Well I have been back on the boat for a day or two, but here is something I wrote at 30,000 feet on my way south.
It is no secret that I enjoy what I do for a living. While mud boats and the oil patch might not be the most romantic sector of the maritime industry, the 28/28 schedule is hard to beat. Especially when you couple it with the current pay levels, the good benefits, and decent to excellent equipment you get to work with.
However for a New Englander like me Belle Pass will never be Two Bush channel, Fourchon will never be Boston, and Houma will never be Penobscot Bay. This evening as my 737 climbed out of Logan Airport we traveled first to the east. Passing just north of Deer Island; I had a perfect view of the harbor. From Castle Island and Anchorage #2, to the Nubble channel and the Narrows. Climbing I looked down at the north and south approaches, Boston Light, the Hypocrite, and the Graves. The sun sitting low in the west lit it all up in a golden tone. Coming west-northwest from Provincetown was Salacia, cutting along with a graceful looking ease. My plane banked around offshore to head southwest towards Houston. From this vantage I had the whole harbor, the whole city, and most of the north shore backlit in bronze light. The Ruth E Hughes was east bound in the western way, and what was likely Ceteca was racing out of Hingham to meet her.
All of these sights, these boats, that light evoked a lot of found memories for me. Good friends and good times; being broke and not really caring. Having too much fun running passenger boats and spending most of our paychecks at the Times and Coop’s. These were great memories, great emotions, and beautiful sights.
However it is funny how life changes. Normally that take off is always what I want out of Boston. Today I wish I had sat on the other side of the plane. I wished for the minute after that turn I could have looked out the window and seen the Cape. While I couldn’t have exactly seen my house from there I could have felt it. Instead of long days of work and nights we hardly remember, my mind would have played back the last three amazing months of hanging pictures and playing with the dog in the yard. Images of me 20 feet up a ladder changing a bulb and the Therapist Fiancé holding the ladder while trying to keep the dogs attention. Images of the Furry Child growling at the Therapist Fiancé and me in bed for touching his feet, and the associated look of embarrassment from him.
It was only today that I really felt what it means to be truly homesick. You see because the last few years, since high school really, I haven’t felt home in any particular place. Everything has been temporary, just for now, and not a place to call mine.
This is the curse of the job, and what makes most people not understand why I do what I do. Today I kind of feel like that to, and it actually does make me feel a bit more normal. Don’t mistake me though; I still love what I do for a living. The privilege of bearing witness to some of mother natures greatest shows. Living for weeks at a time where blue meets blue, and seeing all the things that inhabit this space. The sense of camaraderie when you have a really good crew, not to mention some of the awesome toys they call company property. Though today I can say the past few months have shown me which half of my life I unequivocally love more. I have to say thanks to the Therapist Fiancé and our furry child for making our house, and our town truly a home. That and thanks for putting up with my nautically eccentric behavior!
28.5 days and counting hunny, please keep the lights on for me