As dear Flutterby hung on her rode,
We both got in our dinghy and rowed,
To our bikes, which we rode,
Down a nice, level road,
Meanwhile, Margaret composed this, Our Ode.
The problem with limericks is that sometimes they chase me down and refuse to leave me alone. This was one of those. “Go ‘way,” I said, but it didn’t. It followed me on my bike for 5 miles. It’s not even a proper rhyme, just a bunch of homonyms.
-30-
I’m wondering what are the odds
That people who call themselves “CLODs”
Would hang out with SLOBs
Who do not have jobs,
And party with one of their PLODs?
“It would be nice to find out about the weekly cruisers’ breakfast,” Barry said to me. We’d heard about it years ago through the Seven Seas Cruising Association.
“What do you mean, find out? Can’t we just go?” I asked.
He looked puzzled. “We’d have to find out when and where it is.”
“There’s a sign in the … uh … women’s bathroom…” Evidently, there was not a corresponding sign in the men’s room.
The sign advertised a weekly breakfast for cruisers and CLODs: Cruisers Living on Dirt. In other words, people who have “swallowed the anchor” here in Vero.
I told my Dad about the cute acronym. “I guess that makes you a PLOD: Parent Living on Dirt.” I suggested that he should join us for the boaters’ Happy Hour, and we would introduce him that way.
The next day, an email came from Dad, asking if he could “observe the SLOBs and PLODs thursday at the happily happy hour?”
SLOBs: I guess I asked for that.
To find the right words would be tough,
When “Thank you” is not quite enough,
Our lives wouldn’t be
Fancy free on the sea,
Without them to manage our “stuff.”
Every week or so, we get a cheerful note in our email box with the subject, “Mail underway…” We love Barry’s parents, our Camano Island angels, who make sure that our important mail follows us wherever we go! (And that the unimportant mail disappears into the recycling bin, almost as valuable a service.) It is impossible to express the depth of our gratitude to Mom and Dad in these five simple lines.
Yikes! The depth-sounder beeps, and I twitch,
There’s a red one — a green one — but which?
Whew, I’m glad they’re not pink,
For these nav-aids, I think,
Are quite Christmassy here in the Ditch.
Anyone who has “done the Ditch” knows how critical the red and green markers are. After grueling sun-up to sun-down days at the helm, we see them in our sleep and sometimes have nightmares about going on the wrong side of one.
For you landlubbers (and Lee), here are some photos of the markers I mention above.
Top to bottom:
The clock said two-thirty today,
When the boat ceased to be underway.
We have busted our buns,
For these two little ones,
OK, kids, it is now time to PLAY!
We are moored at Cocoa, Florida, having been on the move (except for three groundings) from sunup to sundown for 8 days. We’re exhausted, but there are cookies to bake and a boat to clean.
Why the rush? We wanted to rendezvous with Barry’s nephews and their parents before they fly back to Ohio. So tomorrow, we get a special treat — a visit from Emanuel and Gabriel. That’s like an early present from Santa! We must have been very good this year.
We’ve encountered some sand and some rocks,
And we’ve tied up at places with docks,
But the further we roam,
From that boatyard called home,
Then the more I get homesick for Bock’s.
I called the boatyard today to catch up on the news and find out whose boats have splashed. I miss our friends there a lot — both human and feline!
This day’s turning into a dud,
As I sit here and wait for the flood,
No longer afloat:
I have grounded my boat.
My name is not Meps, it is MUD.
She floated free after about an hour and a half of sitting outside the Beaufort Marina, staring at the Beaufort Hospital. A good time was not had by all, but we’re OK now.
Yes, I know that it looks like a yard
Sale, and yes, there is much to discard.
No, we did not take root
But that free table loot
Sure piled up, with three years on the hard.
The “free table” is a big shelf in the Bock Marine lounge where boaters leave stuff they’re discarding, and other boaters pick it up and (try to) reuse it. For dedicated dumpster-divers, it’s a source of wonderful finds, like heart-shaped measuring spoons and warm fleece hoods. But do we really have room for a waffle iron, a mangle, and a mildewed camera bag? Sometimes, we pick something up, take it to the boat, and then return it to the free table a few days (or years) later.
The photo below was taken after Flutterby was mostly loaded. I’m glad you can’t see where the waterline is — it’s embarrassing.
===
I was so excited when we launched Flutterby, I couldn’t think of a word that rhymed with “travelift.” Never fear — friends came to the rescue with limericks celebrating the big day!
