Whatever Happened To Lilly?

Today, I am in Oak Harbor, Washington, on Whidbey Island. The Captain and I are on our 2017 Holiday Circuit “down south” (as they say where we live in Alaska), getting ready for our first SIP Holiday Authors Retreat. SIP stands for Summers Island Press, which the Lord directed us to start about two and a half years, ago. It has been quite an intense experience, so far. But at this point we have some lovely “mysteriously different books for children,” as well as an adult imprint known as Lightsmith Publishers (we kept running into wonderful adult stories we thought should be published, too), and another called Wilderness School Press, which deals mostly with the subjects of nature and survival skills for young people.

Coming Soon!

Meanwhile, I've been gone so long from my own writing a lot of people think I must have been lost at sea. Well, we were lost a couple of times on our own great adventure—which started out to be a summer book tour and turned into something else altogether—but we always ended up in some civilized place sooner or later where we could get oriented again. We also learned we could endure quite a few catastrophes without being killed. Something that went a long way toward giving us the courage to start such a big project so late in our lives. It is also reassuring to know that if it was God's project to begin with, He would certainly bring plenty of capable people alongside to handle things when we are gone. To tell you the truth, we're gone quite a bit.

There are always new adventures calling. Which is why my thoughts have turned back to all the wonderful “Armchair Travelers” who enjoyed that first mysterious book tour with us which started everything off. So, whether you are one of my dear readers who joined me last time or someone new who just stopped by...welcome aboard.

Here we go, again!

What I am working on now: Presently working in close collaboration with the mysterious Cousin Summers, an author who writes books for children of all ages. Next release is Book 2 of the Young Heroics series, titled  Spies For Life.

Are We Lost?

There are a lot of definitions for being lost. You can be terribly lost in a strange city if you can't find the particular place you're looking for. You can be frightfully lost in a dessert if you step off the road without a compass and pass the point at which you can still see that road (people have died in similar ways). Lost also pertains to something of value that has gone missing and might never show up, again. On this trip, we have been in all three of those situations, and... guess what?

We are not dead.

Even though we could have been. Many times over.

We have also been in situations where good intentions (even REALLY good intentions) did not count. It has something to do with being relevant, which so many of our reasons for even setting out on such a voyage, were definitely not. Things like not knowing our propeller was in a state of decay even before we left, because we never looked underwater. Of course, we had every intention to. Just as soon as enough money came in to do that thing. Which didn't make one bit of difference when two blades eventually fell off in all those forceful tides and currents we kept plowing through.

At other times, we skimmed over dangerous reefs, bumped over rocks, and flew past places we were sure we couldn't possibly have reached, yet... only to end up somewhere else, instead. In short, we were lost. Really lost, when you consider we were out of radio range, and no longer had any electronics to double check, against. We did have a “red button,” however. Some satellite thing that would alert emergency services anywhere on the globe. It also kept a running account (via little dots) as to where we had been. It was a system we held in reserve for life-and-death situations.

So, why didn't we use it during life-and-death situations? To tell you the truth, we didn't even realize we were in one of those until we got ourselves out of it. As for the dots? We always knew where we were, after we got someplace. What was ahead of us, is what we couldn't always figure out.

Sort of like life.

At one point, we even thought our compass had busted (what next?), because how else could one explain getting so confused all the time? Later, we learned there were areas of “extreme magnetic disturbances” we had to pass through, but we didn't know about that then. Something that didn't make any difference, either (it was irrelevant), because our compass was still effected as we slipped by, whether we knew about those, or not.

Sort of like life.

Now, it has been a long time since I posted a blog. I could tell you it is because I have no computer, no phone, no Internet, no car, and the nearest city is seventy miles away. But that would be irrelevant. I could tell you—for all practical purposes—I am lost without all those things, except that, too, would be irrelevant. I know exactly where I am. On a remote island, in the middle of a rainforest, in a place so expensive it will take months to save up enough money to even fly out of here. Because—like Dorothy, in The Wizard of Oz—we can't get back the way we came. At least, not until next summer, after some major repairs to the Glory B. And more electronics.

I might even go so far as to say my path DID actually converge with my fiction in Stella Madison's plot-line, considering I have personally experienced SeaTrials, a Pushover Plot, being Lost in the Wilderness, and having to use my very Last Resort to even get out of here. All of which could easily be pronounced “irrelevant,” too, because it's all in how you look at it. Almost like faith. There's always some logical explanation for how you could have survived something, even though it only happened after you prayed for help.

