memories

Portovenere: Poetry in any language

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My husband and I hadn’t really intended to be in Portovenere. We were driving through Italy with no particular destination in mind. At a small gas station in the port of Genoa, we stopped to ask general directions to the waterfront, with every intention of finding a charming out-of-the way inn along the way, perhaps one with a view of the harbor and a trattoria within walking distance.

We had no timetable. It was chilly. It was the end of January, not the height of tourist season along the Mediterranean coast. The prospect of a good glass of red wine, a simple pasta and a comfortable bed beckoned. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The station attendant pointed — Portovenere, he repeated — along with a rapid stream of Italian, most of which was lost on us. “Portovenere, Portovenere, Portovenere. . . ,” accompanied by hand waving, curliques in the air, motor sounds, big smiles and, once again the repeated word: “Portovenere!”

It was decided. We pulled out the map, pinpointed the location and the route, smiled at our benefactor and trip planner, and were off to Portovenere.

What a Delight!

The little city is nestled into the craggy cliffs that line the sea; it has all the charm and colorful beauty of better-known Cinque Terre villages. Along with them, Portovenere is on UNESCO’s list of World Heritage Sites. They are all magnificent. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Portovenere is ancient, and it retains the homey aura of a small fishing village, with terraced hillsides above.

Perhaps it was just because we arrived at dusk during a very slow season, but everyone we met, from the hotel desk clerk to local workers on their way to the trattoria, greeted us cordially and made us feel like long-lost friends.

The feeling was not diminished the next day, nor the next. We stayed on, enchanted by everyday life in this beautiful village. We walked the streets, sauntered along the docks, ventured up the steep, hillside cliffs when we felt like it. We breathed deeply of the fresh seaside air, and looked out on the waters of the Med, but felt no need to take the sightseeing boat to the nearby trio of islands that are major tourist destinations.

Familiar Comforts

The truth is that Portovenere wrapped us in the comfort of normal lifestyle, at a point in our three-week trip when we had tired of tourism. In some ways, it felt like going home. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

We sipped aperitivos at the local bar, and watched local television with residents relaxing after work, and then we ambled down the street to enjoy fresh seafood, good wine and spirited, if awkward conversation with other diners in the sparsely-occupied room. I’ve forgotten the dishes and the details, but the warmth of the experience, and the certainty that it was a good one, remain. I don’t know the name of the restaurant, but I like to think it is still there, awaiting my return.

It’s a fanciful thought, I know, appropriate in some odd way for this Thanksgiving week. Going home for Thanksgiving is deeply ingrained in our consciousness, whether that trip is to Grandma’s house or simply a gathering that brings family and friends together for shared experience, wherever it may be.

Special Places and Times

That first and only visit to Portovenere was more than a decade ago and it still stands out in my memory as one of those places I would return to on short notice! That’s what I have been thinking about this week — the prospect of revisiting favorite spots across the globe, an irresistible urge to experience old delights once again. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Pisa is on the list, and Assisi, along with Carrara, where Michelangelo found his stone. The tops of the mountains shine white in the distance, chipped away over the centuries to expose the shining white cores. Counter tops are still quarried here, some of them by old methods. It’s quite an experience to drive to the summit of a marble mountain!

There are other places, too, to revisit, most of them not the subject of travel guides and magazine articles. But that’s what makes travel special, isn’t it? Finding those places that speak to the soul is not something a traveler plans.

If it happens, it’s hard to deny. Portovenere is like that.

Savor the Good Times

In my mind, I can picture my return, just as I picture returning to my former home city of Santa Fe this year for a large family Thanksgiving.

May all of you find a special place in the heart this Thanksgiving. Maybe we can all search out those delightful spaces and places at other times of year as well.

If it’s impossible to return home in a physical sense, however, at least make a point to revisit those special places periodically in spirit. Savor those experiences.

9-11-2001: Years removed in time, but etched indelibly into our psyche . . .

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Fifteen years: It’s the span from birth to teenager; young adult to middle age; active working adult to “old.”

It’s difficult to look 15 years into the future with any degree of accuracy, but looking back takes little effort. And, in some cases, 15 years — or 50, or only two  — disappear in an instant and we, in our minds, are returned to a time so hard to comprehend, so impossible to understand, so devastatingly brutal in memory that it brings us up short. The best we can do is retreat into our own silence, finding what solace exists with the passage of time.

Today is one of those days.

