until I felt like the Grinch — my heart was three sizes larger. I was connected to friends and loved ones all over the world, even when the phone stopped working for 24 hours on Christmas Day. There was so much love, right here! How could I ever feel wistful or sad? It was the best Christmas EVER.

We’ve done so much traveling this year, together and apart, that we decided to stay here in the boatyard for Christmas. Theoretically, we’re supposed to be working on the boat, although the weather and our respective cases of bronchitis are hampering our efforts. I hate the thought of coughing into my respirator.

I got a little sad this evening, thinking about our plan to stay here on the boat. Our liveliest boatyard neighbors, Charlie and Dick, have gone back to Ohio to be with family. Our best friends in town, Ted and Malla, slipped Ocean Gypsy’s lines and headed south for the winter on Monday. Between the four of them, they’ve left us two boats and ten vehicles. That’s enough to open a used car lot!

Bock Marine threw a fantastic Christmas party, but it was over too soon. They’ll be closing down for a whole week. Without Randy and Larry and Dale and Kenny, the place is dreadfully dull. Minutes seem like hours. And there isn’t even mail delivery to distract us. No Christmas cards. No packages. Sigh.

For me, the hardest thing will be simply spending these days without any family. We love Mom, both our Dads, Grandma, and all our siblings and nephews and niece — and we have never, ever, ever in our lives spent a Christmas without at least one of them. I spent some time today looking at photos and videos from past Christmases, seeing how the sheer joy of being together is reflected in our faces. Not this year. Sigh.

A few days ago, I received an email asking what my favorite Christmas traditions were. I was initially stumped, having no decorations, no lights, no tree. With two people, how can we eat a whole butterscotch pie and a roast turkey? I sat here, sighing, in my Santa hat, wondering if I even have Christmas traditions this year.

In my Santa hat? There’s a tradition! We wear our Santa hats all the time in December. When it’s warm, don’t come on the boat — we might not be wearing anything with them. When it’s cold, my Santa hat goes great with my pink Death Bunny pajama pants. Which I sometimes wear out in the boatyard, just for grins.

How about making homemade cards every year? Sometimes they don’t go out until February, but I’ve never bought a Christmas card in my whole life. Our lengthy holiday card list is like the Hotel California. Once you are on it, you’re stuck for life.

And then there are the homemade presents. We’ve made mustard, soap, jam, apple butter, signs, jewelry, baking mixes, bookmarks, spiced nuts, and refrigerator magnets. We’ve burned some very strange CD collections (anybody remember “Goin’ to the Dogs?”). This year, I wrote four whole books.

And then there’s the calendar, a 5-year tradition. It’s a week-long project, because I seem to get sick just after Thanksgiving every year anyway. I might as well sit at the computer and design a calendar showcasing this year’s best photos.

I wish we could give one to every friend, every year. It gets harder to decide how many to print and where to send them. Rumor has it that one family member likes hers so much, she keeps the old ones hanging up and pastes new dates onto them.

The past week on the boat, I’ve been on elf-duty most of the time. I designed the calendars and cards, and Barry helped me assemble and wrap and sign them. We made some goofy presents, burned some silly CDs, and wrapped them in old road maps because I refused to buy wrapping paper. I forgot I was wearing my Santa hat at the post office, and wondered why everyone was smiling at me.

It’s going to be a great Christmas. I’ve spent the past couple of weeks thinking of ways to make people happy, and now the envelopes and packages are winging their way across the continent. My thoughts turn to our friends who are staying in the boatyard for Christmas — John, Philip & Marilyn, Audrey & Ward (whose nickname is Scrooge, but I don’t believe it). What can I do for them? And especially for Barry, who got me the Death Bunny pants?

Generosity — that’s my holiday tradition. Taking the time to let people know I love and appreciate them, no matter how far they are from me and my Santa-meets-the-Death-Bunnies outfit.

There are many things to be afraid of in the boatyard — rotten balsa, corroded stainless, falling off the ladder, stepping on a copperhead, and coming face to face with a bear are a few. But last night, the really scary things came out for a Halloween party.

Luckily, there was plenty of food to appease them. Actually, since it was a potluck, the scary things brought food! Not scary food, though. This potluck had no blue turkey.

Here are a few of the pictures. As you can see, nobody took the easy route and wore a Tyvek suit or a dust mask. But Audrey came as Randy, and Dick came as Charlie, and John came as Tony, which confused the heck out of people who didn’t know Randy, Charlie, or Tony. It left the rest of us gasping for breath, we were laughing so hard.

