On Board Again...

January 21, 2008

We are back at this odd life aboard a small boat. We boarded last Wednesday, January 16, having spent the Holidays in Boston and Sioux Falls, SD, in reunion with family and friends. (I put one end of a string on Sioux Falls on a globe at M’s mother’s house to confirm that it is equidistant to any coast, including Hudson Bay, making it the most land-locked of places in North America.) Journey was a bit musty and dirty, but in good shape. Oil is changed, a new head kit installed, refrigeration about repaired (the guy’s supposed to bring a new thermostat today), groceries restocked and we will be watered and fueled today in preparation to cast off tomorrow with a forecast of temperatures in the low 60’s, moderate winds from the east and favorable tides. M has been hoisted up the mast to the height of the spreaders, about mid way, to re-tape their rubber ends that protect the foresail from chafe.

A couple of days after we arrived, two brothers in their early 70’s named Lawson, were on the dock admiring Journey and we got chatting. One retired to Brunswick and said this place is sort of like Key West of the north. They were in a big protest demonstration the night before against expanding the size of the jail in town. Apparently town fathers were against it, but rather suddenly reversed themselves and became for it and the populace is not happy.

I was washing down the boat a little later and another protester from the night before stopped by, a fellow I recognized from last December. Lynn is a retired architect from Houston who has been living aboard his boat with Anne since 2000. For the last several years they have spent summers in Annapolis working for three months on the crew that prepares for the Annapolis Sail Boat Show held in early October. Lynn says he’s on the electrical crew and at 73 is the youngest member. They sail from Annapolis to Brunswick after the show and winter here, having bought three duplexes, rehabbed and rented them. Lynn left and soon Anne showed up, put-out that Lynn hadn’t offered to drive us for groceries, invited us to come for drinks that evening, and drove us to the store the next day. Their rehabbed duplexes are attractive, tiny, old buildings, gaily painted with bright red tin roofs. The units rent for $275 a month!

Brunswick has about 17,000 people, 60% of whom are African-American, and the balance mainly Whites. Thirty percent of the population lies below the poverty line. According to Wikipedia, “Brunswick is considered the most polluted ZIP code in the US. The county is home to seventeen identified hazardous waste sites, six actively polluting industries and four superfund sites.” This undesirable distinction is no doubt due to centuries of chemical, paper, and ship building. So far we have not broken out in rashes.

The main street of Brunswick is Newcastle Street. There is an old Ritz movie theater/now auditorium that had a string quartet playing and hosts other cultural events. There are three good restaurants on main street, a couple of pizza and sub shops, lots of antique and second hand stores, a coffee shop a half block to the side, and a tired Ace Hardware two blocks off.

The other night we were joined at the corner of a restaurant bar by a couple with all the trappings of having just left work late, both in dark suits, and we got to visiting. Turns out that he’s a Georgia boy through and through and she’s his wife and Gal Friday in a law practice begun when he moved from North Georgia to Brunswick more than 20 years ago, a prosecutor turned defense attorney for all kinds, including drug pushers, in support of his deep belief that “all are entitled to a fair trial.” His name is Crow and he told us a former assistant wanted to print-up a business card that said “Before you blow, talk to Crow!” Although we didn’t spot it on our walks, no doubt his office is one of the many old homes converted to law offices that surround the Glynn County Courthouse and the infamous, could-be-expanded, jail.

He and his wife were tired from people “thinking that you can magically solve all of their problems.” The Crows will get relief soon when they head to San Diego to board an “all blues” cruise ship departing from San Diego that is in such demand that they reserved a cabin before the same cruise ended last year. He became animated as he gave a litany of names of blues artists that would be playing nearly 24 hours a day in venues all over the ship. I had no idea who they were, but I thought about Crow and his clients and the people of Brunswick as I listened on the radio the other night to soulful, sad blues that should be heard on a screened-in porch cooled by soft breezes, but instead listened to on Journey with it 40 degrees outside, the electric heater humming, and we again about to cast off – more than lines – as we continue this odd way of being.