Fifteen years ago on a clear morning full of promise, the world was forever changed. For those of us old enough at the time to be aware of what happened in our world, it is a moment, a day, an era still frozen in time. There are other such days for many of us; actually, there are too many of those moments for some of us.

On days like this one, at a specific hour, whether the flag is lowered to half staff or we observe a moment of silence, whether there is a public ceremony or not, we cannot help but take a deep breath, suffer feelings of deep regret, and remember. Sadly, the list of those remembrances grows longer.

It is said that adversity make us strong. I wonder.

It is said that we must learn from the past. I am not certain we ever do.

It is said that we must not allow such things to happen again. Is that possible?

9-11-2001

Fifteen years ago.

Yes. I remember.

But I also remember other things about that day.

I recall standing silently with a group of coworkers, tears streaming down our cheeks, eyes trained on the television. I remember the need to talk with distant family members, to hear the voices of loved ones even though there were no words to soften the blow of that day. I remember the anguished — and accented — question of a recent immigrant: “How could they do this to our country?”

I have to think that Americans were one on that day, united in shock, and determined to face an uncertain future together.

Today, 15 years later, that oneness is no longer evident.

I wonder why we as a people are always at our best in crisis?

Actually, maybe that is the hope we should cling to.

No matter what our differences, no matter how much we disagree on most days — in thought and action and the ongoing exercise of our freedoms — maybe we can once again stand together when the next crisis occurs.

Not that I look forward to that day.

Also read my thoughts about a chance encounter on 9-11-2014.

 

 

The dream dies hard, but the memories live on

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It looms large on the horizon, the hulk of the S.S. United States, as she lies in port in Philadelphia. Her stacks rise above the neighboring dock buildings, and it’s possible to use them as landmarks rather than following GPS directions as you chart a course to see the once grand ship in her current forlorn and decrepit state.

This ship — and the search for a traditional Philly cheesesteak — took us to the city of brotherly love this summer.

We found our ship with ease, and we lingered there. Remembering our first encounter with this vessel, my husband and I didn’t speak. We just gazed through the chain links at this once gleaming passenger liner with a history that is irrevocably intertwined with ours.

We met the S.S. United States, and one another, on the same day in August 50 years ago at the port in Le Havre, France. The ship was just a teenager at the time. We were young as  well, and impressionable.

She was a looker, massive and shiny and silent, but aswarm with crew going about their duties. We were impressed by her presence and by her glamor; she took our breath away. We had some other experiences with her, but her days at sea came to an end barely three years later.

Our story continues.

This summer, as we mapped our road trip north, it became a priority for us to see the grand old ship. Philadelphia was miles out of the way, but we took the detour. Our hearts were in our throats as we first spied those distinctive smokestacks. We were buoyed by the hope that this old lady might actually sail the seas once again.

Unfortunately, early this month, we learned that the plan to refurbish her as a cruise ship is not feasible. The S.S. United States has been out of service for 47 years; she has languished at the dock in Philadelphia for more than 20 years now, longer than she sailed! And, though she is deemed still structurally sound, the dream that she might again carry passengers has died.

There is still some hope that the S.S. United States will be saved from the scrap heap and turned into a floating “history book.” She is, after all, an engineering marvel; this last American flagship set a world speed record on her maiden voyage. It has never been broken. Is it so hard to believe that others could be inspired by looking up at her towering stacks, standing at her railing, or exploring her labyrinthian interior? Not for us.

The experience certainly stayed with me and my husband throughout our years!

As we again gazed at her with awe, she sat behind locked gates, no longer shiny and glamorous, but impressive nonetheless!

We left the docks finally, and found a Philly cheesesteak at a tiny Tony Luke’s on Oregon Ave., almost in the shadow of Interstate 95 South. There were only seven or eight tables inside, but the line snaked through the building and extended into the parking lot beyond. It took some time to reach the order window, but not long at all for our traditional beef and melted cheese sandwiches to be ready. Miraculously, there were two seats at a table. The wait was worth it; Philadelphia’s signature food treat was the second delight of the day!

We had come to Philly for the memories. And we left well satisfied.

It was an epic road trip and coming home is hard . . .

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I am home now — after nearly two months away and never a dull moment. The summer included a path through 22 states and two Canadian provinces, a total of 4,780 highway miles, and almost six weeks in the historic small town of Wiscasset, Maine.

While in Maine, we explored new territory, basked in the sun, breathed the salt air, ate seafood and fresh corn as much as possible, and enjoyed every minute of the time we spent there. It was with regret that we packed up the car when it came time to leave. But the road trip was adventure of a different kind!

