Prevoyage tickles

It's a thursday afternoon. The sun keeps disappearing behind the clouds for a few minutes of rain and chilly winds, only to reappear the moment after as a warm kiss of summer, deleting all evidence it ever went the other direction. It seems somehow the weather lost its way. It's not entirely sure what to do next... What mood to settle for.

To some extent it reflects the ship these days. We're working around the clock to prepare as much as possible before sailing out, even though it’s a never ending circle and it seems every day a new task presents itself and demands our immediate attention. 

There’s the varnish, the painting, the stocking up, the provisioning, the sorting out, the repairs, the planning - and with it the dreaming, the hopes, the anxiousness, the restlessness and the teared up kiss and goodbyes to our loved ones at home.

We’re preparing, as much as humanly possible, but the thing is, that probably the varnish will never be as shiny or glossy as we’d want it to. The freshly painted railing will be dirty and scrammed before we’ve even walked on it, screaming for a new layer, yet again. The deck will get dirty. The aft peak will get messy. The winds will change and the route with it. The schedule will be pushed. Some dreams will be fulfilled and others might not. 

We’ll never be ‘done’. That phrase somehow simply doesn’t exist on a wooden ship, yet alone on the ocean. We’ll try, we’ll do it all, but when we’re through, it’s time to start over again. 

We’ll hope and plan and say goodbye, and hopefully, once the sails are set and we’re left with nothing but the force of the sea and the wind, all the previous listed emotions will be replaced by a beautiful simpleness. We will finally be on our way, and there will be nothing more that we can do. 

.. Except for an additional coat of varnish when the weather allows it, of course.

Signe Ravneberg