“If you surrender to the wind, you can ride it.” - Toni Morrison

James Jackson

May 25 – MEMORIAL DAY SAIL We've been on the water around here for more hours than I can count, but today I decided to explore behind Petty Island for the first time. Past the wreck markers and dotted shallow depth indicators, checking what the real depth was where the map says shallow. We quietly motored past the derelicts off Pyne Point, Lightship Barnegat still holding what’s left of herself and masts and hulls sprouting up from what looks like solid ground. We were out as a family... my wife, my daughter, and me. The sky was blue and white... patchy fluffy clouds roiling across the city skyline. Wind was... unpredictable... 8 knots steady, gusts to 20, then dropping to 3. We came back out from behind the island and decided to actually do some sailing. We put out the full main, first reef in the jib. It's often half teaching and half enjoying when we go out. The boat is, like most boats, particular... its idiosyncrasies are familiar to me, not the least because I created some of them. I took the opportunity to introduce my wife to the new Dutchman flaking system on the main and how to operate it. Our daughter demanded to help me raise the main... hauling with all her tiny might on the halyard while I cranked the winch. After we were done it took quite some convincing to get her to accept that she'd actually done it. I don’t remember the first time I was on a boat, but I remember the first time I was at the helm. Five years old, being loud and impatient on a fishing trip. My grandfather turned a bucket upside down, stood me on it, handed me the wheel, and said: “Steer for those rocks.” That was how it started. I remember he didn't leave my side until he thought I would be better off building confidence. Then he stepped back... a half step out of my peripheral... just far enough to be out of view, but close enough to catch me. I was concentrating too much on what was ahead though... and how to keep a straight line. Our little cabin cruiser up on plane and bouncing across the Patuxent. He was an Army mechanic. Met my grandmother in Japan. Photos of when they first met that we found for their funerals show instant and lifelong fascination. They deployed to Korea after they got married. They didn’t talk much about the hard parts, but they passed down the things that mattered. How to fix what’s broken. How to steer straight when no one else is paying attention. What it means to be responsible for those on board. They taught with care and a sense of sureness that we could do whatever we thought we could. We sailed south from Petty Island, down past the Coast Guard station. Came back upriver past Penn’s Landing. My wife’s still learning the finer points of sailing. She's very good at learning things. If it's in a book and she tries it once or twice she's usually got it. Problem is I’ve been doing this long enough that half of what I know, I don’t explain. Other problem is I can be a little too general with my instructions. Teaching a partner is different than teaching a student. You already have a shorthand communication style. We've been married nearly nine years so we can condense an hour long conversation into a few looks and groans at this point. When you're trying to teach though you can't rely on the person learning to read your mind. All in all we had one mishap of the wrong lever pulled at the wrong time. Nothing broken... and plenty of time spent learning and sailing. She said it was a perfect day. I say almost perfect. I'd like 10 knots steady and no gusts every day though. Memorial Day is not about uniforms. It is quite literally about memory. My grandfather. My grandmother. My dad. People who steered me toward craft, purpose, and water. They’re not here. But I’m still sailing. And my daughter’s watching. That’s how I got here. That’s what I remember.

Boat & Crew

First Light

O'Day, 322

James Jackson

Owner