Although I’ve been home now for two weeks, I find myself still smiling about the trip just completed and considering the ones yet to come. Several are currently in the planning stages of my mind, waiting to emerge as full-fledged itineraries with dates and reservations.

Is it good to be home? Yes, it’s good to be home. I think so. But, it’s good to be gone. If I stutter and stammer a bit when asked if I’m happy to be home, it’s because the fun of being “on the road,” seeing new sights, eating new foods and meeting new people never seems to grow old. Some would term that a personality disorder.

Coming home seems like an ending somehow; and I haven’t yet gotten used to endings. New beginnings: Yes, those are what I thrive on. Readjusting to the routine of normal life — that’s a chore! But then, I can’t seem to define normal.

While watching the 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio, I find myself daydreaming about South America and fantasizing about what I hope will be an upcoming trip.

South America is on the horizon. But it will have to wait until after the Panama Canal, already scheduled for fall. And then, maybe,  a winter trip to Florida along with a jaunt to to Cuba? Or, as an alternate, perhaps a quick cruise along the Pacific Coast, or a few days in Cabo. Maybe the urge to travel is, after all, an obsession. It’s only a shame that I don’t have unlimited funds to fuel my desire to see the world.

Don’t be fooled into thinking that the world is shrinking. It is still as large as the mind can imagine. And so many destinations await.

So, my fascination with gauchos and Cape Horn, the southern fjords and Chilean wine (enjoyed at a Chilean vineyard, of course), the rainforest and the Amazon, the icebergs and the Andes, penguins and llamas — has only been heightened as I watch the world’s athletes compete in the games and celebrate their victories!

I guess I’ll have to get serious about getting back to work after the closing ceremony.

Note: Look for additional posts about this summer’s epic journey in coming weeks.

The open road: Traveling tips

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101_2217Fast food isn’t particularly good for the waistline or the pocketbook! And, no matter how familiar, most of it is nothing to write home about.

So, this summer, why not slow down a little to nurture your spirit as well as your body? Whether you take a quick weekend jaunt or an extended trip across the country, here are some good ways to make your next driving trip a memorable one:

Pack a picnic basket

Seriously. There was a time when a wicker basket was a staple in the back seat or the trunk of almost every vehicle. Those were the days when people planned a day’s journey based on the distance between gas stations, and pulled off the road to enjoy a field of flowers or a lakeside vista. Today, with conveniences available at every highway exit, it’s not so necessary to plan ahead, but having a picnic basket full of good food still makes sense.

Fill yours with hard boiled eggs, a package of mini carrots or sugar snap peas, cans of sardines and packets of tuna, a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of crusty French bread, crackers, and homemade granola or trail mix. Bring along either a round of Brie, a wedge of blue, or some string cheese that can stand being out of the refrigerator for a few hours. Include apples, oranges and dried fruit, and maybe some homemade cookies. Pack plastic plates, glasses and silverware, a roll of paper towels and a plastic tablecloth. Include a blanket or quilt for sitting on the ground.

If you’re taking a long trip, restock at a local grocery store; forego the chain restaurants. Forget the cooler full of soda, but bring a large thermos filled with iced tea or lemonade. In cooler weather, fill the thermos with hot chocolate, tomato soup or chicken bouillon. Invest in refillable personal water bottles and fill them with tap water. When you get hungry, get off the road and get out of the car. Park by a stream or find a city park: Walk around, lounge on the grass, walk the dog, and let the kids run!

Get off the road – go local

Turn off the interstate occasionally. Even if you want to make good time getting to your destination, you’ll be surprised how invigorating it can be to take a scenic route or venture onto a back road. Forget the GPS and the app, and buy an old-fashioned road map, the paper accordion-folding kind that you spread out on the hood of the car, the kind that shows small towns, county roads, twisting dirt paths, historical sites and topographical features. Then make time to explore.

Leave the smart phone in your pocket and teach your children map-reading skills; get lost on purpose, just so you can find an alternative way back to the highway. Cultivate spontaneity! Take a few chances. Laugh a lot!

The highways were built to move goods and people quickly from place to place, and they do that well. But, any journey can be as interesting as the destination if you take a turn through the countryside and small towns along the way. It’s a whole different world view and one you don’t want to miss. Stop to photograph wild flowers, historical markers, spectacular views, a herd of longhorns, or an old barn. Look for the unusual. Stop at farm stands and “pick your own” orchards. Buy freshly-squeezed orange juice in Florida, fresh shelled pecans in Texas, cherries in Washington or just tapped maple syrup in Vermont. WP_20160508_007 (1)

Keep a travel journal

Don’t worry about the literary quality; just make it personal and it will be memorable. Simply write quick notes to keep in an old three-ring binder and punctuate with doodles, postcards, snapshots or restaurant business cards. Or take notes on your digital device to accompany the pictures you snap: Transfer the notes and photos to an online journal when you return home. Just be sure to date (and place) the entries so that you can look through actual or virtual pages later to recall specific events.

