This is one of my favorite blogs. The initial version was created as a contest entry for a travel writing workshop held in Marin County at Book Passage. I didn’t win first prize but I was a runner-up.
Here’s the rest of the story: For a year after Gunter and I completed our circumnavigation in 2008. our catamaran Pacific Bliss remained on the dock at the Catana factory in Canet—the south of France—where she had been built. Most of the western world was deep into recession and ocean-going yachts were not selling. But finally, the recession eased and we sold our beloved Pacific Bliss to a U.K. couple with two young children.
The new family sailed her across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, as we did during our Maiden Voyage. Anticipating adventures and enthused about new places to discover, they became familiar with Pacific Bliss. They learned to use her high-tech systems, evaluated her strength, and tested her resolve to keep them safe and secure, just as she did for us. They sailed her throughout the South Pacific, sometimes following our path.
As the years passed, we followed the progress of Pacific Bliss less and less. We had become enamored of our new love, Northern Bliss, a property in Northwest Wisconsin, purchased with the proceeds from the sale. We gutted, remodeled and added a bunk room to our new vacation and family reunion venue so it could sleep 16. Two years later, we purchased the two-bedroom 1946 cabin next door and combined the properties. Many of my blogs now focus on cruising, riverboating, or land touring—as well as the joys of landscaping and gardening. Despite sailing around the world, however, Gunter and I are still afflicted with wanderlust. If you’ve discovered a cure for that, let us know!
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page. You can purchase her books recounting their journey featuring images from 60 countries on Amazon.
Usually, my blogs describe the joy of the Great Outdoors, whether sailing, traveling, gardening or just enjoying nature. But sometimes a traveler falls in love with a destination, only to see it degenerate year after year. This story looks into the pain of seeing a UNESCO World Heritage city destroyed before our very eyes.
My heart bleeds for Yemen. For centuries, this country was reportedly the least known in Arabia. As I posted in another blog, Yemen—Al Qaeda, Qat Chewing, and So Much More, “King Solomon knew of this legendary land long before the Queen of Sheba visited his court with her gorgeous gifts. Yemen, along with Oman, is known for its rich resources of frankincense, spice, and myrrh. Great empires emerged there centuries before Christ. Here, the Biblical Noah launched his famous ark. Yemen was called The Pearl of the Peninsula.”
What happened? First, most of Yemen’s adult population chews an intoxicating leaf called Qat. Imagine a western country where most everyone smokes marijuana from noon until bedtime! Chewing qat is a way of life in Yemen. Growing qat requires an abundance of water, and when we sailed there in 2004 during our world circumnavigation, Yemen was already running out of water. Second, the economy was cratering. And third, three-fourths of the population was under 25 and jobs were scarce. The country was ripe for takeover.
Aden has a natural harbor that lies in the crater of a dormant volcano. (from page 265, The Long Way Back).
From Aden to Sana’a. Gunter and I saw signs of impending problems during our visit. We had sailed safely from Oman through Pirate Alley to the harbor in Aden, Yemen (yes, that place where Al Qaeda bombed the U.S.S Cole). We performed the usual maintenance of our catamaran Pacific Bliss and then decided to travel to the capital city, Sana’a, in the interior. Old Sana’a is a UNESCO heritage site, and at that time, was the best preserved in the whole of the Arab world.
The crews of Winpocke and Legend and another cruiser, Dietrich, along with our crew, Chris, piled into a dilapidated van. Our driver took us to a rundown building in Aden where we picked up tourist permits (ten copies each). Soon we passed through the outskirts of Aden and into a bleak countryside with struggling trees, gray boulders, and acres of brown sand. Grass huts appeared here and there. Within an hour, we were at our first of ten checkpoints. I asked the driver, “Why do they track us so carefully?”
“For your protection,” he answered. “Kidnappings. If one of you should disappear, the government would be able to track where you were from the last checkpoint.” (A week later, I read a story in the Yemen Times: A group of tourists brought to Marib, Yemen’s oldest city, by a Bedouin guide, was captured and held for ransom by Al Qaeda. Apparently, their guide had been paid to lead them to the Queen of Sheba Temple and the great Marib dam.)
We drove farther into the countryside. The flat land yielded to rolling hills. We bumped along the dusty road passing rocky outcrops, scrub, and an occasional mudbrick hovel. These people were poor, dirt poor, and I wondered how they could afford a vice like qat. We stopped for lunch in a small town. Curious children crowded around us as our driver parked the van. Our group entered the town’s sole restaurant housed in a decrepit two-story building made of unpainted wood and corrugated iron. The lunch special was chicken floating in a greasy sauce in a dented pan atop a rusty burner. I knew I wouldn’t order that!
We pulled up stools and scooted around a dirty, unpainted wooden table. Along with an obligatory, framed picture of then-President Saleh, a few torn posters of Saddam Hussein decorated the plasterboard walls. The proprietor pulled our driver aside. “There isn’t enough chicken for a group of nine.”
Just as well. Part of our group had already started to leave after taking a closer look around. We bought fruit that we could peel, such as bananas, and piled back into the van. As we continued to drive north, pink plastic bags blown from the market lined the hilly desert landscape for miles. They caught on dry shrubs and puffed in the wind like limp balloons.
“The National Flower of Yemen,” I joked. But as we drove on through one small town after another, the immense trash problem was no laughing matter. Piles of garbage were everywhere. Apparently, whenever anyone consumed a drink from a can or bottle, he or she simply dropped it.
Near Sana’a, rocky hills gave way to a fertile valley with terraced hills of luscious, green plants receding into the horizon.
“Qat plantations,” our driver stated. He pointed out the armed guards protecting well-maintained fields. The mud-brick houses nestled among the green were a remarkable improvement over the single-story hovels we passed along the way.
“There must be a lot of money in growing qat,” I said. He nodded vigorously.
Vendor in a marketplace stores qat in his cheek as he chews. (from page 270, The Long Way Back)
Sana’a, Yemen in 2004. On my first morning in Sana’a, I awakened to a cacophony of muezzins chanting from hundreds of minarets filling the Old City. The sounds melded together as if in deliberate harmony. Dawn’s light spread through the small stained-glass windows of our centuries-old hotel room, causing a rainbow of colors to dance on the soft white plaster of the of the ancient mud-brick walls. Quickly, I dashed in and out of the cool shower, applied my make-up in front of the lone mirror, and threw on a skirt (below my knees) a blouse (not too revealing) and a lightweight shawl that could double as a headscarf.
I groped my way down the dim spiral staircase to the small reception area and nodded to the proprietor. Walking along the sidewalk, I photographed golden shafts of light that wove through a row of sand-colored six-story buildings. Called tower homes, they’re the world’s first skyscrapers. Sana’a had 14,000 of them. Their architectural style precedes the seventh-century advent of Islam; the lower levels might date back as far as 1200 BC. Everything necessary for reconstruction when top levels tumble—mud, straw, clay and limestone—is found right outside the city gates. Construction methods haven’t changed in 4,000 years.
We stayed at the Taj Talha Hotel, a tower house in Old Sana’a. (from page 268, The Long Way Back)
According to the Yemenis, the city of Sana’a is one of the first sites of human settlements, founded by Noah’s son Shem. Until 962 AD the entire city nestled between the walls of the Old City. By the time we were there in 2004, however, the population of one million had expanded to new parts of the high plateau. As I walked along, I thought about how privileged I was to be there in a country that some travel sites listed as appropriate only for “dark tourism.” Little did I know then what would happen to Old Sana’a, a UNESCO World Heritage Site I had begun to love.