The facts are, we made it to our destination, we are not dead (thank you, God), and my Stella Madison Capers are finished (a miracle!). And even though I have sworn never to get myself into these kinds of situations ever, EVER, again, and to forget about trying to “live out” my character's scenarios before offering them up to my readers (whose idea was that?)...

I have heard of an incredible place I could call home (just a rumor, really), that bears looking into before we leave. The only way to get there is by boat, but it isn't too far from here. And considering it might possibly be the next piece in this puzzle of why we ever set off on such a crazy journey in the first place, just to maybe prove (to ourselves) that not only do our dreams actually exist “out there” somewhere, but they have been created especially for us by a loving God... One who might really have that wonderful plan for our life He promised to give us, if only we will trust Him to get us there... Now, I'm thinking, what could it hurt just to look?

We came a long way to look, so we might as well. It's only logical.

Sort of like life.

Slightly Exaggerated...

We came to this town because it seemed a perfect fit for us (according to the guidebooks). When you come in from the water, across a space of wilderness that takes at least two days to get to the nearest place that would commonly be recognized as civilization, you have to make sure of these things. Because nothing is more disappointing than facing cantankerous seas, scouting out anchorages at some wild half-way spot (that aren't harboring dangerous rocks just beneath the surface), then finally pulling into a destination that absolutely couldn't be the one you were looking for. But it is.

By the time we finally got here, I had a mountain of deadlines looming, and some that had already toppled over. A few people even thought I might be dead. Internet at the docks? Well, it was in the works, but the committee voted the cell tower down, again, because of the expense. However there was a library “just up the hill,” where—even if they weren't open—you could still get reception outside the building. Grocery store? Other than a sort of mini-mart, the closest was about eighty miles away.

Considering it would take a two-week camping trip to hike that far—and the return trip with groceries would be as good as a sign on our backs in bear language that read, “VICTIM HERE”... walking it was not an option. Neither was hitch-hiking (although it was tempting), since when we finally did make that trip, we did not meet a single other vehicle on the way, and only a couple returning. So, we reluctantly decided we would have to spend the extra hundred and fifty dollars to rent a car for the day (only suburbans, vans, or trucks available because most roads were only gravel logging roads), and buy an entire winter's worth of food all at once. But, alas... none of them were available. Even though there were five agencies listed in those guidebooks.

The local company was run by a man who also worked for the ferries (everyone does two, or three, jobs to make ends meet around here), so he was gone every other week. We called several times to make a reservation, until someone informed us that his wife was visiting family off-island for a couple of weeks, so there would be no one to answer the phone. And while the other businesses were scattered around the island, our best bet was probably in that town we were trying so hard to get to. But what about that “Rainforest Ferry,” the guidebooks (Who wrote that thing?) said left from here, and ran between Ketchikan, Wrangell, and Petersburg? A new dock was ready and waiting, but they hadn't found the right kind of ferry boat, yet.

All of which was getting frustrating, since we were planning on making a few repairs (something about a leaky shaft seal and a busted motor-mount), before setting out over the big water, again. And why hadn't we been able to find that town fifty miles before this one, that was bigger? We searched over an hour for it, before we had to give up and catch a tide that was favorable, or stay another night “out of touch” after so many. What's up with that? Not only could we not find the town, we couldn't find any “divine footsteps” around there, either. Not then.

Because they were in this town.

So it was, that as the Captain and I were in the middle of our morning prayers (telling the good Lord how much we needed a car, that day), a pastor from Forks, Washington (who had brought a work team up for a week to do Vacation Bible School, or anything else they could help the churches around here with) came down to the boat. He said he needed to go to town, and did we want to ride along? Did we ever! And while it brought us dangerously close to our “choking point” to have to buy so many groceries all at one time, there happened to be an extra ten percent off your whole bill at the grocery store—that day only (What? Whoever heard of such a thing?)—which saved us a considerable heap.

Wonderful fellowship and beautiful scenery, all the way (thank you, Pastor Bob!), and a comforting peace that comes from knowing God is still in control of this “expedition of the Glory B,” even when we doubt it. Somewhere along the line I got the sense I should quit fussing about who wrote the guidebooks, too. Because we were brought here to see something. Not the fact that places might be closed, even though posted hours said they weren't. Shh... be still. Watch, and listen. They are on “island time,” here.

And maybe there's something I need to know about that.

Back in Touch...

