Farewell to the Army of Northern Virginia

The pollen comes down in thick and lazy drifts from the pine trees. An unabashed yellow from a Third World preschool. A dull, pasty yellow that clings to everything. I find it on the door knob to the rusty marina bathroom, staining the dog's paws, swirling in puddles after storms, and stealthily topping each layer of paint I apply to the boat. We are unpacking and repacking: taking all our things out, and laying them one by one along the dock to sift through, even as the pines let down their bright dust, slowly and incrementally, to yellow the ground and all our earthly possessions.

It is April, and next week, as we set sail in our 26 foot sloop named Julep, we follow the spring up the coast. It is April, and it is Easter and it is the second anniversary of my little sister's death. When we leave, I will scatter some of her ashes here too, another place I have lived where I have loved and missed her.

We have readied for our voyage by bringing Julep around to a long pier out on the Severn River. Down the pier, where our friends run a boat carpentry operation and informal cat rehabilitation center, all is still. The earth is so flat that a topography of birds emerges. Little flighty bug eaters stalk and skim along the shortcut marsh grasses; crows flap past and into the trees; gulls, vultures and osprey send down shadows at this land's end. Out on the river, it is scarcely ever still, and we are kept up most of the night by the wild rocking of our little home and the ceaseless whine of the bumpers protecting the hull. 

Our days are blurry and shifting, chicken scratch lists on paper and orange violet moods: the thrill of imminent departure and the weight of a thousand chores.

We came to the Chesapeake in December with promises of work and a winter sail. Julep, a Maine-born vessel, had been languishing here for years. We arrived during the run up to Christmas, to a boat suffering the beginnings of mildew and rot, to a season of little work and we watched our trip funds dwindle and in February we came to terms with this being our winter destination. And so we made do with bloody marys on Sundays and slow cooked dinners and lately with the brilliant forest tapestries of flowering trees.

But this is a farewell song.  We've come to take Julep home. To return to our land of plenty.

Farewell Virginia, I see you in your closeup, I do not see you at all. 

My eyes are trained on northern nautical miles, on near and distant lands that do not bear your name. 

Farewell again, to my bright love, my fairy girl. 
Let us meet again someday on that warm and distant shore.