From Nick Blenkush:
There once was a Meps and Barry,
whose boatyard bills were so scary.
The cash that went ‘pffft’,
…paid for the travelift.
And now they are sailing so merry
From Kristin Foss:
There once was a Meps and Barry
whose only sailing was on the ferry
til the mighty travelift
…plucked from the gravelpith
and splashed the Flutterby verily.
From Michael Reardon:
There once was a couple, MepsBarry
who were happy retired and married
they fixed up their boat
…and then set it afloat
and to Florida went without tarry!
From Tara Narcross-Wyckoff:
There once was a Meps and a Barry,
Who in their boat refit project did tarry.
There was so much to do –
…Too much work for just two!
But it floats! Now let’s break out the champagne!*
(* I don’t care much for sherry.)
And one last one from Nick:
There once was a boat not afloat
on the hard getting painted - two coats!
The powerful travelift,
…did set them adrift
After a very large check they done wrote!
Thus spoke Kris: “Folks, you’re doin’ it wrong,
Three years on the hard is too long.
Yes, the boatyard is great
And the folks are first-rate,
But the WATER is where you belong.”
You are probably saying, “I told you the same thing.” But where are you? Kris put his money where his mouth is, and came halfway ’round the world to help us splash! So he gets the reward … TODAY …
(=<
“If you say this is work, I’ll not stay,”
Said our friend Kris, who’d come all the way
Here from Capetown, to get
Flutterby’s bottom wet,
“So let’s not call it ‘work’ — call it PLAY!”
In two days, Kris and Barry and I have played with … sanders and grinders and saws and drills and dremels and screwdrivers … epoxy and polysulfide goop and solvents … impellers and zincs and hoses and clamps and backing plates … the list goes on and on. We’re all enjoying the work and we’ll be floating very, very, VERY soon!
For those of you wondering how we managed to get the world’s absolute best crew member from South Africa, I wrote about some of our earlier adventures with Kris in 2007 and in 2004.
We were driving from Durham to ocean,
When we happened upon a commotion.
All the folks in a huddle,
Had been stopped by the puddle,
But it did not impede our car’s motion.
I’d been worried, unable to sleep,
For I feared that my friend’s trusty Jeep,
Might get stranded and drown,
In that flood, murky brown,
But the water was 2 inches deep!
At an ice cream shop in Vanceboro, North Carolina, the woman behind the counter told us she had to be rescued from her house that morning by boat. When we asked about any flooding on US 17 to the south, she said, dramatically, “The water is over the road up that way — and it’s rising.” Concerned, we hurried through our ice cream and got back on the road. We found the flooding, one block away. It was just a big puddle.
-30-
“Well, they say that the piggie went ‘whee,’
“When they chopped it off, decisively,
“I look down and count nine,
“But I’m feeling just fine,”
Said my Dad, the new toe-amputee.
It was just a small infection that got out of control and landed him in the hospital. He’ll be out in a couple of days, and then he can figure out how to dance using nine toes instead of ten.
“Wow, your guest room is really bizarre,”
Said our friends, who had come from afar.
Just a tarp on the grass,
For this lad and this lass,
But they saw every bright falling star.
In the Pacific Northwest in summer, you can throw a sleeping bag on the grass and sleep outside. It’s heavenly during the Perseid meteor shower, when the stars are falling in streaks of yellow and white and blue across the sky … that’s what we did for two nights with our friends, Will and Tina.
We went into that boating store, “West,”
For a brand new flag halyard, the best.
We replaced it — OK!
But the very same day
‘Twas the main halyard broke: Who’d have guessed?
“I’m so glad it’s your problem, not mine,”
Said our Freedom friends, sipping their wine.
But those friends don’t know Lee,
Who, with Simplicity,
Kindly fixed it — we sailed back, just fine.
He went up using spitwads and tape,
But no halyard! We watched, mouths agape.
It’s a bird! It’s a plane!
Superman’s on our main!
No, it’s Spiderman! See? There’s no cape.
A little note of explanation for our non-boating friends…the flag halyard is a loooong piece of string that you use to hang pennants from the mast. On our way to the Freedom Rendezvous with our friend Jacqui’s Freedom 30, we replaced it ($20), because it looked old and rotten. Twenty minutes later, the main halyard, which is the big beefy one used to hoist the mainsail ($200), broke instead. Since there was no backup or safety line, we had to deliver the news to Jacqui that a crane would be needed to re-reeve her halyard ($150/hour). Then Lee and Kathleen magically appeared in the harbor aboard their C&C, Simplicity. Not only did Lee free-climb the 44-foot mast at anchor, he also cooked omelettes for us for breakfast.