We have been traveling through wilderness places for about two weeks, now. Until somewhere in the middle of our last dangerous stretch of big water (known as the Dixon Entrance), we crossed over the boundary line of the U.S. border, again, and were finally in Alaska! Our long-time dream turned to reality. But there was no time for celebrations, just then, other than a very heart-felt, “Praise the Lord!”

Because we were on a time schedule relegated by the tide and winds, moving over a sea that could change from beauty to beast within minutes. We also had a gauntlet to run at the end, which we had no idea about. But it was better that way, since the added stress would have probably been too much at that point. Something about the Lord protecting us from more than we could handle at any given time. At any rate, he had us covered (thank you, God).

It was day two of the commercial salmon season. And while we were picking our way along the coast of many islands, moving in and out of fog patches, and praying the “chop” didn't get any higher than two-to-three feet before we could scurry back into another piece of the Inside Passage, again...there suddenly seemed to be fishing boats spread out from one end of the horizon to the other.

Trying to decide the least crowded place to slip past, we finally got close enough to see that those “blank spaces” were not blank—they were nearly two thousand feet of net spread out behind the back of each boat. So, there really were no blank spaces. Only narrow paths signified by bright orange balls (that disappeared into the chop if it was much over a foot) that one could only pass on the right. Should you fail to notice where that was, there were smaller runner boats that would zoom up in front of you, manned by one, or two crew-members hollering for you to turn back, or go around. And should you come close to actually crossing over the net, the air would turn blue as they clarified themselves more distinctly. We didn't run over any nets (thank heavens!) but we were turned away more than once, in no uncertain terms.

Coming into Ketchikan—our first Alaskan city—was only slightly less mortifying. It was situated on a long narrow channel crowded with cruise ships coming and going, sea planes landing and taking off from every direction, a few tugboats hauling huge barges, and more fishing boats. Oh, yes, and the ferry. Our only consolation was that these northwest people could drive and park boats, no matter what size, with about the same ease as we ordinary folk slip into a parking place at our local shopping centers. But it was still nerve-wracking because we didn't know where to go.

The guidebooks said to call ahead and customs would tell you where (there were at least four different docking areas in view, all full-to-bursting with commerce). But we didn't have a phone. Because I, um... dropped it into the harbor back in Canada. We did have a VHF radio turned to the appropriate channel, but the officials on the other end weren't answering theirs.

In the end, we tied up at the first empty place we could fit in, and the customs agent came to us. Everyone was friendly, more than helpful, and incredibly laid-back. It took two days to catch our breath and figure out the next step. Because a phone call to the Wrangell harbor (which had been our goal), placed from the local grocery store, revealed there was no place for us there (for at least two years), and no place to anchor out, either. So, back to the guidebooks, to devise a “plan B.”

Which is how we came to discover a little (very little, only 165 people here) town on a very huge Prince of Wales Island (fourth largest in the U.S.), where they not only had room for us, but it was even affordable. It was only about seventy-five miles away, across the notorious Clarence Strait, where a good day means anything under three feet of chop, less than twenty knots of wind, and visibility at least half a mile (due to the persistent “patchy” fog that lives there). A good day just happened to be coming up for us, the very next morning.

So it was that we scurried into Coffman Cove, two days later, mere minutes ahead of yet another patch of fog and changing currents, to finally tie up at a lovely little marina for some much-needed rest, relaxation, and repairs, after our very long voyage over hundreds of miles. Which I will tell you more about during the next couple of weeks, as we start to explore this island. But considering I just heard there are old gold mines here (one of which is under speculation to be commercially reactivated)...

Good heavens, I'm feeling better, already.

So, let the adventures begin.

Finally!

Door to the Wilderness...

“After the uproar had ceased... they sailed on... and sailed on...and sailed on...” 

Taken from somewhere in Acts, when we flipped open our Bible for a bit of encouragement, during a particularly despairing moment. It was a moment that we couldn't imagine how we could ever “sail on” from there. And, yet...

Today, we had the most perfect day of traveling since we replaced the propeller. There have been others, but they were heaped with hazards. Strong winds (blowing right on our nose, so we couldn't make use of them in such narrow places), choppy seas, and swift-running currents that mixed and swirled, and felt something like slipping on a patch of ice in a car—only in slow motion—when you ran over them. A couple times, we had to pull off into some cove and wait for things to change, as we were making no headway, at all. Once, when the weather reports were bad, we waited two days before moving on.