Your kids will love reliving this part of their history, and you can tell friends and relatives about your experiences.  Write about the wild flowers or the weather; the long, boring miles of highway, or the squabbles in the back seat; add anything that describes the moment! And don’t wait for an epic two-week vacation to Europe to begin journaling. You don’t have to be born with a sense of adventure to enjoy travel. You simply have to keep your mind open to possibilities, your heart open to fun and your eyes focused on the new sights all around you.

Slow down and look around

Take advantage of state tourist information centers as you cross state lines. Great sources of information,  they are staffed with knowledgeable volunteers, and often offer snacks, coffee and cool drinks. They also provide a welcome break from sitting! Many states also have upscale, modern rest stops with clean rest rooms, playgrounds and picnic tables.

Turn off the highway and head for a small town square. Look for a local café, or a diner with lots of cars parked outside. Chances are you’ll discover friendly people, good food and good times. Strike up a conversation with your server; ask questions about the area if it’s new to you.

Travel without reservations if you don’t have a deadline, and look for local hotels in small towns rather than chain motels along the highway. Consider it a bonus if you find a charming country inn, a lakeside cottage at a state park, or a historic hotel in the heart of a Midwest city. Another way: Take day trips to other towns in your area. You’ll be surprised at the things you discover!

Walt Whitman said it pretty well:

         “Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, 

         Healthy, free, the world before me, 

        The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.” 

Remembering when the earth rumbled

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Botanica-Florida 2009 early 118 - Copy

STS 133.

I’ve been taking trips down memory lane — I don’t know why exactly. But planning new trips (which I do, it seems, every winter as the walls start closing in) somehow just naturally calls to mind previous adventures.

STS 133. The 133rd flight of a U.S. space shuttle. The last voyage of Discovery. The 35th mission to the International Space Station.

They called it an “Express.” As if others made interim stops! That makes me smile.

The backstory . . .

For as long as I can remember, I have looked up at the sky and dreamed of traveling into space. Spacecraft and rocket launches never fail to mesmerize and excite.

In February 2009, we were traveling south on Florida’s Intracoastal Waterway; we had hoped to be near enough to Cape Canaveral to witness a shuttle launch, but there were weather delays. Without a firm target date, we made no firm plans.

In early March, though, somewhere near Titusville, Florida, we witnessed the liftoff of a Jupiter 2 rocket, “at 2248 from Pad 17 Bravo,” according to the U.S. Coast Guard in a security zone broadcast alert to boaters that evening. We saw the flash on the horizon, bright and perfect, as we lay at anchor.Bahamas-March-April 2009 180

In mid-March of that year,  we were docked at Port Lucaya in the Bahamas. After weeks of continuing delays, STS 119, a flight of the Space Shuttle Discovery, was finally scheduled for launch at 7:43 p.m. the evening of March 15. From 60 or so miles away, we saw the light in the night sky that signaled another perfect launch.  A cheer went up from the mostly American crowd, from vessel decks throughout the marina, and we watched until the glowing cloud of light dissipated.

The real meaning of “earth-shaking”

Not quite two years later, the launch was scheduled for 4:50 p.m. Thursday, February 24, 2011. There was a 10-minute window; official NASA records put liftoff at 4:53:24. That’s pretty close to on time.

There were other boats all around; all gathered at a perfect vantage point to witness one of the last shuttle launches of the American space program. It felt like a block party. The day was calm and beautiful, and we had a “front-row seat” in a small cove a few miles east of Cape Canaveral with a clear view of Merritt Island and the Cape just beyond. We could see the busloads of tourists heading for viewing sites. The air of anticipation was palpable. Radios blasted the latest news as the minutes ticked down.

I remember the anticipation. I remember seeing the smoke; then hearing the sound; then FEELING the blast; in that order. Yes, even though we were cushioned by the water, we felt the earth tremble beneath us.

And then the shiny, slender white rocket rose steadily into the upside down bowl of blue sky to begin its journey into space.

Raw power of that sort is hard to describe. Words don’t do it justice.

