Sailing Ohana

I have been wanting to write a “final” blog post about our time with SV Ohana, but I always end up feeling like it is too soon, or I’m not in a great place about it emotionally, or I’m busy, or not sure, or some other excuse would come up. It is daunting to try to sum up this chapter of our lives. For inspiration, I looked at my last blog post from the 2022 season, and laughed out loud. It was titled, “We Caught Fish!” and was definitely not a meaningful reflection on our journey. Maybe somewhere deep down I knew we were not finished.

Today I finally sat down to write this, because it feels like it is time to close the book. The sale of SV Ohana closed today, and in true Ohana fashion, the wire transfer of our proceeds is missing. I’m sure it will turn up — we have a FED tracking number and everything — but it seems fitting that after experiencing the last few years of boat ownership, our proceeds would not make it to our bank account. The new owners are partners who will share the boat and put it into charter in the Virgin Islands, which is sad for me. I have described in this blog how charter boats are treated, and don’t want that life for our Ohana. But those were the buyers who showed up and made an offer when nobody else did, so we did not get to choose her fate.

Our dear friends from SV Grace were visiting us for the last few days, which has been heart-warming and wonderful. They have been back to their life in Wisconsin since January of this year, so we missed them a lot this season on the boat. We had a great time showing them a little bit of our life and enjoyed cooking, talking, laughing, commiserating, playing, and connecting together. They left today and we already miss them. It feels like another symbolic good-bye to our boat lives, but also an ushering in of our friendship, “in real life”. Our families will always be bonded by our season together, and our boys have a friendship that is like brotherhood because of their shared experiences. While our friends were visiting, we heard from two of our other boat friends that they were struck by lightning in Grenada, where they are docked for hurricane season. It was a hard reminder that even outside of the “hurricane zone”, sailboats are vulnerable to bad weather. I am relieved that I don’t have to worry about that anymore.

Transitioning back to life on land is easy in many of the obvious ways: Everything is familiar, groceries are fresh and easy to come by, and trash and laundry are not major events. We have been fully welcomed back by our friends and community, and it feels like a warm embrace. In other ways it has been difficult. For example, when we arrived in Florida I rented a minivan to take a load of our personal belongings to Mims and pick up our truck from Tommy’s parents’ house. As I drove up the interstate, the other drivers were aggressive and sometimes rude. There were obnoxious billboards flashing messages that were at best snarky, and at worst, offensive. I felt the weight of the anger and mean-spiritedness that seems to have overcome a lot of the culture in the U.S. I was feeling pretty sensitive since it was our first day back, but it was all very loud and overwhelming. I was barely able to navigate the pick up and return of the rental van, because I felt so flustered. Thankfully with the help of Tommy’s Aunt Susan and Uncle Richard, and their patience and kindness (plus two trips to the damn Uhaul in Titusville), we got it done. It is hard to return to “normal”, and Tommy and I struggle every day with our direction and purpose.

Once we got back to Colorado, the boys jumped straight back into the Lyons summertime lifestyle, including camps, days at the river, late-night movies and sleepovers, camping, and lots of Morris snuggles. Tommy is back with Frontier and will begin his refresher training in about a month. I am working with real estate clients and feeling grateful to be able to pick up my business fairly quickly and easily.

There are times when our seasons on the boat seem unreal, like I can’t believe we actually did all that. I look at photos and videos of the boys, and am amazed by how much they have changed over the two seasons. None of us wish we could go back on the boat right now, but we also feel sadness about saying good-bye for good. This is a grieving process and I try to honor those feelings even if it means I have to sit and cry in the Costco parking lot, or cancel coffee with a colleague because I just can’t today. I am so grateful for the time we had on SV Ohana, the lessons we learned, and the incredible memories we created. Our hearts have been changed, and today out of the blue, Spencer predicted that when they’re adults, he and Jackson will look back on our time on SV Ohana as their favorite childhood memories. I bet he’s right.

Thanks for following along.

Fair winds and following seas,

Rebecca