The Adventures of Green Eyes, Little House on the Erie

    

     I'm beginning to feel like we live on the Erie Canal. For the second time in twenty days, in our tiny house on the water, our 26 foot long, 9.5 feet wide tugboat named Green Eyes, we are trapped between two locks on the Erie Canal. 

      Upstate New York has seen massive amounts of rain this summer. Then water levels rise, and logs begin to float down the Mohawk River, the waterway that makes up the Erie Canal. Trees and debris clog locks, drag buoys off their marks, and bend boat propellers. The New York Canal Corporation, the body that oversees management of all the canals in New York including the Erie, halts all river traffic and closes the locks until barges with huge cranes can clear the canal and make it safe to navigate again. Locks can be closed for a day, a few days, a week, or longer. It has happened a lot this season. We heard that in 2018, several boats were stuck inside a lock for six weeks.

    

     The first time it happened to us was while we were inside Lock 11 near Amsterdam, New York. It was our first lock of the day and we had only come a few miles up river before entering the lock. The current was strong and as we approached the lock, we could see that water was raging over the dam. Green Eyes bounced and shuddered over standing waves. From the helm, Scott cursed and dodged logs that appeared out of nowhere and came perilously close to the boat or propeller. The current pushed us forward and back and sideways. Scott propelled Green Eyes into the lock at full speed. Once inside the lock chamber, he slammed the throttle into reverse to prevent us from crashing into the chamber wall. We pulled up along the wall and grabbed on to ropes that hang from the top of the lock. The doors shut behind us, and the water began to fill the lock. Just before the doors were about to open, the lock keeper came to the boat and said, "Sorry folks. Due to high water and dangerous currents, the canal is closed. Exit the lock and pull up to the wall above the lock. You can stay there until the canal re-opens."

     There were bollards and rings to tie to, and there were three electrical pedestals along the wall. "At least we have power," Scott said as we secured the boat with dock lines. 

     I looked around me. There were worse places to be stuck. The river fronted a small city park. There was a half acre of recently mowed grass. A picnic table sat under a large tree. Beyond the park were railroad tracks, and a commercial section of Main Street. The lock itself, and the Lock 11 office, sat about a seven minute walk behind the boat. "We also have a lot of geese," I said. "I count at least sixty."

    

     The lock keeper was kind enough to let us use his shower and toilet during business hours, 7:00 to 5:00. Given our small capacity holding tank, which has a maximum of twenty-two flushes before things hit the fan, I made certain dietary adjustments. Good bye granola for breakfast, hello cheese quesadillas. Nonetheless, we were still at the door to the office when Mark arrived each morning at 6:30 a.m. 

     There were two really great Italian Restaurants within walking distance, and our favorite ice cream, Stewarts, was but an eight minute bike ride away. (Scott was a prince and rode back from Stewarts one day with two bags of ice in his backpack.) All in all, not a bad place to be stuck. Except for the geese. The average adult Canadian Goose consumes about four pounds of grass in a day and they poop around every twelve minutes resulting in up to two pounds of poop per day per goose. When we commented on the number of geese in the flock, Mark cheerily said, "Yep. They stay here the entire season." The grass and path to the lock office were covered in poo ranging in size from Tootsie Roll to small cigar. 

We were stuck at Lock 11 for eight days. One day of dodging goose poo several times a day is fine, but eight days is too much poo. It smelled like a horse stable, but not in the the way when you're invited to go for a horseback ride and you walk in to the stable, inhale deeply and exclaim, "Oh boy! I'm going for a horsey ride!" It was more like when you walk into a stable that no one has mucked in a year. It was cloying. No matter how careful we were, it got on the deck of the boat. It got in the boat. Even Pika was offended.

     The lock keeper ended up letting three more boats through the lock that first day, so we had the company of other boaters, which was nice. If only one of us had a broom. There was no water where we were tied up so we couldn't hose it down either.

     We never knew when the canal would re-open. But every morning we were up and ready to go by 5:30, only to be told, "Maybe tomorrow." 

     On the eighth day, the locks finally re-opened. "Let's get as far as we can today," Scott suggested as he cast off and I drove us away from the wall.  We went through six locks that day, some three miles apart, some ten miles apart. And "locking through" each lock takes time, especially with four to five boats in each lock. Boats enter one at a time and nothing happens until the last boat is secure. It's not stressful, usually, but it can be tiring doing multiple locks in one day.

