our village

Life has a way of knocking you on your ass some weeks. This has been one of those weeks. Bad things are getting worse. We feel shocked and helpless. We are sad and outraged. People we love dearly are hurting and there's nothing we can do. But the thing about this little floating trailer park we have here is that we're never alone. One of our boat neighbors and dear friend is in a bad way at the moment. And we're all still processing what's going down with her. But in the haze of bad news dripping in like an IV, I am awe struck by the amazing strength we have in the tight community loosely tied off to these splintering pilings. We're all outside, sharing information, sharing wine and chocolate, sharing hugs and tears, holding each other when the wind is knocked out of our sails. I can't imagine going through times like this alone inside of four walls and a locked door. I am scared and pissed off and exhausted but so grateful. So, so grateful.

Houses, are but badly built boats, so firmly aground that you cannot think of moving them. They are definitely inferior things, belonging to the vegetable not the animal world, rooted and stationary, incapable of gay transition... The desire to build a house is the tired wish of a man content thenceforward with a single anchorage. The desire to build a boat is the desire of youth, unwilling yet to accept the idea of a final resting-place.

-Arthur Ransome