Thursday January 2, 2020 by WannaskaWriter

The gang's all here: Marion and Jerry Solom in foreground New Year's Eve 2018

This New Year's Eve, my wife and I, along with seven others, including one of Jerry and Marion’s daughters and her family from Kansas, gathered at Chairman Joe and Teresa’s in Palmville. It was our 12th wedding anniversary too. When I told them I was writing about the trip to Florida I took with Jerry and Marion a year ago today, for my almanac entry, everyone was saddened that Jerry had walked on and was no longer with us as we all had often gathered at J & T’s for New Year’s eve. 

Marion was not in attendance this year either, sadly, as she has been hospitalized since December 23 in Grand Forks. However, I am pleased to report, she is on the mend and returning home soon. We did Skype with her so she was able to talk to each of us. Great technology bringing family and friends together.  

A year ago today I was hurriedly packing to go to Florida with Jerry and Marion Solom, who were headed down to their sailboat, Indian Summer, in Indiantown, Florida. These are just a few things I didn't mention then, but have brought forward here in remembrance of that great experience with them both. Bear with me, please.

Jerry had built and sailed the boat to Norway in 2000, and over the course of eight years, with family and various crew, sailed as far south as Portugal and back by 2008; Marion participating, through mild and wild, all the way, except for the Atlantic crossings there and back.

I hadn’t planned to go to Florida. I had just observed Jerry having difficulty breathing as he and I loaded the equipment trailer on January 1st, when the temperatures were about 20-below zero. He had asked me to help him. He’d always been fiercely independent, so when he asked me to help him finish loading it, I knew something must be wrong. I thought if he struggled to load the trailer then, how much would he struggle to unload it in Florida, even with Marion’s help? Her health wasn’t the best anyway. And all kinds of scenarios began playing out in my head, knowing how they would have to board the dry-docked boat using an extension ladder.

I told my wife about Jerry when I got home, saying that since I was retired, I should offer to go along and help them make the 2000 mile drive. I could help them get their stuff into the boat and get them set-up to work, then I'd fly home. She fully supported me, as did our other friends when I broached the idea to them. So against my better judgement, (knowing he’d decline) I called Jerry and told him of my idea, when much to my surprise, he ecstatically answered, “You would? That’d be GREAT! We’re leaving here in two hours.”

Well, you know the rest of the story. I faithfully posted the following three weeks in the Wannaskan Almanac, each Thursday. Memories have stayed with me all year long since the late afternoon we left Solom's and crossed their wood-planked bridge over frozen Mikinaak Creek, the entwined red, blue and green Christmas lights on either side of the steel relic, dark until Christmas of 2019.

I was filled with trepidation when we stopped in the parking lot of Seven Clans Casino near Thief River Falls, a couple hours later. Not only was the steering on the 2013 Tahoe (with 342,000 miles on it) so sloppy that I had been tensing up when we'd hit a rumble-strip, but the differential  had a steady leak, and its rear window and front of the equipment trailer it was pulling were coated in a dirty oily film.

We stayed the first night at their daughter, Mary’s home in Delano, Mn, to have a late mini-Christmas with their two sets of twins, witnessing all the love there. 

And then when we were refused toll-booth change at a Delano bank, after standing in line for several minutes, through two window closings ahead of us, and whose rude associates made us miss Roseau only one day out; Jerry swore under his breath.

Watching Jerry’s skinny, small body (an unfortunate remnant of his long battle with leukemia from 2009-2011 and its lingering effects) wriggle under the rear end of the Tahoe every morning after we had stopped for the night, using a large piece of cardboard, a hooked ‘dip stick,’ a open-ended wrench, and a squeeze bottle full of 80-90 differential fluid. He insisted on doing this job himself, as he did driving the whole way because his back was more comfortable holding onto the steering wheel than sitting as a passenger and lacking support. 

Driving through southern Illinois was like a dream, sort of an out-of-body experience independent of who I had thought I was a few days earlier; sitting on the passenger side of an unfamiliar vehicle, being driven down a four-lane highway through a flat snowless landscape, in January, of surreal-looking wind turbine fields, isolated old farm buildings, red-brown colored cylindrical claytile corn cribs and the repetitive moving shadow of slow-turning turbine blades on old vacant farm houses.

I was busy writing during the whole trip. Taking notes keep me observant. Rather than being engrossed in a smartphone, I’m active in the present, aware of what is going on around me. I’m paying particular attention to details that I might otherwise miss, if I had been driving; turning my head to look down fencelines for wildlife or along the riverbanks we passed. Being absorbed like this was ideal, because with Jerry, whether he was working or traveling, ‘less’ was more; conversation wasn’t always necessary. Jerry was a thinking man and likely had a lot going on inside his head. I understood that and it may have been one reason we got along so good. Quiet served us both well.

Behind me, Marion often slept sitting up in the backseat, her head against the inside of the truck, her mouth slightly agape; Jerry, wearing sunglasses and a down vest sits behind the wheel, the special mesh seat back-support he had crafted from an old summer seat cushion, kept his back straight, and provided him some real comfort.