     At Lock 17, the tallest lift on the Erie Canal, because of the way the lock filled with water, boats could only use the port-side ropes. So that we could all fit, we had to raft to Lee and Katie's boat, a Nimble Nomad.

After the doors were shut, the water rose 40', which took around 45 minutes. We exited the lock, not in a mood to cruise any more that day. Just around the first bend, we spied Little Falls Harbor. We didn't even have to discuss it. We were tired. Little Falls beckoned. It had a short floating dock and a long-ish fixed concrete wall. Inside a tidy, well-lit building was a laundry room, clean restrooms, and an air-conditioned lounge. There was power and water right next to the boat. We were glad we stopped. But later, over sundowners on the aft deck, while we watched storm clouds build, Scott said, "Maybe we should have gone further like the other boaters did. What if they close the locks again?" I looked from the sky to some smooshed goose poo on the gunwale and said, "What ever happens, I'm not moving from this dock until I scrub this boat from bow to stern." And in the morning, scrub I did. Wash, rinse, repeat. Then I scrubbed the bedroom carpet and I washed the wood floors. I did laundry. I washed Pika's bed. I washed everything in site until I could no longer detect a whiff of goose poo. And then, they closed the locks again. So far, we've spent five days at Little Falls Harbor waiting for the canal to re-open.

     We made good use of our time during both lock-downs. While at Lock 11, we rented a panel van in Schenectady.  It was the only vehicle available in a forty mile radius.

We took a long drive along the Erie Canal and stopped at towns and museums we wouldn't get to visit from the water, and we stopped at some of the original 1800's hand-dug Erie Canal locks.

We drove to Burlington, Vermont to pick up mail that had been delivered after we had left Lake Champlain, and we visited Fort Ticonderoga where oxen, and kids in costumes looked like they would keel over from the heat at any moment. 

It was great to have a vehicle to drive over the mounds of goose turds, instead of walking on them.We drove to Target and did laundry at a laundromat with other boaters.  One day, I even got a pedicure at a place in a shopping center next to Walmart. "Do you want to get a pedicure too Scott?"

     "No. I do not want any of that nastame stuff."

     "Nastame? Do you mean Namaste? What an instructor says after yoga?" 

     "Yeah. I don't want any of that." 

     "But you loved it when we did yoga together at the Y. And remember in Colombo, Sri Lanka? We got those leg massages on that super hot day? You loved it."

     "Yeah, but the yoga at the Y smelled of sweat and basketballs, not pretentious or lavender-scented. And as far as a pedicure goes, it would feel weird to have a strange woman rubbing my legs. That foot massage in Sri Lanka, well it wasn't weird. They were guys and they sat on the stools like a shoe salesmen would. And I remember it was a Dr. Scholl's place. It felt... scientific, not indulgent." So, while Scott, with all his testosterone, shopped for supplies for the boat, I walked in to see if they had time for a quick pedi. 

     All the mani-pedi salons I've seen the world over are usually staffed by capable women, mostly from Vietnam. But this one had no female mani-pedicurists. They were all men. They were from China and they spoke no English, except to say, "Pick color." All I can say is that it was very weird. I felt the way I imagined Scott would have felt if a strange woman were massaging his legs. It was discombobulating. Not scientific-y at all. Certainly not relaxing. I didn't know where to look and I couldn't engage in conversation except to say, "No color." So it was a silent, uncomfortable experience.

     In Little Falls, we take walks into town for breakfast or groceries or to look at one of the seven or eight churches they have within a five block radius.

There are three other boats stuck in Little Falls too so we get together for sundowners or delivery pizza. It's pretty here. It's a gazillion times better than the wall above Lock 11 and there are no geese. We can watch the water rise and fall through the day and wonder if the locks will open tomorrow. At night, Scott and I massage each others feet. It's not weird. 

     The other day we walked by a yoga studio in Little Falls. "Hah! Now THIS is my kind of yoga," Scott exclaimed. "Look at the poster, 'Inhale the good shit. Exhale the bullshit.'" 

      Wishing you a goose-free life and Nastame from the crew of Green Eyes, living on the Erie Canal.

Adventures of Green Eyes: Guns, Germs, and Keels

                                                        GUNS, GERMS, AND KEELS

      GUNS

     What do guns have to do with the Great Loop? Nothing. Except when there is a need to rent a car to run errands, sight see, or visit friends. Depending where you are when you need to rent a car, guns can affect your day. The first time was when we rented a car from Enterprise in Tennessee. 