As I walked past hammams (bath houses) built during the occupation by Ottomans in the 1800s, I nodded to a trio of women clothed in black from head to toe. They furtively glanced downward, avoiding eye contact. The heavy black of their clothes against these ancient golden walls drew a dark contrast. The scene seemed lost in time. It was the first setting I’d found in which the dark Arabian abaya seemed to fit. I sensed that the women wouldn’t pose for me, but farther on, away from the shadows of the tower homes, I met Yemeni men wearing traditional dress topped with beautifully carved belts and daggers. They posed willingly, proud to have their pictures taken. As I returned to our hotel for breakfast, wide-eyed children followed me through the narrow streets, motioning that they too wanted me to take their pictures.Yemeni man in traditional dress (from page 268, The Long Way Back)
After siestas, when the sun is low on the horizon, the souks open. Our second day in Sana’a, Gunter was on a mission. He wanted to buy a traditional belt and dagger. I tagged along while he shopped, haggled, and shopped some more. Finally, he found a carved, beaded belt of fine leather with a matching dagger scabbard. “Does the dagger come with it?” he asked.
“Of course,” the black-bearded vendor said laconically, his right cheek bulging with qat. He took out the dagger and ran his finger carefully along the finely-honed edge. “Why would you want such a fine holster without a sharp dagger to match?”
I turned to Gunter and whispered, “Customs?” He heard me but bought the set anyway. That dagger is now displayed on a wall near the door to my office.Belt, holster and dagger from Sana’a, Yemen.
One evening, there was a party going on in Sana’a, with lively music and dancing in the streets near the souk. With my camera around my neck, I pushed through the crowd. A group of white-robed men opened a path for me toward a circle of men holding hands and dancing. One man pointed and motioned for me to take a photo.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked.
“Wedding celebration,” he answered.
Noticing that the entire group was composed of men, I asked, “Where’s the bride?”
“At home, celebrating with the women.”
I felt honored and surprised that these men would invite a woman into their circle, but after taking photos, I felt uncomfortable and returned to Gunter.
On our last day, we caught a cab to the new part of Sana’a that is home to the presidential palace, the parliament, the supreme court, and the country’s ministries. We passed an assortment of modern shopping centers and hotels. It was not as impressive as Old Sana’a. We told the driver about the men dancing in the souk before a wedding. “There are many weddings in March,” he said. “I can take you to a wonderful tower home where there’s a wedding today.” The taxi stopped at an incredible estate on high, rocky promontory outside of the city. Men were dancing outside on a shaded patio while the women remained inside. As I took the photo of the home carved into stone, I spied a lone woman in black. Intrigued, I included her in the photo below.
Men dance outside while women inside prepare for a wedding. (page 273, The Long Way Back)The wedding was held at this tower home carved into rock. (from page 274, The Long Way Back)
Yemen Today. Every time I hear more devastating news about Yemen I cringe and cry. In March, it will have been twenty years since we visited Yemen. The boys and girls we talked with are now in their late twenties and early thirties. Many of the boys are probably in the military, serving the Houthis who now run Sana’a. Many of the girls most likely have children of their own, some of them malnourished and ill. Others will be among the dead.
With about three-fourths of its population living in poverty, Yemen has long been the world’s poorest country; its humanitarian crisis has been called one of the worst in the world. Disease runs rampart; suspected cholera cases passed 200,000 in 2020. And that was before Covid swept through the country! Sadly, many countries cut critical aid during the pandemic, leading UN organizations to reduce food rations for some eight million Yemenis in 2022. Three out of four Yeminis now require humanitarian aid and protection; four million are internally displaced refugees.
President Ali Abduallah Saleh, whose portrait was hung in every business we visited, held power for 33 years, ruling from Sana’a from 1978-2012 when he formally handed over the reins to his deputy, Abdurabu Mansur Haidi. Back in 1993, Yemen became the first country in the Arabian Peninsula to hold multi-party elections under universal suffrage. Fifty women competed and two won seats. But as in Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya, the Arab Spring uprisings of 2011 lit a powder keg of longstanding dissatisfaction with dictators. Saleh was known by many as “Yemen’s godfather,” but by others as its authoritarian leader. After surviving an assassination attempt, he fled the country with immunity from prosecution. Unfortunately, the popular uprisings allowed room for competing factions to vie for power. Iran backed Shiite rebels in the Northwest and West and began a proxy war against Yemeni’s Sunni-majority government headed by Haidi. Saudi Arabia backed Yemini’s government, pushed to the south by the rebels when the Houthis took over Sana’a.
The situation changed after US President Obama sent a “planeload of cash” in various currencies (estimated at $400 million) to Iran as the first installment on a $1.7 billion settlement, part of the Iran nuclear deal signed July 14, 2015. Unfrozen assets have totaled $29-150 billion (depending on the source). Soon after, checkpoints that we cruisers went through heading north from Aden sported Death to Israel, Death to America signs. Tourism went out the window. The bloody conflict some call a “Civil War,” has continued to this day—except for a brief April 2022 ceasefire. The UN Development Program estimates that more than 370,000 people have died as a result of the war; lack of food, water, and health services represent almost 60 percent of those deaths.
Sana’a Today. Since the military campaign began in March 2015, several airstrikes have battered Old Sana’a. “Because the city’s houses are made from clay, the bombing has affected them very heavily. We have seen several UNESCO-listed houses among the damaged places,” says Mohammed al-Hakimi, an environment journalist and editor of Holm Akhdar website. “In June 2015, heavy bombing targeted Miqshamat al-Qasimi, a famous urban garden and one of the most beautiful areas in the city. In addition, airstrikes on the Ministry of Defense and National Security buildings have significantly damaged several areas given the buildings’ proximity to the old city.”
Poking through the ruins of Sana’a after a bombing.
Yet even before the current conflict began, successive governments turned a blind eye to the catastrophe right in front of them. According to locals, no building maintenance had been done since 2004, when Sana’a was announced as the Capital of Arabic Culture. Even then, restoration work was confined to the outward-facing parts of the city. When the Houthis took over Sana’a in September 2014, the situation only got worse—indifference turned into desecration. The Houthis began covering many of the ancient buildings with propaganda slogans and chants.
Houthi chants and slogans on historical buildings. Translation: Allah is greater, death to America, death to Israel, and victory to Islam. Photo Credit Ali AlsonidarHouthi Soldiers, armed by Iran, trained by Hezbollah, a Lebanese Shia group.
Additionally, the sprawl of modern-style construction invaded the old city. Homeowners sold these ancient homes to developers who turned them into commercial centers. Of course, a law prohibits people to build new structures in Old Sana’a, but reportedly, bribery is endemic. Exacerbating the problem are certain Houthi policies. For example, some owners of traditional cafes and motels inside the old city have had to shut their doors because the Houthis—from a religious standpoint—have prohibited the mixing of unrelated men and women in public spaces like cafes and restaurants.
Destroyed Sana’a tower homes.
Most of the country’s problems are man-made. Ongoing neglect threatens the historic city of Sana’a, and without that history, Yemen will lose its national identity. Fortifying Old Sana’a and restoring its unparalleled beauty—in a well-managed, coordinated manner—will require a responsible government in this war-torn country. When the conflict finally comes to an end, I fear that Yemen will have nothing left to offer its people and the world.
