Happy Thanksgiving!

What a wonderful season!  The leaves have turned brown and golden and have scattered underfoot, and the fetch from Sidney has gained strength until. . . . we’ve spent an uncomfortable night or two being rocked to sleep.  Uncomfortable, but not as scary as years ago when we lived on the end of the dock and the boat thunked and thrashed and otherwise misbehaved and the hull rocked so viciously we had to sleep in the main saloon.

So I am thankful.

And like many boatowners, we didn’t go far this summer on account of because first our boat broke, and then we became broke.  We began with a transmission problem too horrible to talk about, and segued into an electrolysis problem too horrible to talk about, and finished up with a hydraulic problem too horrible to talk about.  We made it as far as Montague Harbour, and then we sat in the dark that evening wondering why our house batteries didn’t work and if we’d be able to start the engine in the morning with the starting battery. We DID start the engine with our one working battery (one out of five ain’t bad), and we hot-footed it for Cowichan Bay as quickly as we could, tied up at the dock and phoned an electrician.  Before the electrician got here, John Darling and George-of-the-Snowy-Beard spent a day thrashing around the engine room looking at wires and making important decisions.  “Is this connected to anything?” and “Whoops – light went out.  This might be a bad sign.”  After a day of eliminating the usual suspects (thank you, George!), the boys found a cable running from the batteries to the electrical system that was horrible in its rottenness and undoubtedly part of the problem.  George gave us a cable we could use.  He didn’t want it – it had been salvaged off his boat that sank a couple of years ago. George is very generous. Also smart. He said he didn’t want to be paid.  He said he’d take it out in hand-knit socks.

It fell to the electrician to tell us, pronouncing on our 110 volt system, that it’s lucky we’re still alive.  A couple of thousand dollars later, and we have a working electrical system.

So I am thankful.

Then Jim the Welder took time from his own boat repairs to fiddle with our hydraulics.  He finished just as the rains of September fell upon us, saying he wanted to be paid in applesauce, and that the lemon in my recipe kicks it up a notch.  We gave him a bagful. The domestic arts rule.

So I am thankful.

So here I sit, in a cosy main saloon, having missed the boating season entirely, knitting socks and planning another batch of applesauce, and reading a history of Eleanor of Aquataine, who unlike me was badass as well as skilled with her needle.  Or was it William the Bastard’s little mousy wife who was skilled with her needle – the one who embroidered the Bayreux Tapestry with the help of about 100 nuns?

May the blessings of God be with you this season and forever.

 

 

 

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