God promises to love me all day,
    sing songs all through the night!
    My life is God’s prayer. (Psalm 42:8 The Message)

 

Intuition Diaries: Cumberland River

October 24, 2018

Old Lock No. 6 anchorage

We left Defeated Creek Marina to head further down the Cumberland River, planning to find an anchorage 36 to 50 miles down river. The Defeated Creek Marina is nestled between a large campground and a picnic area that overlooks the shore of the inlet of Defeated Creek. I walked over to a beach area, and enjoyed the sunny afternoon, while Kokomo and Les relaxed at the boat. When I came back, I made us a dinner of beef stroganoff and noodles with a side of fresh pineapple, carrot sticks and cucumber slices. After dinner, I did a load of laundry, and wrote the previous blog post. It was nice to have free wifi at the marina, although they didn’t have a shower house, which meant improvising with warming up some water and washing my hair in the sink.

So far on this trip we have been alternating a marina stop with an anchorage stop. We like both options for different reasons. The amenities of a marina usually include a place to pick up ice or other sundries, a hot shower and free wifi. Sometimes they even have a courtesy car, if we need to run to pick up some groceries or an item we forgot to pack.

The beauty of the anchorage, a place where we anchor out or tie up to a remote dock, is the solitude. The Cumberland River used to have several locks and dams, but the upper section called Old Hickory Lake is mainly recreational now, until you get down to Gallatin, TN. Les had noted an anchorage called Old Lock No. 6, where we could tie up the boat for the night, and have easy access to shore for the dog, and stretching our legs.

We never know if a place will be just okay or fantastic or even magical. This was one of the magical ones. We pulled up to a pristine, yet primitive park like setting. A very nice fire pit, with firewood stacked nearby, if you wanted a campfire. Someone had left votive candles along the lock wall on the mooring cleats. And there was an old path up the hill paved with hand hewn stone. We each took turns exploring the path, and I planned to light the candles as the moon rose above the river.

We arrived around 2pm, and had plenty of warm sunshine to enjoy for the rest of the afternoon. Les did some work, while I read a book. And then I couldn’t sit still, so I decided to bake a pumpkin cake using our Omnia stove, a special pan for baking on top of the stove. (I had put together beef stew earlier, which simmered in the mini-crock pot on the cruise down the river. (It’s a crock pot that truck stops sell and has an adapter for the D/C outlet.) Dinner for two was served al fresco on the Old Lock No. 6 around 4:30pm. (We tend to eat early and go to bed early, something to do with a sailor’s life, I suppose.) After our warm pumpkin cake, we sat and watched the sun go down.

Les and Kokomo went back in the boat, and I lit the candles to enjoy for a little bit and take some photos. After my photo shoot, I joined them in the boat, and watched the full harvest moon rise, deciding not to take a photo. Instead I enjoyed gazing at the moon out the boat window, while I sat with my art supplies and puttered with making a couple collages, and adding some art work to my eco-paper journal. (Eco-paper making is whole other post, but I made a journal using the papers that some friends and I “printed” earlier this fall.) The pages are sewn into an old book cover, titled “Annals of The Former World,” which I love because the pages are made with fallen leaves and this past year’s garden foliage; remnants of a former world.

 

October 25, 2018

Gallatin Marina

We woke to an overcast morning and leftover pumpkin cake. I fried some eggs and turkey sausage, while Les made our pour over coffees. (Of course, we fed Kokomo first. That’s the routine.) Since we were up and going, we cast off the ropes from the Old Lock No. 6, and headed down river towards Gallatin, TN, our next stop.

There was a little confusion leaving the lock wall. Les untied us and told me to drive straight ahead keeping the stern away from the wall, which I did pretty smoothly and without much anxiety. We continued straight ahead and Les entered the cabin. I asked him aren’t we heading down towards Nashville. Yes, he answers. But I’m looking around, and trying to remember which way we drove up to the wall last night. I can’t tell if we’re going upstream or down because the water is so still it’s hard to tell visually. I ask him again, are you sure we’re supposed to go straight. Yes, straight off the wall and then do a 180. Oh, I didn’t hear that part.