For more on Yemen’s history, the Houthi’s involvement in Israel/Gaza war, and their targeting of international vessels passing through Bab al-Mandab, a chokepoint for international trade, watch for Part II of Yemen Then and Now.
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page.
You may have wondered why acorns in Northwest Wisconsin seem be everywhere this year—filling yards and woods and scattering over sidewalks, driveways and roads. 2023 is experiencing a “masting year,” an outsized crop of acorns. It’s not just one oak here and there, but nearly all the oaks in a region that produce an extraordinary number of acorns in the same year. Yes, we’ve had a drought this year, but that’s not the reason, and please, don’t attribute masting to climate change. This phenomenon has begged explanation for centuries! I call it one of nature’s miracles.
The Advantage of Masting. We do know that making acorns requires lots of energy, so during mast years, oaks grow very little. This can be verified, after the fact, by examining oak growth rings. In a typical year, an oak tree can produce more than 2,000 acorns. During a mast year, that number can jump to 10,000. Mast years do not occur two years in a row. They typically occur every 5-8 years. We now know that trees communicate via an underground network of fungi. I imagine them talking to one another last year about the advantage of masting:
Red Oak proposes a plan to a group of oaks attending the annual Polk County Oak Society (PCOS): “Let’s make 2023 a masting year. It’s time we outwit those squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, opossums, raccoons, mice and voles. And especially those white-tailed deer who feast on our acorns—accounting for 75% of their fall diet.”
“Don’t forget the black bears,” White Oak adds. “Their population is increasing in Wisconsin. In 2022, their census count was 24,000.”
“Well, you can’t blame these predators,” Red Oak counters. “Our acorns here are the best. They contain huge amounts of nutrients. If it hadn’t been for our acorns, many of those predators would have died when the Eastern Chestnut disappeared from the forests.”
“Listen, friends,” says Bur Oak. “If all of our offspring are sacrificed, we don’t reproduce. Even though it costs us some growth, we need to flood the market with acorns again. Just for one year. At least, some acorns will escape the predatory scramble and germinate. Then we’ll have a baby boom like you wouldn’t believe!”
The vote was unanimous. 2023 will be a mast year.
Acorns dropped at Northern Bliss, Balsam Lake, WI.
The Science of Masting. Acorns provide an amazing array of nutrients: protein, carbs, and fats—as well as calcium, phosphorous, potassium and niacin. During mast years, there is unlimited food for acorn predators. This removes one of the biggest factors for population growth so birds, squirrels, mice, deer, etc. make more babies. The following year, though, a smaller crop of acorn causes the death of many of those predators. This boom-and-bust cycle keeps acorn predators low.
Masting may also improve pollination. Oaks are wind-pollinated, and (not surprisingly), wind-pollinated plants are at the mercy of the wind. Statistics tell us that pollination success will increase if there is more pollen blowing around when the female oak flowers are mature and open. Synchronizing the release of pollen in some years would result in lots of pollen, and therefore, increased pollination.
Yet another hypothesis about oak masting has to do with energy allocation. In most years, there are not enough resources such as water, nutrients, and sunlight to provide sufficient energy to grow and to make a lot of acorns at the same time. Scientists speculate that oaks partition available energy; some years they allocate it to growth; other years they direct energy to reproduction.
The plentiful supply of acorns we’re seeing now has a lot to do with the weather we experienced last fall and spring.
“It probably had favorable [precipitation] last fall. Then we didn’t have a frost that affects the germination of the flowers that actually produce the acorn,” says Doug Sippl, Forest Silviculturist for the Chequamegon Nicolet National Forest.
“There are a lot of other factors that can go into it as well. Things like the amount of sunlight an oak tree gets, the age of the tree, or how healthy it is. That’s why some parts of the Northwoods may see a mast year for acorns while other parts don’t.”
If you have oaks near where you live, you can decide for yourself which explanation makes the most sense. Enjoy watching the wildlife activity around those oaks the next time they mast. I urge you to partake of Nature’s Miracle. You could meditate under an oak tree while acorns drop on your head and chipmunks stuff their cheeks. Or you could busy yourself making acorn flour!
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award-winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page. Lois’s books can be purchased from PIP Productions on Amazon and on her website.
“For he will order his angels to protect you wherever you go.” –Psalms 91:11
A giant clam at Makogai’s research station.
Makogai, Fiji, July 2003
Often during our world circumnavigation, we believe we were protected by angels on board. This story tells about one of those times.
We clean our yacht Pacific Bliss and provision for the passage back to Denarau. From there, we will depart Fiji for the islands of Vanuatu. We’re now more than halfway into our world circumnavigation. Anchored near the island, sheets of rain have pelted us for a miserable two days.
On the morning of the third day, we behold a rainbow that is solid and stout. We take it as a clear sign from God that this relentless driving rain is finally over. The rising sun sneaks between the clouds, casting her beam toward the stern of our 43-foot catamaran.
Gunter turns toward me as I clear the breakfast dishes from the cockpit table. “Quick! Let’s get outta here before this horrible weather system moves back in.”
I stack the dishes in the galley and rush to the bow to haul anchor. Gunter takes the helm. “The anchor line is wrapped around a coral head!” I yell back to Gunter. “Gun the engine forward. Maybe we can work it loose.”
We rock back and forth, round and round. It refuses to come loose.
“I don’t believe it,” Gunter groans. “This is…was…our last chance to get out of here, and now we’ve got an anchor problem. I’ll dive down.”
He’s already donning his snorkeling mask. I hand him his fins. He jumps off the stern ladder and swims toward the anchor. Fortunately, it’s not a serious problem and, experienced at this by now, he frees it within minutes.
Soon we are motoring through Dalice Bay toward the dangerous pass, the only safe exit through Makogai’s protective reef.
The pass is deep enough—20 feet. No problem. But, in places, it’s less than 32 feet wide. With her 24-foot beam square in the middle, Pacific Bliss will have less than four-foot leeway on either side. One mistake and it’s all over. We are the only yacht in this area. Occasional workers do arrive by boat to the fishery here that tends Makogai’s giant clams, but I doubt they would have the equipment to pull us off.
We are on our own.
To make matters worse, our computer died while we were waiting here for the weather to clear, the last of a long list of equipment malfunctions. I’m forced to navigate the old-fashioned way—by sight—without access to our incoming GPS track. If ever navigation demanded absolute concentration, this is the time. I use the back of my hand to swipe the sweat from my forehead. This hot air is suffocating!
We slow down to enter the passage, with the sun at our back. Perfect! I’m standing at the bow, calling directions to Gunter at the helm, as Pacific Bliss painstakingly winds her way through the reefs. I stare at them through the clear water; they are zigzagged and sharp—gigantic saws that could cut our hulls to smithereens.
We continue to inch forward. I bend over the bow, looking from one side and then the other as Gunter carefully guns both engines. My tongue is dry as sandpaper. My heart pounds like I’m running a 10k.
About halfway through, I straighten to direct Gunter the rest of the way.
Suddenly my stomach knots.
No-o! We have lost the sun. The clouds have closed in tight. I can no longer make out the reefs.
Too far to the left or right, and it’s curtain time.
“Stop!” I shout.
“I can’t!” Gunter shouts back. “I’m going as slow as I can. If I stop now, we might turn sideways. All 43 feet of us. We’re longer than the channel is wide.”
