The past couple days, we have been transitioning from life on the lake to life at the beach. Between destinations, we pulled the boat of of the water onto our trailer, pulled the trailer with the truck to Florida, and didn’t have to pull out too much hair getting the boat back into the water.
Boat ramps often become a spectator’s sport. Folks line up in their golf carts or sit at nearby picnic table or just plain gawk from the docks, hoping to see some poor boater manage a catastrophe.
Thankfully for us, when we arrived at the boat ramp, the local ramp master, George, stopped to tell us the ramp was steep, and our trailer might get hung up on it. His advice was helpful, but did cause us some alarm, because the next closest boat ramp was fifteen miles away.
Logistics are the bread and butter of hauling a boat around the country. And fortunately for me, my husband is a master logician. However, I tend to bring my own “logic” into the partnership. Often, if I would just keep my thoughts to myself, a whole lot of confusion and frustration could be avoided. But I was hungry, and the sun was beating down on us, and I just wanted to be done with the task, and get to the marina, so I tried to convince him to go to the “easier” boat ramp. I did not want to take the risk of getting our trailer stuck on the ramp.
Did I mention that Les is a patient and wise man? And so, he let me make my recommendations, and gave me a couple rational reasons to take the risk. So I got some food and found some shade to wait, while other boaters used the ramp. (It was a busy Sunday afternoon.) When it was our turn, Les slowly backed the boat and trailer down the ramp, I watched to make sure the trailer didn’t bottom out on this steeper than usual ramp. And to our relief, it became a non-event, and we spoiled any fun the spectators might have hoped for this sunny afternoon.
I backed the boat off the trailer, while Les parked the truck and trailer. While I puddled around in the dock area, trying to avoid the “big show” of hitting another boat or ramming into the dock, a woman asked if we were here on a research trip? I smiled, and said no, but inwardly was pleased, because in a way I am. (I will share more about this thought later, but so far this trip has been more about discoveries, than just pure adventure.) Les and our dog, Kokomo made it to the dock, and hopped aboard. And we were only three miles away from our new destination, Marineland Marina.
If we had gone with my logic, Les would have been biking 15 miles to pick up the truck and trailer. Following his lead, gave him the leisure of a three mile ride down to the boat ramp.
Today, we have been settling into our new spot.
Pine trees lined I-95 on the north eastern part of Florida. Below some photos of the remnants of Hurricane Matthew. (Still a lot of clean-up going on. We are grateful that the marina has power, and was able to be up and running so quickly.)
After we got the boat situated in its slip, and Les got back with the truck and trailer, I walked over to the beach to investigate. The marina folks kindly let us store the trailer on their property. (The beach is just across the street.) We are fairly remote here between St. Augustine and Palm Coast, but enough amenities, like a Publix grocery store five miles south.
As dusk fell, I was captured by all the textures and scenes around me. I snapped some photos with my phone. As I sat listening to the rush of the wind and the surf wash over I thought about the moon. I texted Les to tell him that I was going to watch the full moon rise over the ocean.
A sacred moment, not given to being captured by camera. The clouds obscured the moon’s fullness, but it was bright enough for me to see it rise, and peek at me through the cloud cover. I used my phone’s flashlight to walk back to the marina, and get my other camera to try to get a shot of the now shining moon above the horizon. It looked picture perfect, paper white, but I never could capture it’s clarity with the camera. (At the end of this post, I will share the shots that I did get, but I didn’t have the patience to get a clear shot. I needed my tripod, and the timed exposure remote.)
If I say I’m at Marineland, I could mean the town in Florida, or the marina in that town, or the dolphin attraction that is directly across the street from the marina. (I’ll try to be specific.)
Here’s my thinking spot on the back of our boat. I’ll be contemplating Nature, and keeping you updated on my research expedition.
What transitions are you facing? How does contemplation aid you in times of transition?