     The great thing about Enterprise is that they will pick you up at the marina and take you to the office. On this occasion, Steven delivered us to the rental office then offered us a free upgrade from the cheapo economy option we had reserved. Steven was a recent graduate of Bible school who, upon being offered a job with Enterprise, broke up with his hometown girlfriend and moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee. He told us all about it during the drive to the office.

     "How would you like to have a convertible Camaro for the day?" he asked with a good-deed glow in his eyes. 

     Knowing this would probably be my only chance to have a free upgrade to a convertible Camaro in my life, I said, "Would I! Would I!" while doing my Happy Dance. But in Tennessee's humidity, it was more of a Happy Shuffle.

    Steven smiled. "I'll be right back. I just need to run it through the wash." As Steven disappeared through a side door, I whispered to Scott, "See? You always complain that I talk to everyone. But you know I enjoy connecting with people, right?" 

"Uh huh," said Scott. "You connected so much for such a short car ride."

      "Well, I think it made Steven feel good that I, a total stranger, affirmed his decision to break up with Beth and move away from his family, friends, and all he holds dear to begin a career with Enterprise Rent A Car in another state...." Steven returned and Scott rolled his eyes at me. 

     "I'm so sorry. I can't give you that car," Steven said with disappointment. "We found a gun in it so now we have to lock the car and call the police. Let's see... How about a small truck?"

     Had we heard right? "A GUN? Someone forgot to take their GUN out of their rental car?" Scott asked in disbelief.

     Steven chuckled. "I know, right? I would definitely remember if I had my gun with me. You wouldn't believe how much it happens. So, how about that truck?"

     "But, what if you hadn't found it?" I asked. "What if I found it while reclining the seat, or putting a map in the glove box, or wherever it is that people keep guns in a rental car? Or what if I didn't find it and then you found it when we returned the car? Then you'd think it was OUR GUN."

     "We search the cars thoroughly when we clean them. Like I said, it happens a lot."

     We took the truck, which was not one iota as much fun as a convertible Camaro.

     (When I told my Brooklyn comedy-writer niece Clare this story she responded, "Leave the gun, take the Camaro" which really made me wish I'd thought of that.)

     The second time it happened was in Alabama. When we arrived at the Enterprise desk, we told the story about the time that, but for a gun, I would have had a Camaro for a day. 

     "Oh my gosh! Isn't it just the weirdest thing?" Blond-haired, blue-eyed Kelly exclaimed. "I just moved here from San Diego, California and it was one of the first things they taught us in training. About the protocol when a gun is found, I mean.  It's mind boggling how many times we find a gun in the car when it's returned. I mean, I think I would remember if I had a GUN."

    GERMS

Tris with her niece Clare O'Kane

     Germs, of course, refers to Covid. Yes, we are still cruising in the time of Covid. But compared to last summer, since vaccinations have begun, things are a lot different on the Great Loop. We hardly see anyone wearing a mask. In New Jersey however, folks are still in the thick of it and mostly everyone masks up. I even got yelled at by a very grouchy harbormaster when I sat on a lounge chair next to the marina pool waiting for my laundry to finish drying in Cape May. 

     "You can't sit there. It's because of the Covid. We don't have time to disinfect the chairs after someone sits on them, ya know." I could tell he was tired. We're all tired. None of us has the energy to use one more damn Lysol Disinfecting Wipe on one more damn surface. But there is something other than Covid cleaning fatigue going on. The often uttered promises, "Boy, when I'm vaccinated, I'm going to hug EVERYONE. I'm going to see all my friends and family and all my friends' families too! I'm going to look up my old high school teachers and HUG them. I'm going to eat out every night in a RESTAURANT. I'm going to go to a BAR!" are falling a little flat. Gatherings seem subdued. Some people even seem a bit agoraphobic. We are not the social animals we were 18 months ago. Things have changed. We've changed. We've been through this thing, this global collective experience, and we should be changed by it. There's been lockdown. And loss. From my own unscientific observations of marinas and towns within a one mile walking distance of whichever slip Green Eyes is in for the night, people are taking the social hour in ten minute increments. Me too. I used to love nothing better than a party. Now, even the thought of socializing exhausts me. Talking makes me tired. Rearranging my face to affirm, "I am very interested in your story of how you dented your prop (your windy anchorage experience, the good Chinese buffet you found...") after a year of rolling out of bed and onto the couch to pet the cat and having no real need or energy in making my face or hair look polite, well, you try it. It's not that easy to go from lockdown to loquacious. I like staying home, be it ashore or afloat. I most love being with two beings; Scott and Pika. And my family. And friends. And Elephants. And well okay I pretty much love all beings. But quiet crosswords and kitties make me happy.