Things happen quickly at sea. Any lapse in judgement could cause our boat to break on the reefs. There is nothing to do now but pray. But I know that my answer from God must come quickly. There’s no time to kneel, no time to plead. Only time to ask and believe.
“God, please send your angels to move those clouds…over there, blocking your sun. Now!”
Incredibly, the answer is immediate. God parts the clouds as clearly as he parted the Red Sea back in Moses’ day. Yay God! I raise my hands to the sky in praise.
The sun is back over my shoulders again, almost overhead now, showing the way. I feel the delicate touch of an angel on my shoulder. I’m calming down now. Focus.
Through my polarized sunglasses, I can see that Pacific Bliss is still positioned exactly in the middle of the two reef walls—they are separated like an underground chasm. But jagged rocks and coral still threaten her on both sides.
Ever so slowly, while maintaining steerage, Gunter nudges Pacific Bliss forward, as I shout warnings and directions. “A little to port…straighten her…that’s it…coral at the starboard now…careful…careful…”
Every foot is treacherous and uncertain but, after what seems an eternity, we finally make our way through the remainder of the channel.
Back into safe seas again, there is no need for a lookout at the bow. I breathe a deep sigh of relief and walk toward the cockpit to stand next to Gunter. “It is a miracle…a real miracle…”
Gunter nods. His face relaxes, releasing its frown and furrows.
I look back to our wake. White froth over navy blue. Slowly I gaze at the sky, upwards towards the clouds. Those clouds have closed in again, as tightly as one of Makogai’s giant clams. A chill runs up my spine. The sun has disappeared!
“Thank you God,” I murmur. “Thank you for sending your angels to keep us safe.”
“Your angels are always on board,” He responds softly.
___________________________
We unfurl the jib and sail onward, content with our speed of five knots on a beam reach, too overcome with joy to bother with the main. The sky remains overcast but the wind dries the sticky dampness of my clothes and hair. Four hours later, we anchor near the sandy beach of Naigani, well beyond a patch of coral.
After our chores, we sit in the cockpit, sipping our wine and enjoying the Light Show, pinks and mauves deepening to reds and maroons. The sun slowly slips into the ocean like a squashed golden gourd.
Gunter turns toward me. “Do you think we’ll see the green flash?”
“Nah, the sun is pressed too flat. I’ve seen it only when the sun is full and round, with absolutely no clouds on the horizon.”
“Could happen. There’s no haze now. That might lead to a refraction of light because of the squashing.”
He is right, as usual. He’s a physicist, after all. For a fraction of a second, an iridescent green light surrounds the gold, right after the sun sinks into the sea.
“Thanks, God, for having your angels watch over us,” I toast to the glowing horizon. I’m truly grateful.
And yet, I’m beginning to have a few misgivings:
Were today’s events just another example of God sending his angels to watch over us, as we’d asked Him to do when we began this voyage around the world? Or were they warning signs to “cool it?” Perhaps God is telling us that sailing half-way around the world is enough, already.
Is it right to ask Him to protect us for yet another 18,000 miles?
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award-winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page. Lois’s books can be purchased from PIP Productions on Amazon and on her website.
Those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer are the perfect time to host family reunions. The hosts want their guests to revel in The Great Outdoors—where children, dogs, and partiers can do their thing—without being underfoot in the kitchen. That wish requires almost-perfect weather, no rain ruining tables of food, no wind prying tablecloth fasteners loose, and sufficient cloud cover to protect against the midsummer sun’s heat.
Forty-two guests attended the reunion kick-off day.Family Reunion Attendees Enjoyed The Great Outdoors.
Thankfully, the weather cooperated fully for the 42 partiers who attended Hofmann Family Reunion this July. The Texans escaped their 100-degree heat; Bavarians appreciated abundant outdoor seating areas to sit and chat; and the locals from Minnesota and Wisconsin loved playing Cornhole Bean Bag Throw for five days straight.
Planning your reunion: Planning for a meaningful, memorable and successful family reunion requires juggling a staggering amount of details. Gunter and I began planning a year in advance. In our case, the venue would be our lake property, Northern Bliss. Our first hurdle was to negotiate optimal dates for our four children, their children and their spouses. That took four months! We decided on five “scheduled event days” with the option of arriving three days before and/or staying up to one week after. The next step was to determine the maximum guest list by adding siblings and cousins. We e-mailed a SAVE THE DATE message promoting key activities, along with a graphic to gain attention. From that mailing, we hoped to obtain a rough count. We hoped that our property’s Big House and Cabin would fill quickly and we would need to reserve additional sleeping space at Forrest Inn in Amery. But how could we know with responses arriving at a tortoise pace?
A second mailing and a few phone calls helped. We provided an updated program that included activities for the key five days:
For the Kick-off, a Saturday, we hired a caterer for brunch and dinner and an accordion player for entertainment. That added a “this is for real” certainty to the event.
We promoted Sunday as a day to rest and relax at the lake, join us for an afternoon brunch-with-band at Dancing Dragonfly Winery, and/or take a an early-evening scenic Paddlewheel Riverboat Tour leaving from nearby Taylors Falls, MN.
The following Regional Days would be hosted by three groups: Bavarians, Texans, and Wisconsinites/Minnesotans. Each group would provide all meals and entertainment and clean-up. I appointed two co-hosts to manage each day. As their individual programs developed, co-hosts were responsible for selecting creative teams and promoting “their day” to the attendee list.
Gege, Celebration at the Gables.Frank Gust playing on accordion.Brunch-with-band at the winery.
Gunter and I did everything we could to ensure that the reunion would run smoothly. (Fortunately, my son Jeff surprised us by flying up from Texas a week early to help.) First, the three of us made space in our garage to accommodate an inclement weather back-up plan. Second, we set up separate shelves designated as Bavaria, Texas, and MN/WI so that co-hosts could send items ahead, such as table runners, flags, banners, paper plates, cups, prizes and booby prizes for games. Third, we organized a cabinet for plastic plates, cutlery, coffee cups, and tablecloths. Finally, we organized a game and watersport corner. The Amazon driver delivered orders almost every day that week!
Before the opening day, Jeff helped us rearrange refrigerators so that the smaller one in the garage held only beer and soft drinks. The other was used solely for reunion events, so that the kitchen fridge could be used for breakfasts and snacks for house guests. We rearranged and labeled our kitchen and pantry cupboards to allow others to work on their Special Days.
Gege, our caterer for the first day, delivered her supplies—table, tablecloth, and coffee urn—a few days in advance: A veteran of hundreds of weddings and other events, she provided a plethora of useful ideas for the days to come. One idea worked exceptionally well: “I know by now that I cannot provide coffee to please everyone, so please appoint the coffee snob in your group to handle purchasing and making the coffee for the entire reunion.” Immediately, I identified the perfect snob, Jeff, who promptly ordered Wisconsin-roasted coffee in bulk and set up his own coffee stand in front of the cabin where he was residing. Everyone loved his special brews!
Buy, borrow or rent? A few weeks before the event, I guessed at the maximum number of guests we would have for each day, and made an inventory of what we would need and then sourced it. For example, I determined we would need an additional 3×8 table and chairs for the kick-off brunch. We would need two foldable card tables with chairs to set up inside in case of rain for board games and puzzles. We would need a cantilever umbrella to protect against sun. I found that renting these products would cost more than purchasing them (including delivery and pickup in a rural area). We found most of what we needed at Wayfair online. Gunter and I already had a pontoon boat and a canoe. We borrowed two additional canoes from a generous neighbor and borrowed Cornhole, bocce ball, and lawn croquet games from relatives.
