by Erik Orton
We turned on all the systems and stowed our stuff. We called the kids back from the playground as we let the engines warm up. The slings lowered into the water, Fezywig’s keel went under, and we were floating once again. No water in the engine compartment. That was good. We reversed down the alley that had been our gauntlet of death two weeks prior. It was slack tide. The perfect time to go.
Gray clouds. Wind out of the north. We motored. It calmed our nerves to safely pass the few miles of water that had been so treacherous before. The kids sang and danced to their favorite Fezywig playlist. We sat around the salon table. We took some pictures. It all felt nostalgic, even though we’d moved off only three weeks earlier. We were dressed more for sledding than sailing, but the kids’ faces were rounded out with rosy cheeks and genuine smiles. We settled into the eighty-percent-boring part. The kids went below to take naps, and Emily and I snuggled up on the helm bench.
We pressed our feet against the bulkhead and sat back. When we’d started this journey, we were sweating from heat and nerves. Now we wore beanie caps and winter coats. It was getting dark.
As the evening wore on, we watched the Jersey Shore pass along our port side. In a few hours we came up on Sandy Hook and passed under the Verrazano Bridge. It rose tall. In New Jersey, our mast had scraped the underside of one bridge, but here we had acres of space. It was like a cathedral for boats; high, lofty beams conveying the grandeur of where you were. The waters calmed as we entered the Lower Harbor. Tankers passed us in both directions. We actually saw a sailboat coming out in the darkness, headed out to sea. Brave soul, I thought to myself. Coney Island. The lights. The comfort of lights. The water flattened further. Around the bend: the Freedom Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the Battery. Brooklyn and Queens on the starboard side. It was happening so fast and so slow.
We were hoping to get in at a reasonable hour. Many generous friends wanted to meet us at the dock, welcome Fezywig, and help us celebrate. But the tide was against us. With our late start we’d missed the current. We would get in late—around midnight, I estimated.
We posted updates to Facebook and Instagram. Friends and loved ones cheered us on silently with their likes, hearts, and comments. We took pictures, but none came out well. The light was beautiful, but not enough for good pictures. We would have to remember this one in our minds.
Emily and the kids turned on music and danced on deck. This was definitely something worth celebrating.
The southern tip of Manhattan. It felt like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade except in reverse. The skyline stood still, and we floated past. It had been dark for hours.
We moved slowly, like a child stopping and looking at everything. Slow, slow, slow. Our engines purred. We all stood in the cockpit and on deck, looking, taking it in with our eyes. The tall lights, the black water, the steady progress.
We sailed past the basin where we had first learned to sail. Even before Toms River, there was this place. I was a different person now. So was Emily. We all were. I could see my old office from the river. I called Mark on the phone.
“Mark, look out the window. That’s us sailing up the Hudson.”
“No way!” he said. After a few moments and some muffled sounds, he came back on. “I’ve got everyone here are the window. I think we see you.’’ The building was tall and far away and we were small. I waved, but I was sure they couldn’t see that. So many nights at work I’d sat at my desk, looking at boats, drafting budgets, “building bombs,” as Mark had called it. Now we were sailing past, with everything behind us.
“We’ll talk when you’re back in the office.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” and I hung up.
It all drifted past in the cold night as we continued up the river.
We came around the bend at Chelsea Piers. The river straightened in front of us. The George Washington Bridge rose full into view, like an entrance gate, a string of lights draped over two tall towers.
A laugh jumped up and out my mouth. It was as if my body had to respond to the amazing fact: we were here. After all the miles, all the distance, the people, the islands, the storms, the sweat and worry and spilling and spending of blood, treasure, and energy, there it was in front of us: our gateway. I never thought we’d make it this far.
It was almost midnight. The water traffic thinned as we pushed above Central Park. The 79th Street Boat Basin. Columbia Cathedral. The West Side Highway. Places we knew so well. Comfortable, familiar to us. We’d gotten comfortable being uncomfortable. We were used to being outside our comfort zone. It felt strange to be back in it. The bridge was closer. The tide was easing. We moved faster. Soon it would carry us. But it would be too late.
Our friends were in bed. We came up to the bridge. One last red beacon marked the bank on our starboard side. The marina came into view. We put our fenders and docking lines out. The river went dark. No buildings along the banks.
We pulled up alongside the low dock. Alison hopped off and attached the stern line first and then the bow line to one of the cleats. I remembered telling her in Oyster Pond, when we scuffed the bow after our first trip to Tintamarre, “It’s just a boat.” I turned off the engines.