Launch Day at Canaveral 058 (2)A moment in time

I remember the cheers. No one dared speak. Even breathing was difficult. All eyes, trained on binoculars or straining to focus through a camera lens, followed the arcing path over the Atlantic until the rockets and the shuttle were just a pinpoint with a trail of white that drifted back towards the home planet. It was gone in only minutes, but witnessing that launch was an experience not easily forgotten.

History was made that day. Discovery’s story was completed 12 days later, when it returned to Earth at Kennedy Space Center just before noon on March 9. Six men were on board that mission.

Between 1984 and 2011, Discovery flew a total of 39 missions, carried 252 crew members into space, launched the Hubble Telescope and, finally, was retired to the Smithsonian Institution where the public can view it. Discovery was the third of five shuttles built and the first to leave active service. Read more about Discovery’s last mission.

Space Shuttle Endeavor’s final launch was May 16, and Atlantis flew July 8 under the NASA designation STS 135, ending America’s shuttle program after 30 years.

The saga continues

I still look up at the sky. I still dream of traveling into space, although I know that, for me, it is only a dream. But for others .  . . . Let us not forget that the missions continue. The International Space Station orbits our Earth approximately every 90 minutes. You can look up and see it; or you can view your planet as the astronauts see it, in real time.

Note: My husband and I were liveaboard boaters at the time, traveling eastern U.S. waters on an almost three-year epic journey that took us from Florida north to Maine and the Canadian Maritimes, saw us in the Chesapeake and on the Potomac, in the Carolinas and Florida and the Bahamas, ending our journey finally in Mobile, Alabama, on the Gulf Coast. Our adventures on Gypsy Spirit, our 44-foot aft-cabin power vessel, were the stuff of dreams; we occasionally browse our log books to rekindle fond memories of those times.

 

 

Digesting art and history — good memories

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Two menus occupy special places in my heart and in my home. They couldn’t be more different.
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When in Rome

The first is a colorful, poster-size graphic from Da Meo Patacca, a memento from a first “Roman holiday” when I was 21. I still smile every time I look at it, remembering how impressed I was with the white-shirted waiter who unfurled the almost three-foot-long roll of paper with a deft flick of his wrist.  I don’t remember the food of that long-ago dinner table, but I can’t forget the experience, and the framed menu has graced my kitchens and pantries for longer than I care to admit.

The classic restaurant is still serving its traditional fare in Rome and, by all accounts, still delighting tourists from all over the globe. It is now possible to purchase the extravagant vintage menus on ebay or etsy, and I suspect that many, like mine, are still kept as keepsakes.20160110_120156

I treasure the memory; I also delight at the items priced in Lira. A mixed salad for 250, garlic bread at 100, saltimbocca a la romana at 950, gelato for 300 and a bottle of wine at 2500 – dinner easily required counting out bills running to multiple thousands! Truly, that was culture shock. However, the exchange rate at the time was around 600 Italian Lira to a single U.S. dollar. My dinner, I am sure, was quite a bargain! I returned to Da Meo Patacca a few years ago and came away with a later version of the menu, this time with prices in Euros. I also took away a renewed appreciation for this lively eatery that has served generations of diners during its five decades of operation. I know there is better food in this ancient city, and trendier trattorias. But this is a tradition of sorts and, on a pleasant evening, the patio is friendly, the wine is abundant, and the music can be fine!

Vive la France

The second menu is not as vibrant in color, but it boasts fascinating pastel drawings of animals around its edge – elephant, bear, camel, kangaroo, cat and rat – along with frivolous hot air balloons floating over the countryside. It is dated “25 Decembre 1870 – 99eme Jour du Siege” from Voisin in Paris. It is in French. And, no, I did not eat there. Rather, I was entranced by the images and by the subject.

I have loved this menu for years, knowing it was not a real menu. I thought it was simply a quirky take on French culture and paid little attention to the actual items: Haunch of Wolf with Venison Sauce, Cat flanked by Rats. Jugged Kangaroo and Elephant Consomme. 20160109_171810Among the Hors d’Oeuvres: Butter, Radishes, Stuffed Donkey’s Head, Sardines. It includes other food choices as well: Wild Mushrooms Bordelaise and Rice Cake with Preserves. Again, I thought, a nod to French ingenuity, or an attempt to be entertaining. I thought nothing of the English translation at the bottom of the poster. I investigated no further, and simply enjoyed the artwork of my charming wall hanging. Until just recently.