Implementing Your Reunion Plan: Because he helped us set up, I appointed Jeff as my go-to person to answer those Where-is-? questions. I hired my great-grandson Tristan and his friend, Liam, to help park cars, set up tables and chairs, buy ice, fill and replenish coolers, and help anyone who needed it, and empty trash. Gunter and I bought enough food and beverages for the first two days, then supplemented what the Region hosts provided for the next three days. For example, we provided a help-yourself-breakfast bar with yogurt, cottage cheese, muesli, granola, and nuts for house guests.
It was probably better that the Region Days were not overly organized. As the reunion gained steam, these “ethnic groups” transformed into competitive teams. They tried to outdo each other in their decorations, their games—and especially—their choice of menus.
So much for DYI breakfasts! The Bavarians laid out a magnificent spread of cold cuts, cheeses, and breads, with delicacies such as pickled herring and obatzda (Bavarian beer cheese dip). Koffeeklatsch was streuselkuchen made with my own freshly-picked black raspberries. Dinner was pork cutlets, brats-with-sauerkraut and German potato salad.
Traditional Bavarian brunch.
Texas Day began with biscuits-and-gravy with Texas burritos. No muesli or granola for them! You’d expect brisket-and-beans for dinner, but just when you thought you couldn’t eat another bite, they brought out banana pudding and the richest dark-chocolate brownie cakes I’ve ever tasted.
Texas Day Breakfast. Note window banner.
The Wisconsinites served a sandwich-and-salad bar for lunch. But dinner was a burger bar replete with all the usual trimmings. But then they added a pot-luck brought by their Minnesota relatives that blew my mind—sunny broccoli salad, calico beans, deviled eggs, frog-eyed salad, cheesecake, and pies.
Let the games begin! The games began on Kick-off Day and continued throughout the regional days. Cornhole was the most popular. Almost everyone—men and women, old and young—practiced and participated in the Wednesday playoffs. Prizes and booby prizes were provided by the hosts.
Playing Cornhole.Prize Winners.
Bavarians took the lead in regional games with the best spectator sport. We played Steinholding, a traditional Bavarian strength contest in which competitors hold a full one-liter beer stein (Masskrug/Mass) out in front of their bodies with a straight arm, parallel to the ground. The last person holding with good form is the winner. Both women and men played, and surprisingly, we found that the ones with the shortest arms tended to win.
Strength and endurance wins over good form.Spectators also had a good time.Arm wrestling.
A Texas 1000-piece puzzle was placed on one of the 3×8 tables on Texas Tuesday and stayed there throughout that day and the next. What a clever way to teach the others about the great state of Texas! Added to that was a Texas Facts presentation.
Touring. During Wisconsin/Minnesota Day, I brought one group to nearby Glenna Farms. We didn’t wear overalls, but boots would have come in handy when touring the barn of this modern dairy farm. Here, Holsteins listen to classical music or jazz while they visit their friends and graze the buffet whenever they choose—all to improve milk production. We enjoyed the tour of the 80-acre wonder that contains 1,000 sugar maple trees, 300 of them producing every season.
Holsteins enjoying their own buffet.
Reunion Dress Code and Decor. We had no specified dress code. But that didn’t stop the group from promoting their own local customs. On Bavarian Monday, most of their group wore traditional Bavarian dress while they quizzed us about Bavarian history and customs. Honoring their day, Jeff wore a Bavarian shirt and placed a collection of Bavarian miniature dolls (purchased from EBay) on their table. On Texas Tuesday, not to be outdone, John planted a state banner and hoisted a Texas flag. Their table was replete with a Texas centerpiece, banner, paper plates and cups. Jeff wore a Texas-themed shirt with Don’t Mess with Texas emblazoned on the sleeves. On Wednesday, the Minnesotans and Wisconsinites, who had worked the previous two days, arrived in their usual summer shorts and shirts, but brought both Wisconsin and Minnesota flags. To compete with the previous days’ Trivia Games, Ole and Lena took to the stage with Sven to tell Swedish and Norwegian jokes.
Evaluating Your Reunion: This was “not our first rodeo.” We’d hosted a wedding reception, memorial service, and many other reunions at Northern Bliss. But I do believe that it was our best, due to careful planning and a wonderful group of family and friends. Everyone from 8 to 88 had a rollicking good time! This outcome was just what we wanted when we purchased and renovated this one-acre property in rural Northwest Wisconsin.
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award-winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page. Lois’s books can be purchased from PIP Productions on Amazon and on her website.
“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” –Martin Buber
What is a Bucket List? This term became popular because of a film with the same name starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. The two men, facing cancer diagnoses, set off to travel the world, clicking off their favorite travel destinations before they die. Of course, the travel industry grabbed this concept as a way to sell vacations. Pursuing a humbler to-do list, e.g., camping in your favorite park, canoeing the Boundary Waters for the sixth time, or repeating a trip to a city you’d fallen in love with, seemed less important.
Some say, however, that traveling with a bucket list is like wearing blinders. You see only what’s straight ahead of you. Why close yourself off from the road less traveled?
Lois updates her travel journal.
Our Bucket List. During our circumnavigation, our Bucket List was the world. Our mission was to go around its circumference by sailboat. Our destinations were composed of the ports we wanted to visit—for repairs, for relaxation, or to interact with a different culture. If the weather or wind direction changed our preferred destination, so be it. We would go with the flow.
Now that Gunter and I reside on land, I confess that we do have a Bucket List folder. But often that list is superseded by the necessities of family life such as reunions, weddings, illness, and funerals. Our memories of those trips had more to do with whom we met and what we did than where we were.
Is your bucket list holding you back? A recent Wall Street Journal article by Sebastian Modak posed the question: “Rather than yielding fulfilling experiences and a sense of contentment (and pride) could the bucket list be holding us back?” The term “bucket list,” he said, “entered our collective lexicon in 2007…When hype builds a place up in your mind to epic, life-defining levels, disappointment inevitably ensues.”
How often do you fall for headlines such as “Ten Sights to See in Greece,” or “Fifteen ways to Experience Paris?” These articles try to tell you exactly what to see and how to enjoy it. I believe that well-defined lists lead to false expectations. Travel is more than bragging rights. One traveler returning from a South African safari confided in me: “I didn’t see all the wildlife on my list. Lots of waiting around while everyone in the group used the facilities, bought postcards, and spent ages taking photos—after their time was up! The best part of the trip was the excellent service. I never had to touch my luggage—not even once.” Another expressed her disappointment: “I didn’t expect Paris to be so dirty. I had to walk around dog poop. I did want to walk through one of their beautiful parks, but we had so many museums left to see…”
Here’s how to kick the bucket: Tell yourself that’s okay to go back to a place you’ve already visited and loved. To avoid crowds, take advantage of the low season. You’ll have a better chance of interacting with the locals.
Vacations are precious; do what makes you happy. Then you’ll have an experience you’ll never forget or regret. Focus less on seeing, and more on doing; for example, if you enjoy cooking, you might skip Rome and sign up for hands-on cooking classes combined with a tour of Tuscany.