I hopped down, tied a spring line, and walked to the marina. The restaurant was closed. I spoke with the night guard. In broken English he asked me what was wrong with our boat. Why were we arriving so late? In Spanish I told him nothing was wrong. We’d just sailed up from the Caribbean. We lived a few blocks away. We were going to walk home and come back in the morning.
He was confused. I assured him we’d be back in the morning and gave him my card. He agreed, reluctantly. I walked back to the boat. Emily and the kids got their bags. I got mine and we walked down the dock, bid the guard a good night, and walked through the gate down 200th/Dyckman Street. In the silence we walked east toward Broadway. We all wore coats, hats, and scarves. We’d left in January, when it was cold. It was October and cold again. Ten months. Everyone walked, even the little kids. 1:00 am. The night was quiet. We stopped and took a picture under a streetlight. We laughed a little amongst ourselves. We were walking home from the boat. How many years had we talked about doing this? We’d started sailing six years earlier. We’d gotten the idea for this trip four years ago.
There was no one there to greet us, and we were fine with that.
What a crazy idea.
How unlikely.
How impossible.
We walked some more. Warm beds awaited. There was no one there to greet us, and we were fine with that. “It’s nice,” Emily said. “It’s a quiet victory.” I agreed and we walked along, holding hands. The kids had their arms around each other, bulky bags and coats swishing as we ambled. We walked behind the church, past the bike shop, through the gas station. We stopped at the crosswalk at Riverside. The light turned and we crossed, quietly. Then we turned down Broadway. Three more blocks.
Sometimes home was us together, sometimes it was our destination, sometimes it was what we missed, sometimes it was how we felt in a new place or with our friends.
The night was cold, but home was close. We crossed Broadway and cut into the courtyard. I unlocked the lobby door, up two stairs. Into the lobby, then up three more stairs. Someone pushed the button to call the elevator. It arrived and we opened the outer door. We all pushed inside, fitting tightly with our bags. Up four flights, and then we pushed open the elevator door again. Down the hall. First the top lock, then the bottom lock. We opened the door and stepped inside. We were home.
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
—T. S. Eliot
Epilogue
EMILY
1 day after Fezywig—Erik sailed with the Andersons back to the Chesapeake Bay.
7 days after Fezywig—
Erik went back to his glass tower, cubicle job.
21 days after Fezywig—Erik and I talked about a new unconventional job opportunity.
Erik said, “Look, we’ve had enough risk for a while. We have to pay off the haul-out and repair expenses on the boat. Karina is going to college soon. We’re going into the expensive years when we’re launching our kids.”
“But this could take care of all of that,” I said.
“If I don’t succeed, we don’t eat. I’m responsible for you and these kids.”
“So am I.”
Fezywig sailing in the Hudson River under the George Washington Bridge. Photo by Kendra Cope.
“I know it’s both of us.”
“Okay,” I said. “Why don’t we ask the kids?” I opened the door from our bedroom/office into the dining/living room where Eli and Lily played plushies.
“Family meeting,” I called, and the older girls gathered. Erik and I filled them in.
“So it’s a choice between a risky job with unlimited potential or a stable job that you know you don’t like?” Alison confirmed.
“I would think there was something wrong with you if you stayed where you are,” SJ said.
Karina said, “Do we really even need to discuss this?”
3 months after Fezywig—Erik quit his cubicle job.
6 months after Fezywig—The Andersons returned.
9 months after Fezywig—We sold her. She’s sailing still. Let us know if you see her.
1 year after Fezywig—Karina went to college on academic scholarship.
2 years, 6 months after Fezywig—Erik and I sailed in French Polynesia.
3 years after Fezywig—Back-to-back hurricanes Irma and Maria, the two most powerful hurricanes that year, pummeled many of the islands we traveled. The resilient people and places we loved are recovering and rebuilding. The islands are as vibrant and welcoming as ever. Consider visiting. Life goes on. Alison went to college on academic scholarship. Karina hiked from Scotland to Wales with a study-abroad group and then traveled solo through France, Switzerland, Germany, Finland, and Iceland. She is majoring in film. The rest of us downsized into a minivan for two multi-month, cross-country rock climbing trips. Erik spent three days climbing the largest granite cliff in the world, El Capitan in Yosemite.
