Trusting Ourselves

I (Dena) woke at four in the morning and spent an hour and a half pondering dread. It’s not an emotion I spend a lot of time with, but I’ve learned that I ignore it at my peril. We’re anchored in Dutch Harbor, Rhode Island, and we are in the middle of nowhere. The town has filled the good space with hundreds of moorings (I’m not the broken record; they’re the broken record!) and the only place to put the hook down is about halfway between Dutch Island (abandoned but fun to visit in warmer weather) and the much-larger Conanicut Island. We provisioned up at the local supermarket, which is a social-distancing nightmare of narrow aisles and cul-de-sacs. We weren’t even allowed to fill our backpacks in the store because of temporary rules against reusable bags. The cashier got halfway through before having the excellent idea of just putting the items back in our carriage (as she called it) rather than into plastic that we would just get rid of. It can get pretty rough in here, not a lot of protection, and this has been a windy, gusty month on the boat. This was going to be a stop on the way, inching ourselves along the Long Island Sound and toward the Chesapeake, because the weather…wow. Cold, contrary winds and rain every time that changes. We’ve been talking about bouncing to a more-protected spot like Old Saybrook. If it stays stinky weather-wise, at least there’s a grocery store within walking distance. It’s a fairly small basin and so doesn’t build truly fierce fetch like it does here in the Narragansett. But the main reason it felt like a no-brainer is that it’s progress…motion toward the places we plan to be going. So why did I wake at four in[…]

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