SEPTEMBER 20, 2020 – Recently, a good friend of mine, whose sails had been below my horizons for all too long, emailed me an essay by E. B. White: The Sea and the Wind that Blows. White is the writer’s writer (Sea—I mean see—The Elements of Style). I didn’t know that the Man of Style was also a Man of the Sail. His essay is a beautiful piece of writing about peace of mind . . . under sail.
After making repairs to my sailboat last summer—to accommodate Portuguese guests, who honored their American skipper by calling me, “Vasco de Gama!” This year, however, the only water the boat has seen is rainwater. Otherwise, she’s been left high and dry, as I’ve turned my sights back to the future—white pine seedlings and saplings in my tree garden; trees that in 100 years would make mighty masts for tall ships of yore.
After a hard day’s work in the woods, though, I’m still drawn to the (inland) sea—Lake Grindstone, 50 miles south of Lake Superior. I’ll sit “aboard” our dock and pretend it’s a boat. With my face to the wind, I turn 16 again, when I’d leave port on a windy day and sail around the world . . . er . . . lake. My boat was small—Sunfish class—which I “imagined into” a 50-foot schooner. If the conditions were right, I’d sail her to the channel in the far corner of “our world.” I thought of that route to the next big lake as a cosmological “worm hole” through which I’d sail across an opening, then paddle through a long narrows. Upon reaching a low, short bridge, I’d lower sail and mast to “squeeze through time” and on the other side, tow my boat through magical shallows and over the sand bar at the mouth. There I’d raise the mast, hoist the sail, and venture into the wild blue yonder. I’d pretend it was a parallel planet to the world I’d left behind.
My dog . . . and my parents . . . had no idea that I was on Earth II. It was a lot like Earth I but never exactly the same.
The finest moment of those voyages was the return to Earth I—much like the feeling, I imagined, experienced by the Apollo astronauts who caught sight of Earth (I) again after orbiting the moon for the “sling-shot” ride home.
When the wind was right and strong, I’d howl with glee as my boat raced the waves all the way home. Invariably, Earth I looked more beautiful than when I’d left it an hour or two before.
After tying up, I’d hike up the hill to the cabin, where Björn (the dog) greeted me rambunctiously outside, as if I’d been three years at sea. When the porch door slammed to announce my return, my mother would say, “So you decided to come back before supper!”
Oh, the sea and the wind that blows! And so many worlds to imagine you see.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