Images below: Meps, motoring north, has plenty of spare cycles to clown for the camera. Lee sets up his climbing gear for the ascent. Barry watches Lee from below (hope he doesn’t drop anything!). The masts of Piper and Simplicity at anchor in Port Ludlow, with Lee at the top. Success! Barry shows the bicycle chain weight that Lee fed down from the top of the mast. Out sailing again, with Barry grinding the winch. Crewmember Will takes the helm of the 30-foot sailboat.
Here in sunny Nebraska, this morn
There’s a steer who is feeling forlorn,
He looks up and says, “Moo!”
Which means, “Hi, how are you?
I like grass, pleeeeeease don’t make me eat corn.”
Driving through CAFO country is enough to turn anyone vegetarian…
When the skies opened forth with such power,
I was drowned like a rat. So I glower
At my husband, who’s dry,
And who says, smug and sly,
“I towel off when I go take a shower.”
It rained so hard the other day, I nearly drowned getting back to Flutterby — even with a fortuitous ride across the boatyard from Ted. I should have just gotten into my birthday suit and stood on the foredeck with a bottle of shampoo.
“Sham Poo? No way! Give me the real thing, or nothing.”
When I painted the name on the side,
Philip’s comments were terribly snide.
“All your curves are a fright!”
“Get a stick, do it right!”
Now I’m feeling all shame and no pride.
We could have had the name applied professionally in vinyl for a few hundred bucks. The only reason I painted it freehand was to fulfill a sense of “artistic pride.”
We found in our mailbox a letter–
Inside, a surprise! Even better!
A tiny flat boy,
To bring us much joy.
‘Twas Stanley, the Airmail Jet-Setter.
Stay tuned for more photos and stories of Stanley’s visit to Beaufort and environs. He was an excellent boat guest.
Americans are not very common in Havana. And we’ve certainly never been there. So what are the chances of two guys running into each other at Hemingway Marina and figuring out that they both know Meps ‘n’ Barry?
These two strangers, on Hemingway’s dock,
Had a chat, and it caused them a shock.
“Where ya from?” “From K.C.”
“You?” “Seattle, for me.”
But they both know some nuts here at Bock.
Here in Beaufort-by-the-Sea, life is not all about seafood. Pictures and stories from the “first annual” Backstreet Pub “Meatloaf-Off” will be coming soon, along with tips from the winners on how to make great meatloaf.
The best meatloaves arrived on a mission,
Hoping some folks might fail by attrition,
For their fine chefs, you see,
Were all hoping to be
Named the “First” in the first competition.
The chances of finding a favorite Seattle friend living in Morehead City were so miniscule, we thought that Hell would freeze over first. We caught up with Kevin in December — he’d been living here for 3 years, and Flutterby’s been here for 2 years. On February 13th, when he came out to see the boat for the first time, Hell froze over, as evidenced by the photo below.
From Seattle, friend Kevin is witty,
But we’d got out of touch, what a pity.
But then Hell did freeze over,
For this fine Irish Rover,
Has been living in wee Morehead City.
Left: Meps and Kevin, Right: There was no snow when Kevin arrived at the boat. After dinner, here he is (on the far side) cleaning off his truck.
Betcha can’t tell from the photos below. Happy Birthday to my favorite young woman in the whole world — you look awesome in that sweater!
I’ve a beautiful sis, Julie S.
And she’s older than me, I confess.
But my friends, they all say,
“She’s not fifty, NO WAY!”
It’s her wonderful life — free of stress.
Here are a couple of oldie-but-goodie photos of Julie from 1960. One is with Mom and one’s with her big sister, Daisy.
The boat was so cold that we shut
The door to the forward end. But
We still had a bed,
And a galley and head,
In our maritime eight-by-twelve hut.
Below is a photo of me in our dinette bed during the cold, when the boat interior was about 45 degrees for a week. I’m wearing a wool top under my jammies, a fleece hood, and have two teddy bears to help keep me warm. Although we couldn’t drag ourselves out from under the blankets before noon, we were able to make coffee without getting out of bed!
My two pirate friends, Goofy and Funny,
Have sailed off to the south, where it’s sunny.
They have left this fine village,
To seek plunder and pillage,
They’re not dumb — but they’re plumb outa money.
Maybe you can look at the photos below and tell me, which one is Goofy and which one is Funny? (that’s Dick on the top and Larry and me on the bottom)