Marion had her own AC system in the backseat area that she could adjust the way she wanted; but Jerry and I were stuck with a seemingly non-adjustable heater and AC that only blew warm air. We got by, just by closing our vents the best we could. Vehicles around us were too loud and dirty for us to drive with our windows down.

Signs along the roadside hawked “HOG HUNTS” and Civil War Battle field parks and memorials; Marion kept busy reading her Kindle or telling Jerry when the next turn was coming up on the GPS; she was the navigator on this voyage.

We’d take periodic breaks from driving to stretch our legs. At one nice rest stop, nestled among tall pines, I saw a poster, “History of American Baseball,” that referred to the beginning and ending of ‘Negro’ leagues, but with no mention of Jackie Robinson or photos of any black players. I thought it was subtle racism.

The Soloms talked about their six years in Louisiana (1994-2000), practicing sailing in the Gulf of Mexico in preparation for their voyage to Norway in 2000. Jerry mused about getting stuck in Lake Pontchartrain; sailing to the Dry Tortugas with Jack Davidson and Charlie Vistad; and to Cuba with their daughter Erin and son Terry. They talked about Mandeville and Zazzoo’s Restaurant and how great the food and service was.

Through the states of Kentucky and Alabama we drove seeing a lot of hurricane damage cleanup. Construction crews were hauling away debris. There were blue tarp-covered roof repairs, twisted trees, flooded ditches; uprooted palm trees; lots of jungle-like vegetation. Just after dark, west of Dothan, Alabama, the truck slammed into a big hole or something on the highway that scared the b’jesus out of all of us. We pulled over when it was safe, and checked for damage, but none was found; the truck ran and steered fine, but Jerry said it was a sign to find a motel and get off the road. I was all for that.

The next day we drove into Florida for our two night/three day stay over at Dale and Helen’s (Marion's cousin) near Gainesville, where it was a tropical paradise amid unforgettable beauty; we had fun there. They were great people. Jerry’s health seemed to improve in Florida, as did Marion’s. Try as we might, we didn’t see any ‘gators -- except walking around campus at U of F.

We arrived in Indiantown on January 9th and drove into the marina just to insure they were still on schedule to move Indian Summer from the storage area to the work area the next day. It had been four years since I had seen the steel sailboat. Joe and I sailed from Stonington, Maine to Hull, Massachusetts for 150 miles across the Gulf of Maine with Jerry and Marion in 2015. Since then it had sailed to North Carolina, the Bahamas, and Florida. 

I had no idea the Soloms would never see it set sail again and that all our work that winter would go for naught, when Jerry died on July 23, 2019.

It didn’t take long to meet ‘our neighbors’ after Indian Summer was moved into the work bay. The sailboat to the west of us appeared going through a disemboweling with parts of the galley on a cluttered deck and painting/fiberglas repair canisters, empty masking tape rolls, airhoses and debris below. 

I thought the guy working on the boat resembled a crazy-eyed character in the movie, “The Outlaw Josey Wales.” His name was Charles. He played a lot of rock music, often full blast with ACDC “Highway to Hell” being our introductory number. Jerry was glad he had brought along hearing protection. As it turned out, although he proved friendly and respectful, we didn’t see or hear much from Charles while I was there. We did meet up with him and his family for supper in Indiantown one evening.

On the catamaran east of us was a bloke named Eric Palmer, a Brit, Charles’s opposite. He was a humorous guy, interesting and friendly. He helped us when we asked, and I returned the favor. He helped me lift the rudder off of Jerry’s boat and put it back on after we had done the necessary repairs; it weighed a little over one hundred pounds and was awkward to grip. I was glad for the help and that Jerry wasn’t trying to assist me.

On the way back from the showers one evening I watch two lizards with yellow heads black bodies and orange tipped tails getting it on in front of the maintenance garage.

Flip-flops and shorts; Spanish music on the grocery store intercom; ox tails, fresh shrimp, whole fish, beef tongues, hearts, chicken necks, ox feet, pickled pork skin and Jewish rye bread.

While it was true that all the people in the work area were all working on boats, some boats were in better shape than some others. Others were much larger for ocean-going travel and very expensive craft. Eric’s boat had exterior teak wood polished to a high sheen; and was in the process of sanding the twin fiberglass hulls and deck for painting. There was nothing fancy about Indian Summer and it looked it. It was built for utility, not luxury. 
"This isn't a woman's boat," Jerry had said. Jerry reminisced about how rough Indian Summer looked coming into Nordheimsund. Norway, among all the fancy boats in 2000, with paint falling off, etc. “She looked like a cow at a horse show.”

The work on Indian Summer was similar to what we did on it in 2000, in Slidell, LA. I took note: “Spent two hours chipping rust. Miserably hot. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I poured water into my cap and down my neck and beard to cool off. We stopped for lunch to paint what we chipped afterward. Tomorrow we go to Stuart for a road trip 20 miles east. Great sandwich of smoked turkey, rye bread and mustard. Very tasty. We had low sodium spam sandwiches yesterday and those were great too.”

I learned Jerry was very fond of Mexican food; emphasizing Guatemalan/Mexican food, Mexican roadside food truck food--did I mention tacos, burritos, enchiladas, tortillas?  We ate it a lot or made them ourselves in the boat when we could find all the ingredients. 

