We've been away from home.
Not far away, I'll grant you. SLACKTIDE - emptied for the winter - lies out our front door. We've been caretaking our Lodge for half a year, now. It's a wonderful place, and we're employed by wonderful people.
But it's away from home.
Folks with houses often need someone to look after them for a while, long or short. They'll often tell us, it will give you a chance to get off the boat; to spread out; to stay in a beautiful area; to catch up on movies.
Mmm. We hem and haw. Dance a little side-step.
It's very difficult to explain to our beloved and well meaning friends - who would like to grant us the favor of their beloved homes - that our interest is purely mercenary. A job. Sometimes a favor.
We love our home.
We love the mobility and freedoms of life aboard. We love cozy. We like our stuff at hand, cleverly stowed or awaiting some, future cleverness. We love the quiet, far from the chatter of media - phones, the internet, the toob - all out of reach in the moment of weakness. We love what we do instead of live in a house... the weaving of our life afloat with the shorelines of our archipelago.
And a beautiful spot? What stops us from spending as much (or as little) time as we wish, anywhere water flows? And with no more deeds to do nor promises to keep than any other day aboard?
Each moment afloat, the world laps at our hull, sings in our rigging, rocks us to sleep, pours in through our windows.