July used to be my favourite month.

Growing up in Nova Scotia July meant summer. Not the beginning of summer like June. Not end of summer like August. But quintessential summer. Early crisp mornings, prefect balmy afternoons, and evening that stretched on until the sunset after 9pm. School ended in June and by August it was already on the horizon again. But July was four weeks of feeling carefree. It also happens to be my birthday month, so there was Zucchini Chocolate Cake to look forward to. I’ve carried that carefree excitement about July into adulthood, despite the changes in seasons and routines. This year, however, July did not comply.

Instead, July was a series of events that left me feeling violated, misunderstood, helpless, worried, frustrated, and alone.

Within the first week I had my phone stolen out of my bag at the market, had to travel to KK to finish up a root canal, and had the unoccupied boat next door drag anchor during a storm and come dangerously close to hitting us. And when I stood in the pouring rain and asked the boat on the other side of the unoccupied vessel for help, the man refused to help me. I had already done all I could by myself, adjusting their lines so that they couldn’t swing that close to me again, but if the wind piped up again it could have been a very dangerous situation for all three vessels. I rarely ask for help, and couldn’t believe my ears.

Later that same day, after no consultation about the situation, a second man rowed over and said they had come up with the solution of me giving up one of our bow mooring lines. I politely refused, explaining that doing so would only bring the vessel closer to me and what was required was to set a second anchor, which I earlier said I would help with if one could be found.

At this point, I was informed that not only did man one ‘not like my demeanor’ but man two – who had been sent over to speak to me by man one – thought I was being selfish and I ‘wasn’t inspiring them to help me.’ I thanked him for coming over and quickly left the conversation lest he really see what my demeanor could be like. I spent the afternoon wondering if they would have said these kinds of things to Steve.

Of course they wouldn’t. A man standing his ground would never be consider a bitch, which was what they really meant by ‘my demeanor,’ they just didn’t have the balls to say it.

What upset me most that day was not being refused help or their schoolyard games and name calling. It was how that made me feel so insecure, how it let the self-doubt crept in along the edges. It was the tears that I shed wondering if they were right, and if I was being unreasonable. I was angry that I, a grown women, let their words have that power over me.

The more it gnawed at me, the more I kept circling back to the same thought. Our boat was secure and I had every right to stand up and protect that. I had asked for help and offered to help. And, I may not like to drive this boat but, I sure as hell know how to anchor and set mooring lines.

I kept replaying the night I went out in the dark and the howling rain to replace jack stands that had collapsed when I was in the boatyard alone for months during COVID. How I gotten the dinghy up on deck, the 9.8 hp outboard off, and the dinghy flipped over and secured on the foredeck by myself during gusty, bad weather when I was on a mooring in the Philippines. The time I was knee deep in water while trying to get the anchor up when the wind changed direction one night in Panama, blink light signals at Steve on the helm. The nights we’ve sat anchor watches when conditions deteriorated enough to be concerned.

I am smart, and strong, and very capable. And, if I am a bitch because my number one priority is keeping my vessel safe, then so be it.

Thankfully, the weather stayed calm for a few days and the unoccupied boat has a very wide keel because during the extreme low tides we had, they were sitting on the bottom. Finally, another sailor from across the bay came over the help, diving in the water to take up some anchor chain using a block and tackle, as the windlass was buried under a heap of stuff they left on the bow.

Thinking the drama was finally over, I took myself ashore for a beer and on the way home sat down on the dock to get into the dinghy, caught the hem of my favourite shorts on nail protruding from the edge and got hung up, half a bum cheek on the dock, my toes not quite in the dinghy was that floating away from me. I couldn’t help but laugh as I struggled to free myself.

Surely, I thought to myself as I puttered home dry but with a rip in my shorts, the universe has someone else to pick on this week.  

And it seemed to, until the night before my birthday when a storm blew through at 2200 and I got up to find the boat next door adrift again, this time much closer to both Kate and the rock wall behind it. I immediately lowered the dinghy to again go over and adjust their lines. In the short gaps between the wind gusts I was able to pull up just enough line to keep them safely off us. The rising tide meant they would stay afloat until morning, just uncomfortable close to the rocks.I stayed up for a few more hours until the wind died completely and the skies cleared.

When Steve sent me a bday message at 0400, I declared my birthday offically cancelled.    

The next day the friendly sailor came back and using our stern anchor and his rope rode set a second temporary anchor to keep us all out of danger. A few days later, after a little planning, I helped as he reset their original anchor by diving down to tie a line to it, dragging it backwards out away from the boat, then digging it in by pulling the slack anchor chain in with a block and tackle again.

Throw in a sick cat who not only had a fever but also went on a hunger strike for three days while the local vet was on vacation for a week, some rather hot, still nights, a boat full of paint fumes (more on that in the next post), and 15 hour time difference between Steve and I while he was at sea for two weeks. Understandably, not my favourite July, and definitely the reason why I have been absent here.

But I am happy to report that although I lost over a years worth of photos (I am deeply suspicious of the ‘cloud’ and my laptop is dodgy so I hadn’t done a download in a long time) I did manage to replace my phone while I was in KK for that root canal. Which also went well, so that’s a plus too.

Kitten has had a full recovery and is back usual shenanigans, I have caught up on my sleep, and most thankfully Steve and I are only a few hours apart so communication is much easier.

And that might be the most important thing because I can handle things by myself, but its really hard to deal with everything when I feel like I am all alone.

Love,
H…&S   

P.S. Sorry for the lack of photos, see above phone issue.
P.P.S. I am back to regular scheduled writing, so thanks for sticking with me!