The Back Story

Around Christmas, I happened across a blog post with an intriguing title. With an audible gasp, I realized that it was the story of my menu. I now know about the Franco-Prussian War, about the long and celebrated history of Voisin Restaurant, about how adaptable French cuisine can be, and about the suffering and endurance of a proud people during hard times. I know about how a renowned chef was truly creative and managed a Christmas dinner that must have been quite a treat for wealthy diners, and that at least one other restaurant routinely served equally bizarre dishes. By discovering the history of “my menu,” I have gained a new understanding of life, and of war and survival. During this siege, not even the well-to-do were spared hunger and deprivation.

The City of Light has known some very dark times. The French surrendered to the Prussians in 1871, when the citizens of the city were truly half-starved. I still love the depictions of the animals in their faded watercolor reality. But I will never again look at this menu in quite the same way. And I now view history very differently.

Learn more about the war, the zoo and the dinner.

Also included, between the French and English versions of the historic menu, is a letter to “Dear George,” signed “See you in Boston. Hopefully, Charles.” Perhaps it’s a figment of someone’s imagination. Or not.

Among other things, the letter states: “The Prussian encirclement of Paris is now so complete that no word is getting out except by carrier pigeon or balloon. As the besiegers have become increasingly adept at shooting down the balloons or tracking them to their destinations, the government will probably soon abandon the balloon service.”

It continues with the odd statement: “I think you will enjoy the enclosed Christmas menu from Voisin’s where I dined yesterday. As you can see, hunger forgets squeamishness.”

There are many ways, and many reasons, to celebrate Thanksgiving

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Chasing Sunsets 056

It’s a community of sorts. Loosely knit, perhaps, but the armada of sailors and cruisers that descends on St. Mary’s towards the end of November each year is every bit as much a family as most of those with blood ties.

It’s Thanksgiving that brings this maritime family together in a little town on the river between Georgia and Florida. It’s a time to share stories, good times and good drinks. They arrive each year. They come “home” for the holiday.

St. Mary’s residents have been hosting this gathering for Intracoastal Waterway voyagers since 2001. This year, it begins the Saturday before Thanksgiving, and ends with a pancake breakfast the following Friday. There are other events over the weekend and some of the vessels stay on for a few days. Cumberland Island is nearby; there is much to see and do.

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Newcomers are welcomed by the old-timers with warmth and good cheer, greeted as new friends and immediately inducted into the “family.”

There is a camaraderie that is natural and unforced. The week’s activities center around the Riverside Hotel and its Seagle’s Restaurant and Saloon.  Boaters and townspeople mingle at happy hour, enjoy a chili cook-off  and consume dozens of oysters at a Wednesday afternoon free roast. They drink coffee and other libations, exchange anecdotes and tell tall tales.

Townspeople come to the harbor to meet the “boat people.” They offer “restocking” rides to nearby grocery stores and gift shops and they renew old acquaintances. They come to ask questions about the boats, to hear stories of adventure, to marvel at the hardiness (or the folly) of those who choose the sea over the comforts of land-based homes. Children view the boats with wide-eyed wonder.

Those who arrive early find dock space. Those who come later pick up moorings or drop anchor. There seems always to be enough room. Those who travel the Intracoastal Waterway routinely plan their voyages with a St. Mary’s Thanksgiving in mind. Others happen on the celebration by chance. Still others hear of it, and can’t resist the urge to see if it’s true.

Photo by Tony Alter/Flickr15714052278_913ff71a3c_zIt does not disappoint. Thanksgiving festivities begin along the docks, and drift into town each day. On Thursday, local resident volunteers arrive in the morning with home-cooked turkeys and hams. Side dishes, salads and desserts appear as if by magic, contributed by the boating community. Dinner is served buffet style, beginning just after noon, and it continues until the food disappears. There always seems to be more than enough — of food and friendship.

We pulled in at dusk:  It had been a long and chilly journey.  But fellow cruisers along the waterway had told us it was worth the effort. November is somewhat late for pleasure boats to be traveling on the Intracoastal Waterway, but 2008 was relatively mild, and we encountered few problems other than the loneliness of being alone for Thanksgiving.

How quickly that changed. Although we have not returned, we think of that special Thanksgiving often. It was, indeed, memorable — an event out of all proportion to the size of the town. We filled our stomachs. The experience filled our hearts.

Even old salts find solace in planting their feet firmly on the ground on occasion. This holiday in this town, with these special people, is a unique and lasting gift.Chasing Sunsets 054

All boaters travel on, but they leave satisfied, awed and thankful.

For more information on St. Mary’s, visit the city’s official website.