Escapism? Hobbyism?

Why working on our old boat still matters (to me)

Welcome to Incredibly Ordinary! I’m thrilled to have brought a few new subscribers over from Facebook since I closed my account there. It’s also a lot of pressure to create interesting content worth your precious time. Thank you for reading.

In case you’re just joining the club, the mission of this little rag is about sharing ways of maximizing the “good life” while treating our precious home planet and all her inhabitants kindly. The topics were rarely political, other than occasionally taking a cheap shot at the fossil fuel industry and climate deniers (one and the same?). But nevertheless here we are, at a moment in history when writing about the environmental benefits of induction stoves and EV road trips seems kind of quaint.

Daystar under wraps alongside her antique land dinghy

Spring has sprung on dark times

Back in normal years, the months of March and April are a flurry of activity as sailors here in the Midwest prepare for another summer of fun and relaxation. Well, I don’t have to put too fine a point on it, but these days feel like anything but normal. In case your mainstream news sources haven’t been completely honest with you, the most incompetent and greedy husks of humanity have taken control of government. I don’t think it’s possible to have unearthed a more sociopathic crew than these so called “leaders”.

While the independent journalists here on Substack and elsewhere shine a spotlight on the shit show in DC, you might find me at the boatyard dutifully prepping our 32 year old sailboat Daystar for her return to the lake. Sure, nearly every day I’m registering my disgust with my elected representatives to see if anyone with a shred of integrity is still home on Capitol Hill. Giving up on this beautiful country and her citizens is absolutely not an option. But take away something like sailing that brings my family together? While that might seem frivolous to you, (oh yes, most certainly!) it still matters to me.

And burning keystrokes sharing stories of boat maintenance? Well, that sounds awfully tone deaf considering the tens of thousands of jobs already lost in the bogus billionaire’s search for “waste”. Now toss in the legitimate fear running rampant among immigrants, trans folks, activists and anyone else in the current crosshairs of this evil regime. Protections for marginalized groups and the environment are falling faster than the Dow Jones index as the Project 2025 playbook comes to roost. Who knows where this will all go, but it sure as hell doesn’t look good. But before I lose you, allow me to remind you of the topic of this post: BOAT WORK!

Stripping is fun, just ask how I know

The power of routine in empowering change

So with that backdrop, why would I care about a plaything like our sailboat? I’ll offer you a few reasons, which I’m sure will present as rationalizing a hobby to escape reality while the world burns. But let me assure you that my activism rests on a solid foundation of mental health, without which I’d likely be swept up in a tidal wave of helplessness. Working on the boat is a signal to me that we’ll get through this mess, that life will return to a better state sometime. Even if that day is uncertain, we will launch Daystar this May.

For those of you who care about the boat stuff, read on. Otherwise feel free to ** skip ahead **, or whatever you want to do. I’ll be brief, but you’re in charge here.

This winter I’ve embarked on a number of what we call “vanity projects”. These are the things that absolutely didn’t need doing, yet you do them anyways. Stripping and refinishing interior woodwork, for instance, qualifies as such. Having the mast repainted is also a vanity project. But I enjoy making Daystar look her best. You do you.

Both of the aforementioned projects were the result of three decades of Nature’s touch. Below decks, the finish on the cabinetry had developed a mottled blotchiness more akin to chicken pox than freckles. In other words, not pretty. Many hours of careful work with a sharp scraper, followed by the mindless chore of hand sanding, and the woodwork was relieved of whatever varnish had originally been applied at the factory. Reapplying the new poly was comparatively fast and easy, considering I had an ace up my sleeve - a paint sprayer.

Meanwhile above deck, the previously brilliant white paint on the mast had degraded to a chalky gray, completely worn off in spots. However, you can’t just chuck a 59 foot long aluminum extrusion into the paint booth without removing every last bit of hardware from the big stick. Several wintry visits to the boatyard later, I could finally release the mast to the painters. Only one small aluminum cleat refused to give up its attachment to the spar. Careful surgery with my angle grinder took care of the recalcitrant piece.

Daystar’s mast makeover

** End of boatyard talk. That wasn’t so bad, was it? **

Look, when the world around you seems to be swirling uncomfortably in vertigo-inducing gyrations, it’s natural to want to smash the giant red STOP button. While I certainly don’t have much political heft, boat work is a reminder that I have agency to make change happen. Through planning, learning, hard work and persistence I’ve managed to upgrade an old boat with good bones into the queen she’s become.

Another parallel that’s straight out of this frugal Yankee’s operating manual is to take good care of what you have. Whether it’s our vintage 1993 vessel, or the nearly 250 year old experiment called the USA, I’d rather fix what I’ve got than start over. Sure, even some on the left of the political spectrum would like to see our institutions burned to the ground. Not me. While we’ve lost our direction in a haze of greed, maybe we needed to collectively see things get this bad to realize how much we rely on each other.

All four sons earning their time aboard

Speaking of collective action, maintaining Daystar isn’t a solo effort. Sure, my sons all help to some degree, but where I don’t have the skills, time (or both!) I hire local businesses to fill in the gaps. This year alone, my contributions to the regional economy include a metal refinisher, model maker, rigger, powder coater, leather shop, two painters and a sail loft. (Are you curious what a rigger is, or why a sailor needs leather? Click the linked business or stay tuned! You might find out in a future episode of Incredibly Ordinary.) These small firms in the Chicago metro area deserve a chance to earn a good living for providing quality service.

Finally, no money was spent at Amazon in the quest for parts or supplies. Nothing. Zero. Zip. Bezos and his fellow unctuous oligarchs can help themselves to a cushy seat on the first rocket going anywhere as long as it’s not here. I’ll continue to share my boat bucks with Chicago’s craftspeople and not the tech bros. If the only language that seems to be spoken among the billionaire class is the jingle of gold, they will not get mine.

Industrious enterprise everywhere

OK, now what?

If you made it this far, let me try to wrap this post on a positive note. Regardless of our immediate situation, the pre-election trajectory was unsustainable. Planning for endless growth on a finite planet is simply madness. The cracks in our society and biosphere were already obvious, thanks to the massive inequality inherent to our late-stage capitalist model. The system needed to change anyways. And I will be part of the movement the latest regime has awakened to remake our world. Sailing just happens to be a powerful tool to sustain my work for a better future.

[PHOTOS] by the author