“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” - James Baldwin

James Jackson

MAY 12 - BIRTHDAY SAIL, LOW SKY Sky like brushed steel... gray, unbroken, with the sun behind it somewhere, diffused and filtered to be bigger than its cousin set in the bright blue, but somehow both less bright and more heavy. Fingers of clouds from a distant storm made marching furrows through the scene. The breeze came on strong. Ten, fifteen knots, with occasional gusts near twenty. The kind of wind that keeps you honest. A younger couple came aboard. Her gift to him... a surprise birthday sail. We'd rescheduled once for rain. She thanked me again for holding out for the right kind of day. To be honest they're all good days, but I like people to feel happy and relaxed and dodging showers just doesn't usually make people feel good. He was curious. Not just about the sailing, but the business. How long I'd been doing it, why I started. It wasn’t nosy, just a quiet study. Interesting for me because I talk about it so often and yet so much of it is left unsaid. The mood stayed light. Some back and forth with me and Tim, today’s captain on record. Sometimes it’s Lori, sometimes Gerhardus. I single-hand most of the work, but for paying passengers I always have another captain on board. The wind was supposed to drop down to nice comfortable and solid 8 to 10 knots. Every forecast said so... every time I checked throughout the day and even to moments before we left the dock. It didn't. I trimmed conservatively. Full main, and the jib went out to its first reef. I set the sails just north of the bridge, but the wind was coming oddly from the direct south as opposed to it's usual sou'westerly or easterly track. Eventually we settled in to wide tacks downriver, back past the bridge, past the now defunct Philadelphia Marine center, the Pier 5 and Pier 3 marinas, the massive construction project for The Park at Penn's Landing, the Independence Seaport and the neat edge of the waterfront near the condos. After that, the polish fades. The river starts to show its seams. The river carried more than just current. Debris everywhere... branches, scraps, waterlogged litter. Upstream rain opens the dams. Everything that doesn’t belong to anyone finds its way down. It’s always the city that ends up holding what the suburbs can’t be bothered to keep. Stormwater runoff and system failure disguised as driftwood. A reminder that everything above rolls down... trash, politics, people. The twin piers, 38 and 40, supposedly back in use but looking for all the world like their abandoned cousins. Bought by a big developer in 2022 for $18 M. The Coast Guard section. Washington Avenue Green, a patch of land that feels intentional from the street but disappears into the background from the water. And then, the long chain of what the city doesn’t talk about: abandoned piers, the hollowed edges, forgotten bulkheads. The river keeps going. It doesn’t filter. Doesn’t sort. Just carries. They noticed the encampments behind the piers, behind the new Giant and the long residing Walmart that was supposed to help revitalize the waterfront with Pier 68 and its sanitized concrete experience of the river. They didn’t point. Just talked to each other quietly. No performance. No posturing. Like a lot of people their age, they seemed to be carrying the weight of noticing, without knowing what to do with it. I don't think there is a way to know really. Life didn't come with a manual. The rain held off, but the city felt like it was waiting for it. Very few boats out. Not much movement on the piers. Even the birds seemed unsure whether to settle or stay aloft. We docked just after the light went flat. She offered a hug, unexpected, but not unwelcome. Then they were gone, back into the evening.... plans for dinner or friends to see... a life to continue living. I gave Tim the day’s pay from the cash still in my pocket from the prior trip. He doesn’t always take it, but I like having it there. Tide was too low to bring First Light home, so I tied her off again at Penn’s Landing. Coiled lines, dropped halyards, closed the covers. The small rituals you don’t skip. A way to say thank you without words. Moved her home the next day.

Boat & Crew

First Light

O'Day, 322

James Jackson

Owner