Audrey dressed up as a miniature Randy. She was almost as cute as the real Randy!

Dick came as Charlie, wearing a shirt that said Tony. He even made the same tasteless jokes as Charlie!

Celeste and Donna, with pointy things on their heads and great makeup.

Father Charlie had all the props, including the beer and the cigarette. He generated a few tasteless jokes, too.

Val and Harold brought the toga theme, which went well with Celeste's Pan look.

Is this the result of too much bottom paint? Wait, Scott's boat is not even hauled out!

Who was behind the mask and wig? He could be anyone, but he said his name was Barry. Then he went home with the honey bee. What's that about?

This is what we'll all be wearing to work on our boats, instead of those boooooring Tyvek suits.

The whole dressed-up gang, complete with jackstands and boats on either side of us. Scary!

Unfortunately, I have too many !@#$! lists. The boat list was the one I was going to chip away at. But today I think I figured out my electrical problem with the Squid Wagon–it looks like all the wires are intact and connected, but somehow it ate another battery.  Forutnately it isn’t quite a year old, so it should be under warranty. The other one seems to be good enough that it still turns the engine over by itself, although not quite as cheerfully as two healthy batteries would. As a former electrical engineer, I should probably be embarrassed that I didn’t figure it out yesterday when I realized something was odd, but at least I’ve figured something out. Too bad I had to notice that the rubber gaskets where the various parts of the steering linkage are attached all look kinda shot. I think I’ll just ignore it for now, as Squidley’s steering doesn’t feel any worse than usual!

I also realized that I really should have lubed the chains of the clunker bikes we left out in the rain here before we left–they weren’t turning very well, but a little Boeshield T-9 and some riding got the kinks out. And I even found the bike pump in my storage unit without having to dig very deep, so I had full tires when I rode back. (It isn’t far–from the boat to the mailbox is farther than from the mailbox to the storage unit!)

Sadly, both of these items belong on other lists than the boat todo list, so I still can’t cross them off! I think I’ll go and attach the oak trim I previously cut to fit around the outlet I added in the dinette. That can at least be added to the boat list!

I’m back in Beaufort on Flutterby, on the hard at Bock Marine, our “home” boatyard.

Meps is on the road in Spokane, making her way here slowly.

I just counted 92 items on the boat todo list.
Some are simple: “Re-install bow cleats.”
Some are a bit more involved: “Design rig: Size, shape, battens, yard, attachments.”
Many depend upon other items not yet completed.
Some will require Meps’ hands to assist me, or mine to assist her.
Some probably won’t be finished before we go cruising.
Many must be finished before we can go cruising.
Some may not be finished while we own Flutterby.
Some things need to be done and didn’t even make it onto the list yet.  If I do one, I may add it just so I can cross it off.

Yesterday I screwed up two pieces of trim in the V-berth.  It wasn’t on the list and only took about five minutes.

Today I didn’t do anything at all on the boat.

Tonight I’m just feeling overwhelmed.

Tomorrow I’ll pick one.  I wonder whether I’ll finish it or not.

I just closed the window, here on Camano Island, Washington. After leaving North Carolina, it’s a strange feeling to be cold in the summer. But I’m glad for the warm laptop on my legs, and I’m thinking of putting some socks on my chilly feet.

Last year, we drove across the country three times, slowly. We haven’t been on a plane since the end of 2007, so the flight on Wednesday from New Bern, North Carolina to Seattle was surreal and left me disoriented. Not to mention winded from that flat-out run through the Atlanta airport! I feel like I’ve been squeezed through a very tiny aperture and popped out in another universe.

Meps in front of the high bridge from Radio Island to Morehead City

The differences between our North Carolina home and our Pacific Northwest home are vast — starting with the butter. Did you know that butter on the East coast and butter on the West coast is shaped differently? In the east, no matter what brand you buy, sticks of butter are long and skinny. In the west, they are short and fat. You have to have different butter dishes!

The sounds are different, too. In NC, I’m attuned to the sound of the Travelift and the crane, overlayed on the rhythm of cicadas on a hot day. I can identify many boats on the waterway by the sound of their engines, even before I see them. And the voices — I love listening to people speak with Southern accents, even if I can’t understand half of what they say (or, in the case of Randy, all of it). At the end of the day, Anique says she’s going “hame,” and it makes me wish I was born to talk like that. Here, the accents are flat, nonexistent. But I’m delighted to hear the call of the bird Barry and I call the “Sweetie, come here” bird. This afternoon, I napped on the grass — no fire ants or mosquitoes — and listened to the wind whispering like a person breathing in the top of 40-foot pines.