Thankfully, we hadn’t gone far, only a short distance before I realized my error. Although, Les did admit he might have left off part of the sentence. I knew my bearings were wrong, but I rely on Les to do much of the navigating. Lesson of the day, while Les is very dependable, it’s okay for me to know the big picture, too. If I were boating alone, I would have done more thinking and checking. Oh, and there’s that GPS map gizmo that shows us where we are on the river. I could have checked that to confirm my feeling that I was going the wrong way.

I’m happy to report that this time, we were having a good-natured conversation about navigation. Maybe we’re becoming seasoned boaters, or at least more gracious with each other. In the past, I would have gotten a little perturbed that our navigational language barrier, once again impeded our progress.

We cruised along noticing that the scenery was a little drab without the sunshine, but still enjoyed spectacular bluffs and smatterings of orange, yellow and red foliage on the trees. The bluffs edge right up against the river at times and the water is deep, so I ask how close we can get to them. Could we get close enough for me to touch the bluffs? Maybe, Les replies.

Along one section Les looks over at me, and asks you want to try to touch these ones. I smile. We carefully pull up, and I take photos, then put my camera down. I touch the bluff, and try to pick some of the little purple flowers, but the stern gets too close, so we pull away. Touching a part of nature that most people just admire from afar gave my heart a little leap. These are the magical moments of cruising.

We near Gallatin, and I take a photo of power plant stacks and an abandoned boat, then the first rain of the trip begins to drizzle. We navigate towards the Gallatin Marina, arriving to the gas dock to buy some ice. We ask where the shower house is located, after paying our slip fee. The dock hands tell us the shower house was just newly renovated. And good news, the marina restaurant, Awedaddy’s, is open tonight.  While I love cooking on the boat, a night off is welcome.

As I mentioned in the last post, my reading aspirations on a boat trip are usually high. By our third night out, we had wifi again, so reading together fell to the wayside. I read to us over breakfast this morning to catch up a little. And now let me introduce, The Stowaways:

“My times are in your hand . . .” (Psalm 31:15 ESV)

The Intuition Diaries

(This series is a continuing travelogue that I post from time to time, whenever we take our boat out for an adventure.)

 

October 22, 2018

Wartrace Creek anchorage

Taking some time out to breathe, relax and rest from our regular routine, we call this vacation. Taking some time to remember, marvel and muse on how we made it this far, we call this celebration. Taking some time to read words, take notes and notice patterns in nature, I call this paying attention.

October is the month that we agreed to have and to hold, to love and to cherish until death do us part, a mere thirty-two years ago. It’s often a time for vacation, celebration and paying attention. One of my favorite parts of traveling on the Intuition has to be all the intentions I dream up while I’m packing clothes, food, books, art supplies, my camera and laptop.

I tell myself that I will make some progress on my elusive novel. I bring two or three types of journals. One for writing, one for art, and a little one to take ashore for note taking or sketches. I haul more books than I’ll ever have time to read; I call them the stowaways. (I’ll post them later in the trip.) I pack more clothes than I’ll ever wear, but I don’t regret bringing my winter coat, hat and gloves. It does get chilly in the evenings and early morning. And I love planning our menu.

Tonight Les grilled us chicken and broccoli, while I cooked fried apples on the galley stovetop.

We spent the day exploring the upper reaches of the Cumberland. We didn’t make it all the way to Selina, TN, where the river begins. The water levels were down, and the spot we planned to let the dog off to stretch her legs was too shallow for us to dock, so we decided to turn around heading back toward the Wildwood Resort and Marina, where we put in yesterday. We knew we could dock there.

Instead, we stopped here at Wartrace Creek inlet. We slowed the engine down and checked depths to make sure we could reach the dock without the boat getting stuck. Once settled, Les walked the dog. And I found a little beach. I stuck my toes in the cold sand, while the sun warmed my face.

It was a good first day out on the river.

October 23, 2018

Defeated Creek Marina

We started the day out with our regular routine of feeding the dog, eating breakfast, and having our coffee, all in the cloak of a deep fog. When I fed the dog on the back deck, I looked up and thought a wall had been added. I could almost touch the fog. By nine o’clock, we had taken the dog to shore for her pit stop and the fog had lifted in the secluded inlet. I asked Les, if he thought the fog was still thick on the river. He didn’t know, we’d just see as we got closer to the river.

