And it begins...

To say that I always dreamed of retiring on a boat would be total bullshit.

My FIRST dream of retirement was more like casual banter, WAY before I had any idea what the act of retirement actually entailed...

Back then my first love and I dreamed of buying a "Winnebagel" and exploring the States. Which pretty much consisted of NY & Cali at that point in my mind, with L.A. probably being the only spot we would actually stop... Carrying all our shit with us like a giant turtle with its home on its back, cold beers at the ready, and a hearty supply of Aqua Net white..

Then came life. And a kid. And, well, life.

Two more marriages, three homes (in three different states) later and frankly at 45 I was no closer to either making that decision OR affording it, so I guess one dream was just as realistic as the next.

After meeting my amazing (and final) husband Brandon, I was exposed to things I had never been before. And each one led to its own new retirement dream...

...the vineyard and winery, after visiting a vineyard and winery.

....the B&B...after stumbling drunk into the Bed & Breakfast following the winery visit.

...the winery WITH a B&B onsite....well, you get the idea.

When I met Brandon, he had just returned from through-hiking the Appalachian Trail, which, for those of you who are like me, has no meaning until it is explained by someone who has done it, or longs to do it.

He was like this Cinderella man to me who had two college degrees, an art portfolio, and savings...enough to take six months off to walk through the wilderness because he WANTED to...which, BTW was also completely foreign to me, but the sex made anything seem reasonable at that point. The very idea was magical. Through-hiking involves walking just over 2100 miles, from Maine to Georgia, or vice versa, through some of the most breathtaking mountains, valleys and swamps created by Mother Nature for the enjoyment, or in my case, absolute torture of her Earthly children. It allows you to clear your mind of all mundane things, and challenge yourself to transcend the pain & struggle and find deeper meaning in our existence. Or in my case, to whine, complain and sob, wondering what the FUCK you were thinking when you agreed to all THAT after only seven miles.

My new beau had been involved in buliding his own timber frame home from his design in New Hampshire from wood harvested from his own property. As a Brooklyn girl and admitted urban snob, this was unthinkable to me, but the concept was thrilling. He had grown up in upstate NY with intelligent, progressive pseudo-hippie parents. No drugs, just folks appreciating and utilizing life and land in a responsible way. He had hiked and camped every weekend/summer from childhood through adulthood, had seen lots of national parks, been rafting, canoeing, all sorts of stuff I had no idea anyone did for fun. He spent a year living in the Northwest in a land stewardship program. He had worked as a whitewater kayak instruction in Honduras. Been rock climbing and scuba diving. A bit out of my usual dating comfort zone which frankly had consisted of bars & live music up until then. "Campinng" for me was being drunk in a tent at a live music festival for greater than 24 hours. THIS was like volunteering for the Oregon Trail, and I was hooked after our first outdoor tryst...

So of course, that prompted the next slew of Grand Plans...
Retire and hike. Buy some land up in the NC mountains (by some, I meant LOTS) and open a hostel for through-hikers on the AT. Minimalist, with just enough room for us & some friends. Grow our own food, compost, harvest solar & wind power...live off the grid. With a hot tub, of course.

But we had very different ideas of what that would require. I wanted to have chickens and goats, harvest eggs & make cheese. Raise, hunt & freeze our own meats. Grow & can our own organic veggies and sauces. Brew our own beer from our own hops and make mead from our honeybees. (Did I mention that I'm deathly allergic to bee stings? Yeah...next chapter)

He, having grown up with that shit on a MUCH smaller level, explained the realities of actual farm living. How you can't leave all those animals alone to go to Bonnaroo. How you have to actually weed the garden and water & pick vegetables every day. How you have to milk goats and cows daily, sometimes twice, or apparently their boobs explode. How chickens don't really WANT you to take their eggs. How improperly canned foods can kill you. And of course,remind me how much our dogs love to chase & destroy anything smaller than they are, like chickens & goats.

Then, on a weekend trip to my in-laws timeshare, I discovered sailing. By "discovered", I mean we went on a twenty dollar per person, three hour tour of Pamlico Bay outside of New Bern, NC. The chick who took us was in her late forties, told me about how she got divorced, took the boat instead of the house, and started this business. Lives on board, takes folks out five, six days a week, three or four times a day depending on weather/season/mood and flies down to the Virgin Islands every winter to pleasure sail on someone else’s' boat. This particular boat was, of course, top of the line with all the amenities a city girl like myself would require to tear me from the level of luxury (NOT) I was accustomed to. It had a kitchen, a bedroom, a sunroof and a bathroom with a shower. And wind is free, so it appeared to ME to be a brilliantly affordable lifestyle.

I won't lie and say that I was hooked right then and there, especially since I peed myself a little the first time we keeled (like a car up on two wheels) and nearly got beheaded as the mast swung 180 degrees across the deck in a quick wind shift. But I felt an exhilaration that was new to me, like the first time I rode my motorcycle....and I definitely wanted to do it again...