Then there are smells. Last weekend, we went out with Kenny and Nancy and Carlee in their skiff, and I breathed in the smell of the Atlantic Ocean and the marshes along the Intracoastal Waterway. I wanted to etch it in my memory, so I could compare it to the air here, where the tangy scent of fir trees fills the air like incense.

Sunday: Barry, Kenny, and Nancy on the boat with Beaufort in the background

We visited a beach today, Iverson Spit. We waded in the shallow water of Port Susan, ringed on all sides by blue, snow-capped mountains. There were a few other people on the beach, but their quiet energy was completely different from the beaches we visited in the past two weeks — Shackleford Bank, full of exuberant people on boats, and Atlantic Beach, with great big waves and surfers and swimmers. The hot, bright sunshine makes the air shimmer with heat.

Friday: Barry, Julie, Gabriel, Sharon, Emanuel, and Dave wading at Iverson Spit with Mount Baker in the background

The character of the light is different, going from south to north. It’s 9 o’clock now, and it would be dark at the boat. We’d have put our mosquito screen in the companionway and turned on the lights. But here, I could still read outside, it’s so light. The twilight will last for another 90 minutes, as though the light is reluctant to go away.

Only then will we slip out to the hot tub. Under the starlight, we’ll listen to the sound of the wind in the pines and breathe their scent. And miss our dear friends in North Carolina, whose voices are like music, on the other side of the butter divide.

I was rooting around in the boat the other day, wearing my new summer uniform: Embarrassingly short, frayed cutoffs and a bikini top. I found this weird fuzzy thing in the hanging locker, and I asked Barry, “What’s this?”

It was a fleece jacket.

That’s when we decided we’ve been away from home for too long. I sat down at the computer, sweat rolling off my nose onto the keyboard, and bought airline tickets to Seattle. We arrive at midnight on July 8th.

Don’t get me wrong — I love it here in Beaufort. We are surrounded by wonderful people, and it’s beautiful here on the water. But with the thermometer hovering around 100 degrees, we find ourselves spending too much time sitting around, panting, and not enough time working. Sure, we could rush and get the boat in the water, just in time for the worst of hurricane season. It’s not worth it.

There have been a number of other clues that we’ve been away too long, too. I was down below on Dick’s boat last week, up at the marina in New Bern, and a wake caused the boat to rock. Dick and Barry laughed at the startled look on my face, but I was mortified. I’ve been on the hard too long — it’s time to get on some boats that are floating.

Then there are the cats. Five little kitties, becoming more attached to us each day — it’s like growing feline roots. Time to go and let others take care of them!

So I let my mind wander, and I came up with ten more reasons why we need to come home:

1. Mom and Dad have some Big Birthdays to celebrate.
2. We heard Dave is having some trouble with the Atomic 4 on Whisper. He’s been forced to sail in and out of Shilshole all this time. (kidding!)
3. Ben needs a new F.E.
4. Nancy needs someone to chicken-sit. Don’t you love that term? Chicken-sit!
5. Leilani is incarcerated in the hospital and needs to be sprung.
6. Bill says we only painted half of his house in 2007 and need to paint the rest. He’s willing to pay us in Killer Oatmeal and Coffee Herbies.
7. I need to hear my favorite chiropractor say, “What the heck have you been doing to your body?”
8. I’m dying for some dim sum. And Sichuanese green beans. And a bubble tea! Chinatown, here I come.
9. Two people in Wallingford owe me money. Maybe this should be reason number one?
10. I’m at risk of going native here: Ah seem t’be acquirin’ a Suthin’ accent and a SUNTAN!

The 2009 Meps’n'Barry Pacific Northwest Tour runs from July 8th to mid-September, with a trip to Burning Man the first week of September. We plan to stay with Barry’s folks on Camano Island part of the time, and we’ll be doing two chicken-sits in Seattle, too.

The biggest question right now is where to go from the airport and how to get there. Our tiny east coast brains will think it’s 3 am, so we’re likely to be pretty weird and interesting. Are there any night owls out there who might rescue us from SeaTac and let us surf their couch for a night?

And if you can think of any other reasons why we need to go home, please share them on the blog as comments!