Each time we take off on one of our adventures, we wonder what unexpected happenings we might experience. It could be leaving the boat key at home or having a campfire on an island by ourselves, while we watch the sun set. We have both the best of times and some trying times, too. Just before we left on this trip, we had weathered an emergency trip to the ER for my mom, whose blood pressure had mysteriously spiked, even though she’s never had an experience like that before. The doctor ruled out anything scary, and asked her to follow-up with her doctor. Next day, she was back to normal, so we packed our boat, and wisely spent an extra night at home to avoid sleeping in freezing temps with no heat.

We woke up before dawn and started our drive to the Cumberland River. About halfway to our destination, the check engine light came on. UH OH! We grumbled a little and prayed a little. We found an O’Reilly Auto Parts store open on a Sunday morning, and they used a diagnostic tool to check out what the light was indicating. Would it be engine trouble or something less daunting, like it just went on and needed to be reset? Thankfully, it was the latter. We made it to our destination by early afternoon, and the rest of the day with putting the boat in the water went seamlessly. We stayed at the Wildwood Resort and Marina in Granville, TN. It has a marina, cabins, airstream campers to rent, a nice restaurant and primitive, yet hot showers.

Our first two days on the river, we had little to no internet service. This time of year the sun sets early. After dinner, we would look at each other, thinking what now. No Netflix or YouTube for me, no internet surfing for Les. The first night we went to bed at 7:30pm. The second night, we did something we hadn’t done for years. We read a book together. Les read the first couple chapters of Paul Souder’s adventure of taking the ultimate polar bear photos, in his book, Arctic Solitaire. We laughed out loud, and I remembered how much I enjoy Les’ reading voice. Hopefully tonight, even though we have internet service, I will read him a couple more chapters.

It’s nice to have no service once in awhile.

Before I close out this entry, I wanted to tell you what I learned about fog today. I asked Les what causes fog, and he said it had to do with the water temperature being warmer than the air temperature and the dew point, or something like that. When we made our way out of the Wartrace Creek, the fog obscured our visibility out on the river. So much so, that Les asked me to be the lookout, while he monitored the chart plotter and radar and drove the boat. I was to report if I saw any big logs or debris or john boats out fishing to keep us from running in to said list. I was impressed by the fact that Les plots our course in good weather, so that if needed we could retrace our path, which we did need today. He also informed me that he would begin beeping our horn every two minutes. That was to inform other boaters that we were out there in the fog.

I kept my watch, noticing a fallen leaf, some bubbles from a fish, but no logs or debris. I did notice a john boat along the shore, and pointed it out to Les. He said that I noticed it before the radar. I felt kind of important in that moment.

I kept trying to think of a life metaphor, but then I’d be jarred from my musings by the horn. I had already forgot that he was going to sound the horn every two minutes.

Trusting that goodness and mercy will follow us, whether the check engine light comes on, or there is no service or a deep fog obscures the path for a while that was a good enough lesson for our second day on the river.

(By the way, what’s up with Tennessee naming places: Wartrace and Defeated? Seems a little dreary to this ever, optimistic soul.)

 

 

 

 

 

The journal is what you think, how you feel about any subject in order to explore your own feelings and your facility for putting yourself on paper. (Francis Weaver)

Seasons change. Welcoming the change most likely depends on our mood, personality and current circumstances. If we’re tired of hot and humid, then our heart gladly dances into crisp and crunchy autumn. If we love poolside chats and warm evenings, then we might be mourning the loss of summer.

Over the last year or two, I’ve been noticing how I respond to seasonal changes. I used to say I love this one or I hate that one, but a new practice has emerged. I welcomed the seasonal changes, as an invitation to embrace the good in each one. I’m actually looking forward to winter this year, a time to cozy up to the interior life with my favorite coffee mug, warm socks and a comfy spot to sit and reflect.