It was in a lovely place called Beaver Cove, where we were tucked in behind a little island, surrounded by mountains and pine trees just before the end of Vancouver Island (which is around 300 miles long). We anchored there, in about a hundred feet of water, and listened to the wind roar through the trees above us, but felt little of it snuggled into our protected place. A few other boats found their way there, as well. From here on, the towns will get fewer and farther between, giving us the sense we are finally at the door of the wilderness.

Today, it was a special blessing to find the water of that notorious Johnstone Strait, smooth as a pond (just for us?), all the way to the end (thank you, Lord!). So, it was a nice reprieve from the stress and disasters of the last few weeks. And, at last, we are “sailing on,” just as the scriptures implied. Even though we couldn't see how it could be done before. Another miracle the Captain can write down in the log of the Glory B. Along with what we like to call our “miracle of the tools.” People have been literally coming down to the boat with tools for us to use, just when we needed them.

Like when we were on that remote grid, hours away from any town, and the two men who were with us (who knew a lot about boats) said the propeller wasn't going to fit. That we would have to get another one (at a cost of $400) and have it flown out to us by sea plane (I can't even imagine how much that would be). Because our propeller didn't need to just be widened, it needed to be tapered. So, the Captain and I said a prayer. Not long after that, a man who lived in a boat across the bay, drove over in his dinghy with an assortment of tools we might be able to use. One of which was a rat-tail file... with a taper! And it worked.

Or, on the next grid, when the man who owned the marine store, came down with a special pulling tool to get it off, again. Then there was the matter of a certain L-n wrench that we dropped in the water at the worst possible time, and another man brought one over from his shop. All of which makes me think of Noah and the Ark, when the Lord brought in the animals, because it would have been almost impossible for him to go out and get them, himself, at that particular time. But it especially encourages me that God has no problem getting anyone from point A to point B. He actually specializes in that sort of thing.

Now, tomorrow, we will head for a place called Port Hardy, where we will say good-bye to the lovely and amazing Vancouver Island, and get ready to cross a stretch of “big water” before catching the next set of inside passageways north, again. We will wait for favorable conditions, and get across in one day. But they aren't quite as scary as they used to be, considering some of the things we've been through, already. Probably the effects of that extra training we were in need of before we took this gigantic project on. Even so...

Getting all the way to the end will be a miracle.

 

NOTE: Today is publication day (finally!) for THE PUSHOVER PLOT, Stella Madison Caper #4. Another miracle (I lost the files and had to write it all over again), which I will tell you about next time. However, I will say that our paths have definitely converged...

Only Believe...

We have gotten into a lot of trouble in our lives, simply because of the things we have chosen to do. Up to now, our philosophy has been that there are troubles to deal with everywhere, so we might as well be doing what we enjoy as we go along, rather than something we don't. And—after many years—we still feel that way.

In the early days, our troubles were mostly self-induced. Inexperience here, a wrong choice there... and suddenly we would end up in a rainstorm we had created all by ourselves. But as we got older, the storms got fewer and farther between, and we even learned a great many “survival ticks” along the way. The most important being that God will always do what He says. Always.

Walking around in the Kingdom of God on earth (which is really what we Christians are doing here) is like being an ambassador in a foreign country. You live in that country, but are paid by your own, and are not subject to the laws of their land. In fact, your embassy (the place where you live) is even considered the soil of your own native country. According to international law, it becomes a place of protection that the host country may not violate. Occasionally, there are wars and casualties, and—depending on political relationships—you might even be asked to leave. But that's how it works.

All that to say our “currencies of exchange” are vastly different. In the Kingdom of God, it is promises. Not that we don't use money (you need to exchange your currency for theirs in order to do business, here), we just get it a different way. We get it by having faith (or trust) that God will do what He says. He will keep His promises. That's how it's worked for us all these years. People look at our lives and think we are either very smart, or total idiots. But the thing about living in the Kingdom of God is that it doesn't matter which of those you are. You are still a citizen, covered by all the rights and privileges that go along with it. At least, that's how I look at it. It helps me to have something I can relate to in order to hang my faith on.

However, I can't tell you the “whys and hows” of exactly how God does all this. Which is why I have resorted to simply making a list (or, an account) of everything He has done for us, and let people decide for themselves. When catastrophes began to happen on this trip (they came in bunches), we did not see a way out. We were in spots we simply couldn't get out of by ourselves. Yet, I knew God would show up, eventually, and straighten things out, and promised to tell you all about it when He did. So, here's the current list:

At our third stop after the border, where we were going to restock and refuel, there were no funds waiting for us because our renters skipped out without telling us, and left the place a disaster. To go back and fix it up would have taken all the funds we needed to get to Alaska. So, we turned that situation over to the Lord. Answer: Within two weeks, it was rented to someone who didn't have enough funds for a deposit, but was willing to clean it up for a fully refundable one. Everyone was happy. Extra Blessing: The neighbor who was showing the house for us discovered the new lady was a woman she had prayed with and taken care of in the hospital where she worked, and the two were overjoyed at the thought of being neighbors.

