“She was a rare thing, fine as a beeswing.
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away.
She was a lost child, she was running wild.
She said, ‘so long as there’s no price on love I’ll stay.’
And you wouldn’t want me any other way.”
—Richard Thompson, Beeswing
It’s 11:00 PM and I’m anchored up in 13 feet of water just west of Soldier Cay in the Berry Islands of the Bahamas (25 degrees 40 minutes North, 77 degrees 46 minutes West). It’s a beautiful night with the wind blowing 10 knots out of the northeast and Soldiers Cay protecting Hazel James and me from the open-water swell. The light from Arcturus, some 37 light years away, will be rising in the east soon. The mnemonic to remember is, “Follow the arc to Arcturus”—if you follow the arc of the Big Dipper’s handle, you’ll find the bright reddish star Arcturus. The light I’ll be seeing was generated 37 years ago, before Colleen and I met. Since that time, it’s been traveling at 186,000 miles per second. At the other end of the distance spectrum, Soldier Cay is less than half a mile long and a quarter mile wide at its widest. It’s uninhabited and a beautiful place to walk.
55 nautical miles east of us, across the Northeast Providence Channel lies Eleuthera. I hope to be sailing there through the night tomorrow night to arrive in the daylight with good visibility for costal piloting.
I’m listening to two songs and having a bit of a cry. “If We Were Vampires” by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, and “Beeswing” by Richard Thompson. Although I quoted Dr. Seuss in an earlier post: ”Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”—that advice works some of the time, maybe a little bit more each day, but it doesn’t work all the time.
Colleen and I married young. On our August, 1990 wedding day she was 21 and I, 25. Funny coincidence, 1990 is also the year that Hazel James was built—we’ve all put some miles under the keel since then. Neither Colleen nor I pictured ourselves as marrying young but it just happened. It was so right and so perfect, and it seemed like we should just do it. We could then get on with our life together. We married after Colleen finished her undergraduate studies and I was a staff consultant at Arthur Andersen. At work I was borderline miserable, in life I was directionless. Colleen and I would talk for hours about just taking-off and disappearing—backpacking or cycling and camping, and hitting whatever Grateful Dead shows we could find.
Then one day—thankfully after we were married—she was, or perhaps we were, pregnant. If people plan and God laughs, this was God chuckling. As it turned out, it was the best thing that ever could have happened to us. In addition to a wonderful child and the drive to have a sibling for that child, it gave us both a sense of purpose and direction. By definition, any work becomes a lot more meaningful when you’re playing for keeps and have others depending on you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Still, as I think about taking-off on this sailing voyage, I’m taken back to those early days of Colleen and me and our dreams of taking-off together. While there were a lot of bumps these last five years, since she’s gone I think less of the recent years and more about the past, when things were so much more carefree and seemingly with fewer consequences. I loved her and I wouldn’t want her any other way.
18 thoughts on “I Wouldn’t Want Her Any Other Way”
Love you buddy
U2 my friend
Wonderful stories my friend. I am truly enjoying following you and seeing through your eyes and heart!
We just pulled up Beeswing and listened. It’s beautiful and so are your words. We are so proud of you and these journeys you’re on, both emotional and oceanal. Much love
Lovely post, Dan. I imagine that spending idyllic (?) days on the water your mind tends to wander, too. to idyllic times. Good for you. You deserve the happy times.
I am a little confused on your location, however. I’m following you (which I’ve privately messaged you about) and, at least according to Google, you’re near Soldiers Cay, not Soldier Cay, which is a larger island further south.
Happy sailing, my friend!
MP, I’ll try to get more accurate on my GPS coordinates! Thanks for following
Wow Dan, thanks for the memories and the tears. Peaceful travels my nephew. Love you be safe!
Thanks so much for the kind words Melissa
Thanks Sarah and Mike. When alone, I actually find myself talking to the two of you. I hope you can hear.
Dan, I’m really enjoying the blog and missing Colleen. I’m curious if any musical instruments made it onboard the HJ. If so, I thought you might find this list of sea shanties of interest. http://www.contemplator.com/sea/
Pete, yes! my carbon fiber uke is with me and I plan to feature it in an upcoming post. I’ll check out the shanties and also share the songs I’m working on
Well said Dan – you continue to inspire…
Thanks so much for the kind words Kyle
Dan, what a beautiful description of where you are and what you’re experiencing, and such a lovely testament to Colleen and the life you built together. Your posts have been highlights of the day for many of us, and I’m sure that Colleen would be proud of you and hanging on every word. Continued best wishes on this amazing journey.
Thanks so much my friend.
Dan, I don’t recall ever having the pleasure to meet with you. I graduated in 90 and pledged in fall 1986. I just wanted to pass along to you my sorrow for the loss of your dear wife. Your words are a poignant reminder to live your life fully and remind those who you love that they are an indelible feature in the tapestry of our existence. I am glad to start to know you now. But additionally Your words have reminded me to not forget my old friends whom I have neglected over the years. I owe Doc a phone call and Tron who lives just 2 miles from me, and I never call. And my Big brother Cappie. And Mike Fievet, I hope you have been happy. Best, Martin Cunningham
Martin, Not sure if we med but I’ve heard your name. Thanks so much for the message. 2 miles from Tron? That’s crazy, give him my best and let him know that one of my favorite sailing albums is Peter Tosh’s Mama Africa. He introduced me to it in the heady ‘80s.