If you have an altruistic mindset, you might explore how you can help those less fortunate. During our circumnavigation, we visited El Salvador almost a year after the 2001 earthquake leveled mountain villages. Many homes had not been rebuilt. About 30 sailboats were moored in the Rio Lempa at Barillas Marina, waiting for the raging Papagayos to die down. Every day, a detachment of workers would leave their boats and head 4000 feet up to the extinct volcano to rebuild homes. A Cruiser Charity fund was put together to accept donations of time and money. Charity projects in El Salvador continue. As part of a youth missionary group, my grandson traveled to El Salvador during two college spring breaks to help build homes. Gunter’s eye specialist uses his vacations to fly to El Salvador as a medical volunteer.
Barillas Marina, El Salvador. Page 192, Maiden VoyageBaking roof shingles in El Salvador. Page 183, Maiden Voyage
We know that it is better to give than to receive but how often do we have an opportunity to practice that? In my blog Giving is Receiving in Hunga Lagoon, I describe how Gunter and I trekked up from our anchorage in Tonga to distribute gifts to villagers devastated by a cyclone. That’s an experience we’ll always treasure in our hearts.
We are seeing the birth pains of a new world emerging before our eyes…networks and connections are quietly being knitted together across the spine of Asia; or rather, they are being restored. The Silk Roads are rising again.
Uzbekistan has proven to be one of the most enlightening, culturally-significant countries I’ve traveled. Near the end of our trip, we stayed overnight at a remote yurt campground. Our most memorable moment was when Gunter suddenly decided to ride a camel. He suffered dire consequences.
Gunter on his camel.Gunter wearing an Uzbekistan cap.Street sweepers in Khiva, Uzbekistan with a billboard of the new Silk Road.
The road less traveled. During our circumnavigation, after we arrived in a port and our boat chores were done, we headed off to meet the locals. Sometimes we were invited to an island feast, a fish fry, or a sporting event such as a canoe race. In Port Vila, Vanuatu, we visited the tourist office to find out what was happening. “A new chief is being installed in Waterfall Bay,” the clerk responded. A group of yachties are sailing there.” We were off to the most unique experience of our lives!
Gunter and I embrace the concept of “slow travel.” Our preference for this method of land travel is probably a byproduct of our slow sail around the world (it took us eight years). We like to decide on a destination, dream, research and read about it, plan an itinerary with plenty of spare time built in, and then go. And when we’re there, we like to take our time, surround ourselves with the power of place, understand the culture, and break bread with the locals if we can. Walking a Village is part and parcel of this experience. On the way to Mt. Popa and Table Mountain in Myanmar (Burma), a popular tourist site southeast of Bagan, our guide parked his car and led us into a small village where we walked among thatched huts, met villagers, and visited a school. We also walked a village outside ofVaranasi, India. We asked our driver to stop outside a small village and let us walk through on our own so that we could stop at the shops to visit with the locals. Afterward, he picked us up on the other side.
Since we returned from our circumnavigation, I’ve explored other less-traveled destinations. I took my granddaughter Holly to Iceland. This was not on our bucket list, but I’d promised her I would take her there someday. Finally, in July of 2018, I made good on that promise. This land of “fire and ice” far surpassed my expectations. We drove away from the crowded-and-touristy Golden Circle to explore the hinterlands along Ring Road. I wrote four blogs about that surprising trip:
Holly photographs Vatnajökull Glacier.Whale Skeleton Island, Iceland
Gunter and I traveled by cruise ship as far south as we ever wanted to go—Ushuaia, Argentina.
As I strolled along its quiet streets, I fell in love with this southernmost town in the world. Yes, those back streets could seem desolate and moody when the sun disappeared behind charcoal clouds. Yet the town’s short main street—filled with a mix of ski lodges and steep-roofed colonials—proved charming and picturesque.
With our eyes wide open (no blinders) we’ll take the road less traveled any day.
Map of Ushuaia.
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award-winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page. Lois’s books can be purchased from PIP Productions on Amazon and on her website.
Tame birds sing of freedom. Wild birds fly. –John Lennon
Last week, Gunter and I watched the series 1833, the prequel to the Yellowstone series, which is set in contemporary times. A group of pioneers had traveled from the Eastern U.S. to take advantage of free land at the end of the Oregon Trail. One of the wagons was called Prairie Schooner. The pioneers dreamt of freedom, of that first glimpse of the Pacific. The heroine, Elsa, wasn’t into mountains and destinations, though. For her, that feeling of freedom was the journey, riding her horse through new lands by day and sleeping under the big sky at night. Her freedom was moving on.
The film brought back memories of our own quest for freedom. We had already “gone west” to California, Gunter from Germany and I from Wisconsin. In San Diego, we had accomplished the American dream, founding and building a biotech company, taking it public, and becoming financially independent. But we weren’t free. During those years, we preserved our sanity by dreaming of our future. It would be a better life—one in which we would be truly independent and self-sufficient, answering to no one.
We would go to sea!
We would escape to another world—a world in which we could control our own destiny—as free as eagles soaring through the sky. We would sail with the wind and when that wasn’t blowing, we would use solar energy stored in our battery bank. We would be our own self-contained municipality, with a water maker to convert sea water to fresh, and high-tech communication and navigation systems. Best of all, we would have no Board of Directors, shareholders, or stakeholders telling us what to do.
We had a 43-foot Catana catamaran built for us in the south of France. When it was finished, we sailed the Med through the Strait of Gibraltar to the Canary Islands, on to Cape Verde and across the Atlantic to St. Lucia. There, we spent the 2000-2001 holidays. Afterwards, we sailed through the Caribbean to Los Roques, Venezuela and the ABC islands, on our way to Cartagena, Colombia.
During a Force 10 storm, the four of us on board feared for our lives. That shook us to the core. This is what I wrote about that feeling of freedom then:
“Some say the sea is cruel. I agree. I say it is without mercy. Freedom at sea? Independence, managing your own municipality? Ha! Leave the shore, and you leave behind a certain degree of freedom; you must live by Poseidon’s rules, pawns to the sea god’s whims. And you’re left with a burning question: Is the cruiser experience worth the loss of control over your life? Must it always be like this? Must I always live life on the edge? Rollers slap against the hulls of Pacific Bliss as she heaves onwards, while answers elude me like slippery eels.” ─Maiden Voyage, Chapter 8, page 125.
Despite the danger, Gunter and I decided to go on. We sailed for seven more years, until we “crossed the line” and became part of that rare breed called “World Circumnavigators.” Then we returned to Canet, France to the same dock where it all began.
Nowadays, living on our beloved acre of land in rural Northwest Wisconsin during its bucolic summers, I often go out to view the night sky. I contemplate the Big Dipper beaming over White Ash Lake while reminiscing about the freedom of those night watches at sea under the Southern Cross. We have a certain measure of freedom at our lake home, and even less during winters spent at our condo in San Diego.
What is freedom? Freedom can be an illusion. Freedom can be lost. Freedom can be addictive; once you have a taste, you will yearn for more. You can find freedom in many different ways: by going west, by going out to sea, or by taking a hike in the mountains, forest, or plains. Just know this: no matter how you define it, freedom is precious. If you’ve escaped boundaries—whether restrictions set by yourself or others—you can now roam free. You can say, “I am my own person, because this is who I choose to be.”
“Freedom is something that dies unless it’s used.” ─Hunter S. Thompson
Special Offer: To learn more about the first voyage of Lois and Gunter Hofmann, encompassing the first third of their sail around the world, purchase a digital copy of Maiden Voyage by clicking here.
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award-winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page. Lois’s books can be purchased from PIP Productions on Amazon and on her website.
“Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers.” —Charles W. Eliot
We need the therapeutic benefits of reading now more than ever. Books expand our world while calming our brains. They provide an escape even as they bring novelty, excitement, and surprise. They soothe our souls. Yet many readers and writers tell me that they’ve had trouble “getting into” a good book this year.
It’s impossible to focus on a book when your brain is constantly scanning your environment for threats. I understand. That’s what has happened to most of us since last March. Our flight-or-fight response has been activated and it’s difficult to turn it off. And that flood of stress hormones makes it harder to concentrate.
We need that distraction that books bring us! Books broaden our perspective and allow us to emphasize with others. We know that when we get with the flow of reading and become fully immersed, we will feel better.
Here’s what you can do to get into that flow:
Meditate. Meditation helps to clear your mind. If your mind won’t stop wandering, you can download short meditations on your cellphone such as:
Begin with short stories. Not ready for a full-length book? Start small. I download stories to my Kindle or iPad so I can read while waiting in the doctor’s or dentist’s office. If you want to tickle your funny bone, I recommend Shaky CharactersandOdd Bodies by Suad Campbell. After you read short stories for a while, you’ll be in the mood to tackle that book you’ve always wanted to read.
Re-read a classic or something familiar. What were your favorites over the years? If you’ve given those books away, no worries. Just download them again or order them to be delivered direct to your home.
Read whatever gives you peace or piques your interest. Decide on a genre: history, biography, poetry, nonfiction, memoir, or fiction. Then search your area of interest on the website of your favorite on-line bookstore. And, by all means, set aside that book you’re not getting into. Pick another one. You’ll know when you’re in the flow!
Read about a sense of place. Because I’m a travel writer, I prefer a book with a sense of place. If you’re getting antsy to travel and can’t wait for it to resume, reading about different places helps to scratch that itch. My bookshelves are full of travelogues and guidebooks that allow me to travel without moving my feet. Recently though, I’ve selected novels that allow me to burrow into places I could never go:
The Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky and the Rust Belt town of Middleton, Ohio: Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance
The mountain forests of Colorado: The Fox Walker novels, Tracker, PursuitandDuplicity by Indy Quillen
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Remember, books can be your therapy during stressful times. “Books and stories are medicine, plaster casts for broken lives and hearts, slings for weakened spirits.” —Anne Lamott
My series,In Search of Adventure and Moments of Bliss, provides settings for the 62 ports we visited during our circumnavigation. In addition to stories about what happened at each place, Did You Know sidebars provide information about each country. I’d love to take you around the world and show you—through hundreds of full-color photos and maps—where we traveled, what we saw, and hopefully bring you some book therapy as well.
That’s what I used to think when I was living and working in the Midwest. Then, winter meant donning layers upon layers of outer clothing, shoveling snow, starting and warming a cold car, and driving to work in heavy traffic, fearing for my life on icy roads—all work and no play. Even after Gunter and I retired and purchased Northern Bliss, our lake home in Wisconsin, I never dreamed of going there in the winters. It was our daughter-in-law Sabine who missed Christmas snow and suggested that we spend every other Christmas there. We consented because family trumps frigid weather.
Holidays in the Snow
This past holiday season was our third, and best, Holidays-in-the-Snow event. Three of our four children and their families attended. We planned to spend as much time as possible outdoors.
Amazingly, the weather cooperated. It was just cold enough to snow, but warm enough for winter fun, such as sliding, making snowmen, ice fishing, taking walks on the lake, and photographing the geese and trumpeter swans swimming on the open waters of the Apple River.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Winter fun in Northwest Wisconsin.
Mike, our son-in-law, brought corn to lure deer from the nearby woods over to our yard. At first, they were shy, but as we spread the corn closer to our home, they followed, and by the end of our three-week stay, came right up to our patio where we could watch through the sliding glass door!
Feeding Deer
One deer peers through the window of our house.
For Christmas, I presented Gunter with an edible birdhouse. We placed it on the birdbath near a pine tree. Eventually, winter birds found it and began to eat its sunflower roof and birdseed walls. Our pair of pileated woodpeckers appreciated the suet we hung at the feeder on the lake bank. They weren’t as skittish as they had been last summer.
Curious deer at edible birdhouse.
Pileated woodpecker at lake feeder.
With plenty of helping hands, even work was enjoyable. The men shoveled snow and kept the outdoor furnace stoked. Inside, the women baked cinnamon rolls and candy-cane coffee cakes and prepared scrumptious, steaming-hot meals.
Grandson Brett shovels the driveway.
My son Jeff loads wood into the outdoor furnace that will heat the entire two-story home.
Rime Ice and Hoarfrost.
As if to refute my derogatory comments about past winters, nature put on a spectacular show that frosted our holiday cake! It’s not that often that this happens—fog and snow and hoarfrost all at once. During this special season, however, we were blessed with many days of this winter miracle.
Hoary is an Old-English word that means “getting on in age.” But hoarfrost brought out the poet in me. One day, I awakened to a calm, cold morning and looked out to see the entire world draped with lacy, feathery crystals that glinted in the low morning sun. A magical fairyland! I knew that this ephemeral, enchanting world would disappear as the sun rose high, so I jumped into my SORELs, threw on my Lands’ End parka, and grabbed my iPhone. Outside, hoarfrost trimmed the porch rails in dainty bridal lace. Woolen gowns clothed frozen flower heads, left in place for “winter interest.” Gleaming ice crystals snuggled barren tree branches. As I walked down the snowy driveway, I met a wonderland of pure white, a pearly blanket spread across the landscape. The earth exhaled and hoarfrost crystals formed on her breath. Dancing and sparkling, hoarfrost grabbed the sunlight and threw it about like a thousand diamonds. Hoarfrost turned our tall spruce, heavy with flocking, into delightful Christmas trees with delicate, blinking ornaments. A low fog, softer than breath, had turned our icy footbridge into an enticing path I dared not enter. Out there. Alone with Jack Frost.
I returned to an animated household fueled by caffeine and full of laughter. A few of us crammed into vehicles to see more of this day that Jack Frost had built. We drove past idyllic scenes of farms covered in quilts of down, with only their red barns and pastel houses coming up for air. We passed an old, converted church hiding behind a massive snow-laden evergreen. And we stopped repeatedly to photograph each new scene—many of them monochromatic—in black and white and shades of gray.
Later, my curiosity got the better of me. I heard a TV weatherman use the terms rime ice and hoarfrost and interchangeably, so I wanted to understand both terms. Here’s what I learned: Both produce exquisite ice deposits, but they form in different ways. Rime ice needs super-cold water vapor and wind. Liquid water in the air freezes into crystals on the windward sides of surfaces, such as trees and structures, building up and up in spongy, porous layers. Dramatic ice sculptures are formed from fog banks about 3000-7000-foot elevations under high winds.
Rime ice can be dangerous. Ships can be disabled by freezing ocean spray. Planes flying at hundreds of miles per hour into a super-cooled, moisture-laden cloud can pick up ice that affects their lift.
Hoarfrost is a direct deposition of atmospheric moisture in the form of ice crystals on objects like tree branches, plant stems, wires, and poles without the moisture ever passing through the liquid phase. It typically forms on calm, clear nights and gives objects their fairyland appearance, especially when illuminated by low-angle sunlight. “Hoar” is the frosty coating. Calm air conditions allow the complex, lacy layers to form. Hoarfrost requires a supersaturated column of cold air extending well above the surface of the ground. Moisture in the air condenses around nuclei, e.g., particles of dust. Once that starts, the moisture goes from a gas to a solid with ice crystals building up on everything.
