It’s been a week of lasts; the last day of employment; last mowing of the lawn; last drive in my old Chevy; last day of cable TV; last letter retrieved from the beat up mailbox across the street; last friendly wave from our neighbors; last night in our big, comfortable bed.

The old Chevy.

We have dozens of plants, our little house is full of them, full of life. They flourish in every window, especially the sun-room. They have stories and names. Grown from cuttings or rescued from inattentive co-workers, I rarely bought. It’s amazing how attached we’ve become. But you see, we’re going on a year-long boat trip so they all have to go. We give away all but the three which will adorn our boat’s interior. It’s okay though, I will begin filling the house with lush greenery as soon as we return. You can bet on it.
We say our good byes to family, friends, and neighbors, cover our lovely Jeeps, take one last look at the land-bound life we have gotten so very good at, and board our new home, Ginger Lee, an old 32 foot Trojan cabin cruiser.

Our neighbors Joe and Bernadette see us off.

On a clear July morning, my wife stands on the fore-deck and looks slowly around at the beauty that is Swifts Neck. The lone Osprey circling overhead does not go unnoticed. My wife is drawn to them more than any other creature. Her spirit animal is tattooed permanently on her fair skin. With a sigh, she unceremoniously drops the mooring lines into the sea. Freedom from land bound rules and rituals has occurred. We lock eyes through the windshield and I find myself mouthing the words “I love you”. We understand each other and the importance of this moment. The seemingly endless Great Loop planning and preparation is over. There is only one last thing to do: enjoy.