A Womb Where Angels Tread

For all the high ideals and noble virtues (excellent stuff for keeping a crew focused), we would be on a fool's errand indeed were it not for the angels who took us in.

"Boys don't come out of the womb until they are twenty-eight!," laughed the lady from behind the counter. The room was filled with a delicious aroma and she fussed happily between the stove and the sink. The other angel chuckled in agreement from his chair by the fire. It was January 22nd 2008. There was snow in the yard and footprints down on the dock. Rob and I were newly arrived to Scotchy's Place - 'Expedition Central' - and had already spent nearly a week enjoying the hospitality of our hosts.
Herb and Wendy Smith masquerade around as mere mortals, yet they are sailing spirits tried and tested, and a pair of Godsends for our novice idea. These angelic souls opened their door and hearts to us over a year ago. We were then in need of a boat to sail upon, a sturdy roof, running water, a hot meal and a safe place to sleep. Since then we have been given all these and more.
As that winter turned to spring, and the spring to summer, we enjoyed the use of Herb's tools and workshop, his trusty old Ford pick-up, the Boston Whaler, and other innumerable little gifts without which this voyage would be impossible. And as summer turned to fall, and fall to winter, we found ourselves continuously provided for. We have lacked for nothing - least of all that most divinely inspired trait: kindness.

Now that year has come to a close and a new one is dawning. Soon it will be the time for leavetakings, farewells and departures. In about two weeks we will stow the last of our clothes aboard Obelisk and take our first steps out of the womb.
Alas!, for leaving all of this behind. Our cottage on the banks of Vaughn's creek, where angels tread.