Paddock to Poopdeck
My childhood is truly precious to me. It was spent filled with laughter and much love on a farm in the small agricultural community of Allora in southwestern Queensland. An area known as the Darling Downs, snuggly hugging the western slopes of the Great Dividing Range and famous primarily for its diverse agricultural industry. To me its famous because, well because that's where I'm from and where my story began.
I think we were a pretty typical farming family but if you've read my post from July 18, I guess for the onlooker, that is probably not true. My parents came from hard working farming folk and they too put their hearts and souls into the land and into raising us. My Dad did that while carrying the heavy yoke of chronic disease and disability on his shoulders and my Mum while being primary care-giver, home maker and super-woman. And I think its also fair to say that Paul, Michelle, Deanna and I didn't make the challenge any easier. But oh what fun we had growing up with that black soil between our toes, and the Dalrymple Creek and Condamine River to wash it all off.
Beach sand and salt water where miraculous things only to be enjoyed maybe once a year when Mum and Dad would pack us all up into the car and trek the long haul to either the Gold Coast or Sunshine Coast. So it came as a bit of a shock to find myself, some 30 years later, buying a 50ft sailing yacht in the United Kingdom with the view to sailing it around the world.
But there you go. Who would have thunk it right? But the things we do for love. Couldn't help it really. Partly because this quirky guy I have become kind of attached to, loves his sailing and partly because although I never knew it growing up, I have a wandering soul that loves adventure, challenge and exploring. And there is no greater challenge than to throw yourself into the unknown and unfamiliar and scare the hell out of yourself once in a while. And if I am honest, that has certainly been the case already and I have had moments where I have thought "I'm gonna die!", "what the hell am I doing?"..."I've made a huge mistake!" But with his endless calm, practicality and reasonableness, which I might add can be incredibly frustrating, Craig always manages to soothe my panicking soul. Or maybe I'm a complete sucker for punishment. But nonetheless I'm still here, and still learning to cope with all things nautical.
It all looks easy and glamorous and it is true that lying on the deck sipping a G&T watching the sun set over a gorgeous cove in some exotic location is pretty fabulous. But the stories told and written by other women who sail are also true. It isn't always fun, easy or stress free! Nor is it pretty sometimes!
It is quite frightening in the dead of the night, on the middle of the ocean, to discover you have water in your bilge. Then what floats to the surface down there ain't pretty. Freezing cold and on the midnight shift is really rather unpleasant. Being dead tired but unable to sleep because of rolling seas and the noises of the boat, can be soul destroying. And one must become accustomed to outrageous uncontrolled hair...long gone are the glamorous smooth locks! And fingernails....well good bye to those gems, sweetheart.
I've also discovered that I am my Father's daughter and have managed to re-engineer the hell out of things or invent a new tool so as to achieve a fix needed somewhere on the boat. I've been soaked to the bone while on midnight shift at the helm. I have sailed in bitterly cold weather and in snow! I now know how not to caulk neatly and cleanly. I have decided its totally ok to have blue jobs and pink jobs and fixing a broken head is definitely a blue job. I have more bruises than I thought possible and in places one shouldn't ever really have bruises.
I have also learnt a new way of communicating with Craig. You'd think that after 30+ years together, we would have it sorted. But sailing together requires a whole new language. We have always been pretty patient and supportive of each other but this sailing gig certainly requires a new approach. When things get scary and you have a 16 tonne 50ft vessel to manoeuvre in a tight space or with strong currents and wind to deal with....normal softly spoken language is more difficult to execute. Not that we have had any yelling matches. On the contrary, I have a whole new appreciation for Craig's ability to remain focussed and clear. For this little duck who has a fiery temper that calm can be quite a life threatening move for him but nonetheless we are still here.
My brother asked me recently whether I was "living the dream". The answer is...yep. Bilges, breaking waves, bruises and bad language are all part of what is a beautiful new learning experience. Worth it all so far.