This summer, I savored each moment of it right through to the autumnal equinox. I sat the first week of fall in my mom’s backyard observing the Jewish festival of Sukkot. (In my own way.) This festival was originally instituted for the Jewish nation to reflect on their deliverance from captivity. (Leviticus 23:33-44)

I practiced being outdoors for seven days, captivated by the beauty of creation. I wrote in my journal and enjoyed the company of my mom’s dog. I soaked in the warmth of the sun, which seemed reluctant to give up the summer weather itself.

I wanted a new journal for autumn. I scrolled through the many leather bound Midoris on Instagram, but wondered if that would really fit my fancy. I liked the idea of 3-4 smaller journals bound together to contain various topics. And then I remembered the vintage book that I bought last fall, titled : Talk, Read, Write, Listen, a children’s reader from the 1960s. I carefully cut out the inside pages with an Exacto knife, putting the pages aside for future collage work. I decided to sew together four little notebooks to insert inside, securing them with large rubber bands, the type you’d use to hold file folders stuffed with papers. A light went on in my mind, I would categorize the four booklets using the title of the cover: Talk, Read, Write, Listen.

But then another dilemma occurs? How does one talk, read, write and listen in a journal. The writing one seems obvious enough. On the first page, I posed the questions. To talk, I think of dialogue, conversation, responsive writing, and surprisingly this section becomes the place where I use collage imagery to “discuss” my life on paper. For reading, I use the second notebook to take note of which books I’m reading, to take notes from a book that interests me, and to take notice of quotes and other questions that occur to me. For listening, I recall that the word listen has list in it. So the fourth notebook is kept for lists.

So far, after almost a month of keeping this type of journal, I have found it useful to have these categories and the separate “containers” for each. In the spirit of freedom, sometimes one or another topic does overlap in the pages of the whole, which is perfectly fine with me.

What system do you use for containing your thoughts? What’s your favorite kind of journal?

On the first day gather branches from magnificent trees—palm fronds, boughs from leafy trees, and willows that grow by the streams. Then celebrate with joy before the Lord your God for seven days.

(Leviticus 23:40 NLT)

By your words I can see where I’m going;
    they throw a beam of light on my dark path. (Psalm 119:105 The Message)

My first impulse is to catch everyone up on where I’ve been lately. Last time I was here, I was climbing into an empty box. But I did climb out, it wasn’t like Alice in Wonderland or anything like that.

I wanted to post tonight just to say, “Hey, I’m still here!” and “I’m thinking about posting again.” Sometimes I get into a bloggerly angst. What’s my purpose here? What’s my niche? Who is my tribe? And then, I remember, this is my online diary. A space where I can be rambly random. Be topical or not. Post cool photos that I like. Pose questions. Share a defining moment or two.

I was trying hard to come up with some inspiring thoughts. My mind was somersaulting with ideas of how to catch you up and explain what this summer has been like, or tell you about some other recent events, but that seemed lame and laborious, because I haven’t been here since June.

In January, I gave myself a goal of posting once a month, but then I got interested in other things like knitting and going through closets. Plus, I really enjoy my creative outlets of making art and teaching art classes. And I like hanging out with people in real life. And going to lots of plays. So when would I blog?

But as summer edges into fall, I feel a tug to come back. I want to prepare a meal of words, to scour the pantry for some savory prompts, and raid the refrigerator of leftover ideas that I haven’t shared yet.

So that’s all I have for tonight.

What are you hungry for? Words, prompts or ideas?

 

 

 

Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep . . . (Genesis 1:2 NIV)

Staring at the empty box in the middle of the room, pausing midday to meditate. Summoning energy to move on to the next thing, but instead . . .

I stepped into the box to see if I fit inside. Sitting cross-legged and scrunched, I felt confined, yet safe. I let my mind meander. I thought of Patrick who uses abandoned boxes to build his inner world. I thought of friends who have moved or will be moving to other places. I wondered what I box in. I wondered what exists outside of the box. I felt childlike. Imagination chimed in with questions: Is this your boat? Are you flying a bi-plane? Or are you floating in a tube down the spring-fed Black River?

Then I thought, “What if my husband comes upstairs and sees me sitting in a box? ”

I quickly and clumsily climbed out of the box.

What would you do with an empty box?