3 years, 6 months after Fezywig—We have house sat for two months in Hawaii. Erik, SJ, and I scuba certified (sixty feet deep!) and learned to surf. SJ is a dedicated longboarder. Lily cliff jumped. It was a low cliff. Eli is an animator on YouTube (eli26). Erik raced a sailboat from Annapolis to Bermuda. We’ve had multiple land reunions with Day Dreamer and Discovery. As of this writing, Karina is studying in Finland. Alison is going to Japan for eighteen months to serve as a missionary. The rest of us are planning to sail in the Mediterranean with Discovery and road trip across Europe while this book is printed.
But these adventures are not the “life-changing” part of living aboard Fezywig. If we are a tree, these adventures are the fruit. The real changes are inside the tree, inside of us.
We know we can learn new skills. We have done what we said we would do. We know the details will emerge. Competence. Credibility. Calm.
Drop us a line. We’d love to stay in touch.
www.sevenatsea.com
[email protected]
Photo Section
Sailing as a family in open-cockpit
boats in Long Island Sound.
Eli and Lily crashing in their
cabin after a day in the sun.
Emily learning to read charts
in the British Virgin Islands.
Our first outing with Fezywig took us to Tintamarre,
a nature reserve just off Saint Martin.
Eating simple and healthy in the cockpit.
We ferried fresh water from shore to Fezywig using the
large bladder and jerry cans loaned by Day Dreamer.
Sarah Jane in the famous shaft of light—the Baths,
British Virgin Islands.
Erik and SJ taking in the view
Erik steering with his feet as we make our way
into Marigot Bay, Saint Martin.
Driving our family across Simpson Bay Lagoon in our small dinghy.
On our way to winning the Audience Choice Award at Lagoonies.
We washed our laundry in a bucket and hung it out to dry
in the fresh trade winds.
Emily and Lily cleaning the
bilge under the floorboards.
Erik and John shuttling the Littles from shore back to Discovery
on Dog Island, Anguilla.
Pat installing our rebuilt engine, Oyster Pond, Saint Martin.
SJ following her bliss on the rope swing.
After church with
Grandma and Grandpa Orton in Sint Maarten.
Getting into our dinghy to head back to Fezywig felt like the land equivalent
of getting in the car.
Simpson Bay Lagoon.
Karina snorkeling the south edge of Saba.
Fezywig, Day Dreamer, and Discovery
at anchor. Columbier, St. Barthélemy.
The Bigs making shadows on the sand,
St. Barthélemy.
Everyone from Discovery, Day Dreamer, and Fezywig (except Emily
and Lily) atop the Quill, Sint Eustatius.
Day Dreamer and Discovery waving goodbye as
we leave Saint Martin bound for the BVIs.
Living room, dining room, play room—northern edge of Tortola, British Virgin Islands.
Getting the family to shore—the Baths, British Virgin Islands.
Keeping our promise to take the kids to
the Baths, British Virgin Islands.
Strolling for shade at the Bitter End Yacht Club, British Virgin Islands.
Eli contemplating which direction
to go in life, Sint Eustatius.
No shoes required at this library—Culebra, Puerto Rico.
Home Sweet Floating Home—Hog Cay, Exuma Chain, Bahamas.
Scrubbing Fezywig—Hog Cay, Exuma Chain, Bahamas.
Just before things went hog wild—Staniel Cay, Bahamas.
Lily learning to love the ocean
one rung at a time.
That intangible something—Great Inagua, Bahamas.
Mugging with mugs in between squalls—ICW, Florida, USA.
Parents optional—Hampton Bay, Virginia, USA.
Crossing from North Carolina to Virginia on the North Landing River.
Done—Dyckman Street Marina, New York, NY, USA.
About the Authors
ERIK ORTON is an Emmy Award-winning writer and former Broadway tour manager. He was raised in Germany and the suburbs of Washington, D.C. He has produced various musicals Off-Broadway. His original musical, Berlin, won an Emmy Award as well as a CINE Golden Eagle Award and Bronze Telly Award. In 2018 he climbed El Capitan—the tallest granite cliff in the world—got scuba certified, and learned to surf.
EMILY ORTON is a former English teacher turned homeschool mom. She speaks and writes about living with purpose. Her writing is featured in Dare, Dream, Do by Whitney Johnson. Curiosity has led Emily to become a rock climber, a sailor, a scuba diver, a world traveler, and most recently a surfer.
ERIK AND EMILY continue to learn, grow, and travel with their five children. They love to gig as a family band when their two oldest children are home from college, and they occasionally post music videos to YouTube. They are currently traveling Europe by sailboat and VW van with their younger children. They blog together at fezywig.com and make their home in New York City.
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