I've forgotten how to "pace myself." We recently attended a renowned annual three-day Looper Event which is an excuse for other folks doing the Great Loop to get together to drink and share stories. This particular multi day Looper Event was a Pig Roast at Donovan's Shady Harbor Marina in New Baltimore New York.  The pre-parties that led up to the main event -- bottomless mimosas with the Looper Ladies, happy hours, bocce ball competitions, rum and vodka tasting, boat tours, boat blessings-- were so exhausting and fun I couldn't even make it to the main event. No pork for me! I know I'll eventually get back into the swing of things. But it won't be like it was. And that's okay. 

Blessing of the boats.

     KEELS

     Keels. Boat keels. Although, officially, we have a hull, not a keel. Sailboats have keels. But I wanted to keep it alliterative, borrowing the title of this blog post from a book we are listening to as we cruise, Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond, which is an excellent book about everything or, "... the theory of geographic determinism, the idea that the differences between societies and societal development arise primarily from geographical causes." And no, we don't fall asleep at the helm while listening. Anyway, about keels. What I most like about keels, or hulls, is what's written on them. Ours says Green Eyes. We did not pick the name. But it suits us and it suits the boat well.

Unfortunately, the home port below the name reads Sabine Pass, Texas, which is where we bought the boat, but which does not suit us. We have our new home port decal, Santa Cruz, California, (chosen because it's the closest harbor to our home and it makes us feel like we are on a surfin' safari.) But getting the old letters off involves a heat gun and patience and last time I looked, neither of these can be found in the tool drawer on board. Did I say drawer? My husband, the Captain, sees our entire boat as a small tool shed. I still see it as a cozy cottage or a HDTV Tiny House. But there's always a screwdriver blocking my view. Back to keels. I like what's written on boats because it says something about the occupants. The word "knot" is used a lot. Knot on Call is owned by a retired doctor. Knot in a Hurry is owned by a couple who just finished the Loop in record time. Others are: Knot Too Late, Knot Working, Knot Bad, Knot Real, Moor Often Than Knot, Knot Shore, Knot For Sail, Why Knot, Knot Guilty... the list goes on. Or knot. Other whimsical names are Sea Senor, Cirrhosis of the River, Water You Lookin' At? and The Codfather. ( See how I fit two Godfather references in one post?)

     Except for that little El Toro sailboat we had for awhile that my niece Briget and I named Emilio, Scott and I have never named, or renamed a boat. We named our Land Rover, which lives in Africa, Ndoto because I am so annoyingly transparent. It's Swahili for Dream.

The first boat we had that we didn't name was a 40' Wharram catamaran. We owned it back in the early '80s when catamarans were considered weird. Her name when we bought her was Different Drummer, which suited us to a T. With Scott's brother Brian, Scott and I sailed her from Santa Cruz to Hawaii in 21-days, in younger and skinnier times. Like Green Eyes and Ndoto, she was simple, yet dependable, just the way we like my surroundings. 

And that's the news from the crew of Green Eyes, the 26' Nordic Tug that suits us three to a T. 

 

My new book is out!

 

     My third book, two short stories about traveling aboard the historic MV Liembe on Lake Tanganyika, and helping a small village build a footbridge in Zambia, is now available in print and eBook. It's currently the Kindle #1 new release in Southern African Travel!

 

     I know I've mentioned this before, but the greatest compliment you can give an author is a good review. If you read and enjoy these two uncommon stories set in Africa, I hope you consider reviewing Dancing Bridge on Amazon or on the website where you purchased the book.

 

 What's next?

   

    Our latest adventure is aboard a Nordic Tug named Green Eyes. On this tiny 26' boat, a crew of three (me, my husband, and the ship's cat, Pika) is circumnavigating America's Great Loop, a circumnavigation of the eastern U.S., and part of Canada.  The 6000 mile route includes the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, the Hudson River, the Canadian Canals, the Great Lakes, the inland rivers, and the Gulf of Mexico to Florida. Wind, weather, tides, and currents dictate how long the trip will take, but for us, it will probably be two years. So far, we've completed around 1400 miles.

 

     In the meantime, I hope you enjoy being back in Africa with us on The Dancing Bridge of Kamunjoma.