While we were waiting for the above situation to resolve, the Captain discovered two blades missing off our prop. Oddly enough, the repair for that was going to cost... the amount of funds we needed to get to Alaska. We turned that situation over to the Lord. Answer: There happened to be a usable propeller in the corner of a shed at the local boatworks, at a price of $75 instead of $400. 

An islander the Captain made friends with knew of a grid (a place with a cement slab and pier to tie up to that leaves you “high and dry” to work on the boat between tides) we could use for free instead of another $400. It was four hours away and we had no engine, but he towed us behind his boat, stayed overnight, and helped us work on ours (thank you, Dave!).  

Extra Blessing: It was the cutest little ghost town of a community, with boardwalks between the buildings, of the sort I was looking for (but couldn't imagine) for a certain group of people I am writing about who are on their way to one of those. I would have missed it if we hadn't gone there specifically, as it was not on the same route we were originally taking.

There's more, but this post is getting too long, so I will add to the list on the end of the next one. And the next one, and the next one, until there aren't any more “divine interventions” to report. But something tells me that will never happen.

Thank heavens!

Changing Hands...

Putting things into God's hands is like your company being sold and a new CEO comes in. There are a lot of changes that have to be dealt with, most of which are uncomfortable. Simply because that's not how you would have chosen, if it was still up to you. Only it isn't. So, while we were waiting for the dust to settle on the rental emergency back home...

We decided to take advantage of the “layover time” and get a few things done on the boat we still wanted to do. Which is how the Captain happened to be busy scraping the barnacles off the bottom (only as far as he could reach with a brush on the end of a pole, while floating alongside in the dinghy), when he looked down into the clear water and noticed there were two blades missing off our propeller. No wonder we were making such little headway against those strong currents!

Thinking back, we knew just when it had happened. Somewhere near the end of the Georgia Strait (after two days out on that big water), we began to feel an unusual vibration that hadn't been there before. We hadn't bumped or run into anything, so we figured the bearings might be wearing out on the shaft... something else to check on when we finally got the Glory B hauled out to paint the bottom. Which we had every intention of doing. In fact, we made (and had to cancel) reservations to do that several times in different places along the way. This last time, as recently as the rental uproar.

What a wonderful boat we have to get us to a safe harbor (with the help of angels, I'm sure) on only one prop blade. But goodness, what an unexpected expense this is going to be! Not unexpected to our new CEO, however, who already knew beforehand the thing had been wearing away from years of neglect, and that this area around the town of Campbell River (just across the bay from our little cove) is the last good place for parts and hauling out for hundreds of miles. Not to mention the currents will be stronger, weaving through all the islands scattered in front of us during the next leg of our voyage.

Which is why I am seriously considering writing a boater's manual on what NOT to do, when preparing for a cruise. I figure if there had been one of those handy, we could have saved ourselves a majority of the troubles we have encountered, so far. Of course, we have read piles of the ones that tell you what should be done, and felt we had pretty much everything we needed for a day's journey. Which is all the farther we ever planned to go at one time.

So, we are back to following “God's footsteps,” instead of trudging through unfamiliar territory on our own limited intuitions. Which can be deceiving at the most inopportune times, simply because they spring out of your very own brains. Myself, I can imagine any number of ways to do something—most of which turn out to be wrong. Sad but true.

At any rate, we are now on a hunt for a propeller to fit our near fifty-year-old boat, and the means to get it put on there. But we're not too worried. The Lord has a lot of people in this town, many of whom are experts. One of the reasons I'm sure we ended up in this particular place. To fix something a lot more important than just having enough gas in our tank to move on.

Story of life, isn't it.

Hello From the Glory B!

Quadra Island, Canada

June 12, Aboard the Glory B

Well, an entire week has gone by since I last checked in, dear readers, and much has happened since then. To begin with, the engine is running beautifully, as long as we don't push the RPMs and remember to keep her hydrated (she's fifty years old). We made the border crossing with no problems (Praise the Lord!), got our official "visitor number," and ran up our courtesy Canadian flag. After which, we set our sails to head north along the east side of beautiful Vancouver Island.