Lois hangs out with Sabine’s dog, Fiona.
Family is everything. That’s our primary reason for our holidays-in-the snow event. This was the year, however, that I finally learned to love winter. Is it “the most wonderful time of the year” as the holiday tune claims? I wouldn’t go that far!In a few months, I’ll be pining for spring and soothing that urge to dig in the dirt by planting my garden.
Read more about Northern Bliss in Lois’s past blogs:
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page. Lois’s books can be purchased from PIP Productions on Amazon.
During our world circumnavigation, Gunter and I loved Australia and the Aussies so much that we decided to spend another year in The Land Down Under. We stored our catamaran Pacific Bliss on the hard in Mackay, Queensland and took the tilt train south to Sydney. From there, we rented a drive-yourself caravan (camper) to tour inland through the Blue Mountains, Cowra, Canberra, and back to Sydney via the sea route. Although fall was turning to winter throughout the Northern Hemisphere, in Australia we were enjoying the spring-to-summer transition. My favorite holiday flowers for arranging are the red tropicals: ginger, anthurium, and proteas. Imagine my delight seeing fields of such flowers on display at nature preserves!
Field of Proteas
Following are excerpts from my journal:
Touring Australia’s Blue Mountains
September, 2004
Katuomba Falls Caravan Park.Blackheath Caravan Park. Destinations roll off our tongues as the landscape passes by. We experience two days of dreary skies and depressing, intermittent rain, which makes our road trip anti-climactic after the sunny skies and excitement of Sydney. But on the third day, the weather clears and an ethereal, winter-pale sun peeks over the evergreened landscape before it descends below the foothills and treetops. It leaves a soft brush of amber on the clouds. It’s amazing how the van seems cozier, less claustrophobic, when there’s a hint of sun.
Gorgeous, white parrot-like birds with yellow crests flit from tree to tree as we enjoy our sundowners. Ducks waddle toward the van while we throw out tidbits. I take a twilight walk up a hillside and stumble upon one lone rhododendron bush; the rest will bloom next month.November 1 is the beginning of the Rhododendron Festival here in Blackheath.
Called “Australia’s most accessible wilderness,” the heralded Blue Mountains looked like a collection of Sydneysuburbs on a ridge of a cut-out valley—eroded highlands with valleys below. “These are certainly not mountains like our western Rockies,” Gunter grumbled.But as we drove further, he changed his tune. Narrow river gorges wound through the lower mountains. As we rose in elevation, vistas opened to yawning canyons. Mountain streams tumbled over escarpments, falling to thick, tangled vegetation.
Eucalyptus against limestone
Blue Mountains Overlook
Sydneysidersare fortunate to have such a national treasure within a few hours’ drive. A brochure we’d picked up in Sydney stated: “What a better way to uplift the soul than a weekend of World Heritage Wilderness!” This heritage area, made up of eight nature reserves, was established in 2000. It contains 400 animal species, more than one-third of Australia’s bird species, 1,300 plant species, and 4,000 species of moths and butterflies.
For the first twenty-five years of European occupation, the Blue Mountains defied settlers’ quest to expand west of Sydney. Expeditions were turned back by impenetrable undergrowth, wandering gorges, and steep canyon walls. Finally in 1813, three men, Gregory Blaxland, William Wentworth, and William Lawson, broke through after eighteen miserable days.They were rewarded with a view from the top of Mount York never seen by Europeans. Grassy plains stretched as far as their eyes could see—plains, they believed, that could support a continent of millions.During the next two years, the Great Western Highway was cut through these mountains and western migration began.
Morning brings a bright sun and clear blue skies. We are eager to begin the trip to the top of the pass. From Blackheath, we’ll backtrack to Medlow Bath, then double back and proceed on to Bell, drive along the north canyon rim to Mount Tomah, then double back again to Lithgow, finally proceeding on to our reserved cabin near Lake Lyell.It is a fine, crisp day for touring but the drive is long and tortuous. The two-lane route—the same one followed by those early explorers—is narrow with tight turns and sheer drops. In most places, the ridge is too narrow for turnouts, look-outs, and rest stops.
Gunter is an experienced mountain driver; even so, this route requires intense focus.
At Medlow Bath, we stop to see the Grand Hotel, a famous meeting place for world dignitaries. Melba, a famous Australianopera star, sung here. Other celebrities have taken advantage of the hotel’s hydra baths for more than a century. While we stroll through the old hotel, we note that the place still has a regal flair: a smart-suited and suitably aloof male receptionist hands us a typed information sheet about the hotel. We enjoy a cappuccino on the deck with a wonderful mountain view and then we’re off to the next stop: Govett’s Leap.
We joke about the sign saying 15-Minute Walk to Bridal Falls.“It doesn’t say how long the return is!” I warn. “But let’s go anyway. We need a little pensioner’s walk.”
We’re back at the parking area in one and quarter hours. We did take our time, though, past the stepping blocks over the river to the other side. The morning sun brightened the deep, verdant valley. The river was wonderful, cascading over rocks banked with yellow blooming acacia, rust-colored banksias (bottlebrush), and delicate yellow, white, and blue mountain flowers. Bridal Veil Falls, a tantalizing stream of water and fine mist overhanging a rock garden of moss and ferns, was well worth it. By the time we returned, huffing and puffing up all those steps, lazy sheep-clouds had drifted in. They stayed with us for the remainder of the day, providing cooling interludes.
Gunter on the path to Bridal Falls
Bottle Brush Plant
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Our next stop is Evans Point. We amble over to a must-see lookout over pulpit rock. Afterwards, Gunter re-parks the van so the view from the rear window has the valley view. This is when driving a campervan pays off! We enjoy our smoko of chicken breast, dressing, and whole wheat bread.
Our nextstop is Mount Victoria. Gunter buys a few used paperbacks from a quaint, old shop attached to a house that has been in the owner’s family since the early 1900s.Across the street stands the historic Victoria and Albert Guesthouse and Restaurant, where dining on the wooden, green-railed veranda has been a tradition for over 100 years. The street is lined with blooming pink and white ornamental and fruit trees. What a wonderful time of year to tour the Blue Mountains!
From the GWH (Great Western Highway) the Darling Causeway links Mount Victoria to Bells Road, which takes us toward Mount Tomah. We continue on to the Mount Tomah Botanical Gardens (called Australia’s Coolest Botanic Gardens) developed by Sydney’s Royal Botanic Garden. Here, at 1000 meters above sea level, many plants not suited to Sydney’s climate can be grown successfully.
I’ve fallen in love with these gardens—and especially with the collection of the largest proteas I’ve ever seen. Their wide-open pink blooms remind me of sunflowers backlit against a glowing sunset. The pond’s rock garden, with shimmering lime-colored reeds complementing its gray rocks, is the perfect setting for contemplation and meditation. The blue haze from the mountains turns this place into a heavenly delight.
About the Author: Lois and Günter Hofmann lived their dream by having a 43-foot ocean-going catamaran built for them in the south of France and sailing around the world. Learn more about their travel adventures by reading Lois’s award winning nautical adventure trilogy. Read more about Lois and her adventures at her website and stay in touch with Lois by liking her Facebook page. Lois’s books can be purchased for the holidays on Amazon.
SailorsTales 