One afternoon Jerry got frustrated at the IGA store in Indiantown. Marion and I were sitting in the parking lot waiting for Jerry to come out of the store. “Where’s Jerry?” we kept saying. Finally Jerry came out of the store and explained later that he had gotten all but one thing he went in for, but when he looked for taco shells he couldn’t find them. He stopped an employee and asked her, but she didn’t understand English so good, “No comprendre,” she said. 

I said "You could've talked to the store manager, I saw him in there. He speaks English. I can go find him." But Jerry declined. We'd get them some other day. I learned from a Spanish-speaking friend later, that taco shells are tortilla shells. If he had asked for those, she would’ve understood what he was talking about.

Jan 21st: Coldest night here so far. It’s less than 60 degrees. There’s no heater in the boat and the hatch isn’t airtight by any means. I’m wearing my upper and lower long johns, quilted long sleeved shirt, and socks. Restrained by tightness of berth, it was difficult to wrap myself in my sleeping bag. Frustrating. Cushion insulates only minimally between wood platform. Was up four times to pee in jug. Last beer was an hour and a half before bed. Finally got up when I heard traffic on Hwy 710. I put on everything else on that’s here including jeans, shoes, t-shirt, and a sweatshirt--even took pillowcase off to cover my head and face. My warm vest and coat are in the truck. Ain’t this Florida?

Jerry sat on the bench near his nav station in his hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, his palms around a hot cup of coffee, looking like a peasant from the medieval period. I’m standing, dipping hard toast into my coffee, looking like a caveman at the door of his cave, hair all disheveled from sleeping under a large animal.

Later in the day: Had a bit of homesickness when Charles cranked up WKGR 98.7 The Gater, Rock Radio, playing Motely Cru’s “I’m On The Way Home” and “Home Sweet Home.” Yeah baby...

I realized I had never been so far away from home, nor would probably ever go in North America, with Nova Scotia being the one exception: Indiantown is over 2020 miles from Wannaska; Seattle, WA is 1473 miles (according to Wikipedia); Resolute Nunavat Canada 1798 miles, but Nova Scotia apparently is farther at 2066 miles. So I guess it’s not that far from home.

Sailboats dominated the Indiantown Marina, they were literally thicker than fleas on a dog. And I couldn’t walk by them without writing down a few names: Prairie Schooner, Desdemone, Mandoline, Minke, Mac, Oh Baldy, Bogomil, Turtle Trax, Jellicle Cat, Slow Churn, Sun Runner, First Nanny, Bildo, Goldie, Tis Good, Golden Plover, Bright Eyes, Stella, Babuska, Joy, Culubra, Sinn fein, Shadow, Aslan, Arkaios, Felixo, Carpe diem, Wind-A-Leigh, Rosie C, Island Girl, Andiamo, Isabella, Walk About, Prism, Beach Music, Eggicitabel Buoy, Good News, Pelagic Dreamer, War Baby, Second Wind.

Revenge: Living Well is The Best, Destiny IV, Hello Buddies, Oleada, Morning Watch, Lost Time, Aspasia, Never Again III, Domesticator, Cock Island Shucker, Tramp, Max 32, Refuge, Kwaheri, Loren Ipsum, Moon Chaser, Soggy Dollars, Lion heart, Palm Beach, Blue Moon, New Beginning, Ticke Boo, Ican, Wind Drifter, Git ‘R Done, Arctic Bears, Windseeker, Evening Bell, Pelican X, Gala, Nancy Ann, Immanel, Revival, Tai Ann, Anahandt, Moon Shadow, Spirit Guide, Caaique, Chesapeake, Toucan Share, Drifter, Woodwind, My Destiny, Hope, Shocwave, Passages, Chickadee, Gone Feral, and of course, Indian Summer.

At the close of 2019 and the beginning of 2020, we sang, 
“Hail To The Company” by The Chieftains; a song that Chairman Joe's family sing at the end of their family reunions and which holds special memories for all of us now too. Queue it up on Youtube and you'll learn the tune for yourselves. The last verse has a timeless poignancy about it, you may even adopt for your own gatherings -- whether you can sing or not.

Kind friends and companions, come join me in rhyme
Come lift up your voices in chorus with mine
Come lift up your voices, all grief to refrain
For we may or might never all meet here again

So here's a health to the company and one to my lass
Let's drink and be merry all out of one glass
Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain
For we may or might never all meet here again

Here's a health to the wee lass that I love so well
For style and for beauty there's none can excel
There's a smile on her countenance as she sits upon my knee
There is no man in this wide world as happy as me

So here's a health to the company and one to my lass
Let's drink and be merry all out of one glass
Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain
For we may or might never all meet here again

Our ship lies at anchor, she is ready to dock
I wish her safe landing without any shock
And if ever I should meet you by land or by sea
I will always remember your kindness to me

So here's a health to the company and one to my lass
Let's drink and be merry all out of one glass
Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain
For we may or might never all meet here again

Jerry's boat is for sale. 
https://www.yachtworld.com/boats/1993/bruce-roberts-38-sloop-3600623/