Which is a huge island, about 300 miles long. Our first right of passage was a little dog-leg stretch called the Dodd Narrows. The current runs through there at around nine knots, and considering we only make five, you can see how we needed a slack tide to even attempt it. There were other sailboats waiting for the right conditions, too, along with a couple of small motorboats that shot right through, without waiting at all, because they had more than enough power to back them up.

Still, it was like a fast-moving shallow river, with rocks on both sides, close enough to spit over the rails and hit them. But we made it through at about two knots (think mph, it's easier), with only a few slippery moments. Whew! Then on to our first port on Vancouver, which was the city of Nanaimo. Big City. 

We stayed an extra day because the marine radio said there was going to be gale-force winds out on the Strait of Georgia, the next day, and we were at the door. We needed to go nearly a hundred miles on that big water. The locals said, it would be no problem, as long as we stayed off it whenever there was wind. This because it is not like the ocean.

On the ocean, when there is wind, you get big swells. I don't like those, but at least you can sail up and over them. In tighter places like the Strait of Georgia, you can get eight foot seas roaring with hardly any space in between, and it can be very dangerous. So, we decided to listen to the radio everyday and stick with the fair weather. Which is why we made that long transit (took us three more days) with fair winds and following seas. That is, light airs to fill the sails, and water ripples that are headed in the same direction.

Eight to ten hours a day, and because it was our first week of that many hours of wind, sun, and motoring; we didn't do much more than eat and sleep between times. Especially with the added concerns of traveling through unknown (to us) territory. Ah, but I am happy to report that we are adjusting more each day, and actually beginning to talk and think, again, too. So, the Captain says we are looking at two weeks to Alaska, from here, if we don't have to wait out much bad weather. Internet will be harder to come by after this (I thought it was hard, already), but I will do my best to find some.

Meanwhile, we are resting up a bit here in a lovely little cove on Quadra Island, across from the large city of Campbell River, before we continue on into Discovery Passage. I don't know what's ahead, but I don't like the names on this part of the map. Things like Whirlpool Rapids, Desolation Sound, Blind Channel, Dent Rapids, Race Passage, etc. So, if you think of us before you fall asleep at night, please say a prayer that we have made it to a safe harbor to drop anchor in. Because God hears every one of those--indeed, He does--and we have definitely felt His hand on us during a couple of close calls, already.

And what a wonderful feeling that is! We'll share it with you as we continue to pray for all the prayer requests that are coming in to us, via the prayer list box on the sidebar of this blog. So, until next week, or before, fair winds and God's blessings on all of you, fellow travelers!

PS... Stella Madison is still ahead of us, but we should be catching up with her, anytime. Coming in July is The Pushover Plot. Oh, dear... now what has she gotten herself into?

NOTE: Blogger comments are not working on any of my blogs, but I will try to fix that before next time. But many thanks to all of you, who I know are "traveling with us."

Breaking Away…

It's hard to break away from one thing and start doing another. For a long time, I thought this was some quirk in my own personality: that I was a person who didn't like change. But I do. Or I wouldn't want to go adventuring all the time.

Then I thought it came from being too intense, or tenacious, or not wanting to quit a thing until it's finished. Which could be true, but that's not limited to certain personality types, either. Never was this more obvious to me than when we went camping with the "littles," last week.

First of all, no one wanted to go camping. They had bikes to ride, TV to watch, and friends to play with. They were too busy. So, we decided on one day at the beach, and if no one liked it, we would come right back. Agreed.

To make a long story short, no one wanted to come back. We stayed for days, digging, playing, building campfires, eating s'mores… all the typical stuff. Even the youngest (3) said he wanted to stay there forever. Which leads me to the conclusion that being outside, in some kind of natural surroundings, does something to people. No matter how little they are.

And it's a good thing, too, because it is always accompanied by a certain result. Everyone calms down. Without even being told. Then after awhile, an incredible contentment envelops them. I like to think of it as a "hug from God." Something that seems to happen to anyone who ventures into that wonderful "territory" He made especially for us. Maybe it's left over from that garden He walked often with Adam in.

Which is probably why I like living on the water so much. And why I could never criticize the "littles" for not wanting to go home. Because if you would ask me the same question--right now-- as I sit here at anchor in a beautiful bay on a rainy afternoon, waiting for my bread to come out of the oven--I feel like I could stay here forever. Then, again, I've been saying that about everywhere, lately.

So, let the adventuring continue… it's great to be back on the GLORY B!