 

 

The Great Loop Map by AGLCA

Be well,

Teresa

Poll Watching in Mississippi for the 2020 Election

 

What was it like being a poll watcher in Columbus MS in 2020? Overall, incredibly inspiring.

A month before the election, we signed up to be volunteer poll watchers in Columbus Mississippi. We received a 52-page manual and had two hours of training via ZOOM. Stacey Abrams opened the training with a pep talk on Democracy, fair elections free of voter suppression, and a hopeful message for the future.

The closer I came to election day, the more anxious I became. Mississippi is one of the states that doesn't allow early voting (the others are Connecticut, Kentucky, Missouri, New Hampshire, and South Carolina), so lines were expected to be long. The other reason I felt anxious was that Mississippi is an open carry state. Given all the protests, some of which turned violent leading up the election, I wasn't all that excited about being around people who might feel it necessary to bring a gun with them as they exercised their right to vote.

I watched the news from some early voting states. They showed "Trump Trains" blocking freeways and roads, and Proud Boys and others intimidating and bullying voters.  I hoped we wouldn't encounter those folks on election day in Columbus. Part of our duties were to help ensure that everyone who wanted to vote was able to vote free from intimidation, so I was hoping for no political drama.

The polling site we were assigned to was a gymnasium in a middle-class neighborhood. Picture a basketball court where Zumba and Yoga classes are held. There were four check-in tables with three poll workers, all woman, at each table. Two poll managers, also women, kept things running smoothly. They were cool, calm, and collected. Three gentlemen and one woman manned the doors and directed voters to check-in. Voters were then shown to one of twelve machines along the back wall of the gym. "Stop the Spread" decals were spaced six feet apart on the floor beginning at the free throw line. And, since this was voting in the time of Covid, everyone wore masks. We brought cookies and water for the poll workers. But the poll manager, Lavonne, told me later, "We sure do appreciate y'all bringing cookies. But most of us are diabetic so we can't eat them.  We'll pass them out to voters though, so we sure do thank you."

The total number of poll workers at the precinct was twenty-one, around half were White, and half Black. Ninety-five percent of voters were Black. Most were women; a few brought their children along to watch the process and to get an I VOTED! sticker on the way out. There were quite a few handicapped or disabled voters. Every one of them came unaccompanied.  It was excruciating watching them make their way unassisted with canes, or walkers, slowly towards the check-in tables. We were not allowed to approach voters, unless they were 200 feel away from the building, but we were surprised that the staff didn't offer to help, or that even other voters didn't offer assistance. One reason might have been Covid. People were doing a good job of keeping to themselves and staying six feet apart. I was moved that these folks showed up to vote, even though it was quite a hard thing for them to do physically.

Most voters were dressed in casual Coronavirus clothing. Some wore pearls. Mississippi is a state as Red as they come. But that day, for whatever reason, it felt Blue. I can't explain why it felt that way. It wasn't just the pearls. People seemed proud, not angry or fearful. 

We watched a little over 1000 people vote. Everyone, every single voter, every single poll worker, was polite, patient, and mask-wearing. They all seemed to have "Gettin' 'er done" attitudes.

One of our duties was to take a walk outside regularly to check for "voter suppression" or the like, but peace and quiet reigned the day. One neighbor had signs in his yard proclaiming, “The End is  Nigh!” but other than that, there were no political signs anywhere.

While the machines were in almost constant use, there was hardly ever a line to vote at our polling site. Most folk took around five minutes to complete their ballot. Other than a tick for the office of President, Mississippians had three big initiatives to decide; Compassionate healthcare with access to medical marijuana, eliminating the Jim Crow electoral vote requirement in their Constitution that was designed to prevent African Americans from being elected statewide, and a new state flag. All three passed.

I can't adequately describe how good being a fly on the wall of Democracy in Columbus Mississippi felt on November 3, 2020. All voting sites should be run so well. I expect that all over the country, they were. Whoever wins, I feel better about the future of our country after meeting such considerate, conscious, kind Americans.

 November 3, 2020

 

UPDATE: 

Here's part of the letter I received the next day from Mississippi Voter Protection:

Dear Teresa,

Because of your efforts, we were able to make sure polling locations opened on time, voter intimidation at the polls was kept to a minimum, and people’s votes counted, among many other things.

You were part of a historic effort in Mississippi to protect the vote. We had more poll watchers observing yesterday than we have ever had in Mississippi’s history, and because of this, we were able to provide support to hundreds of precincts across the state. Again, we extend our deepest gratitude for your service, and we will move forward to continue the fight in Mississippi.