The Bucket List vs. the Road Less Traveled

“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 But often that list is superseded by the necessities of family life such as reunions, weddings, illness, and funerals.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 Voyage

Baking 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.

Gunter with Tongan helpers. Page 148, Sailing the South Pacific

If you’re the curious type, select a trip that will teach you something new. Ever since our Great China Tour in 2006, Gunter and I wanted to know more about the old and new Silk Road.  I discovered quotes such as this one by Peter Frankopan: 

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.

I perused books about China’s Road and Belt Initiative, such as Belt and Road, a New Chinese Order by Bruno Macaes. What better place to visit than Samarkand, Uzbekistan, where the Silk Roads meet! 

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 of Varanasi, 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:

• How to Drive Iceland’s Golden Circle
• Iceland’s Ring Road, the Snaefellsnes Peninsula
• Iceland, a Country Rich in Culture and Legend
• Discovering Iceland’s Southeast Coast

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.

 

Memories of Los Roques

Sharing Sailors’ Tales

Gunter and I hosted sailing friends Rolf and Daniela during the past two weeks. They entered the Port of San Diego after being stuck on a dock in Crescent City, CA—enduring nine “atmospheric river” storms before they could resume their passage. We four world sailors have a lot in common: They sail a 431 Catana catamaran, the same model as our yacht, Pacific Bliss. Ours has a blue-and-teal color scheme. Their yacht, aptly named YELO, sports a yellow-and-white scheme. We first met YELO in French Polynesia. Later, we buddy-boated with them from Port Vila, Vanuatu to Uriparapara in the Northern Banks Islands. We’ve kept in contact over the years; buddy-boaters tend to become best friends forever. Gunter and I completed our circumnavigation in 2008, but Rolf and Daniela have continued to sail the world for the past 22 years. The four of us had a wonderful time going out for dinner, buying boat parts at West Marine, a computer at Best Buy, and provisioning at Costco, and just hanging out—all the while, telling sailors’ tales. 

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A Pan-Pan Call in Los Roques

At our condo one afternoon, we traded tales about one country in particular: Venezuela. 

“We didn’t sail to the mainland but the Venezuelan National Park of Los Roques was one of my favorite places,” Gunter began. “Gorgeous sandy, sun-bleached beaches. Great snorkeling. And an abundance of fish and lobster. But what I remember most was the day we had to make a Pan-Pan call. Not a Mayday. This wasn’t a life-or-death situation.” 

Seated on our sofa, Rolf leaned forward. Gunter—in his usual chair by the window—had his attention. “That’s fortunate.” 

Gunter continued. “We waded through Venezuela’s complex customs and immigration process, picked up a few provisions and headed for Pirate’s Cove. We planned to purchase lobster from fishermen there. We could taste them already! So, we hurriedly pulled anchor and motored across the bay, surprised to face a 20-knot wind right on the nose…”

I refreshed our drinks and sat next to Daniela while Gunter paused. 

“Anchoring at the little cove was difficult and of course, there were reefs on either side. Lois dropped the hook and I reversed the engine, pulling back to set the anchor. It refused to hold. I revved up both Yamahas to gain control through the swells, and dragged the anchor back away from the island to deeper waters, all the while staying clear of the reefs.”

Rolf nodded. He’s probably been there, done that.

“Now the anchor line was hanging straight down. I cut the engines. Lois was up front at the windlass control, frantically pressing the control buttons up and down. But the windlass skipped every time. It could not lift the anchor! It felt like the anchor was hooked onto something. An underground cable? Lois said our chart didn’t show a cable, but as you know, much of Los Roques is not charted at all.” 

“All of a sudden, Pacific Bliss started moving! We began to drift toward the main island of El Roque, with the anchor hanging straight down…”

“What then?” Rolf interrupted.

I jumped into the conversation. “Gunter said to forget the cable idea. He thought there must be a very heavy weight that attached itself to the anchor—or maybe a huge hunk of coral.”

“So I sorted through the options,” Gunter responded. “We could have cut the anchor chain and attach it to some kind of float…”

“But there was no time,” I said. “The wind was pushing us toward the reefs. So we decided to make a Pan-Pan call to the Coast Guard. They had seemed friendly enough when we checked in. I headed for the nav station and made that call. Within ten minutes, an inflatable arrived with a half-dozen young men in tight tees and short swim trunks.” Daniela and I giggled until the guys give us the look.

“A few of the men had diving gear. They dove in and swam to the anchor line. Three of them boarded Pacific Bliss and headed for the bow. After a whole lot of shaking (more giggles) the heavy object dislodged and sets the anchor free.” I paused for effect. “But there is more to come. The anchor was free, but still, I could not hoist it. So one of those gorgeous hunks dislodged the anchor chain from the windlass.”

Gunter turned toward Rolf to explain. “The anchor chain had dropped all the way to the bitter end, a section of rope that was still fortunately fastened to the windlass. All 280 feet of chain and rope! Now Pacific Bliss had solidly anchored herself in 120 feet of water and we could not free the anchor from the ocean floor.”

Rolf laughed. “That’s a long way to dive,” Gunter said. “Fortunately, our Venezuelan friends were real pros. One diver worked his way all the way down. He lifted that heavy chain, hand over hand, to his team in the dinghy, who in turn, brought it up to those on the bow.”

“Strenuous work,” I added. “But those young Venezuelans were young, strong, and fit.” I glanced at Daniela who was also laughing. “With the anchor and its chain all the way up, I wound the chain around the windlass using the control, until the last 25 feet arrived, which had to be done by hand. Then I asked for help again. As I recall, a few of the men rode back with us and the rest took the dinghy back to Puerto El Roque. After we anchored close to the Coast Guard station, we thanked them and gave them a well-deserved tip. Gunter asked their leader whether he could dinghy them back to shore. He declined. Then we watched as one after the other dove into the sea and swam toward the beach with powerful breast strokes, muscles rippling. 

Daniela giggled again. 

“Come on!” Gunter frowned and offered to top off our drinks. Now it was Rolf’s turn to tell a sailor’s tale.

Help from the Venezuelan Coast Guard

Los Roques Under Socialist Rule

“We also stopped in Los Roques in 2001 and found it to be a beautiful country and a nice cruising experience. But the Los Roques we found when we came around again in 2018 was totally different under socialist rule. This is the first time I had sailed into a bankrupt country. Daniela and I were shocked to find the shelves bare! Nothing could be sold in dollars because that was now the devil’s money. Generators broke down many times every day. Cellphones didn’t work most of the time. The stores suffered about 20,000% inflation per year. The bolivar was worthless. You’d see a price posted beneath a few items left on the shelves in the morning that were twice that amount by evening! Prices changed by the minute, but each hour, clerks would post the new number.” 

We fell silent. What could we say?

Rolf continued. “Two fishing boats arrived with groceries and produce twice a week. A line formed at the store and wound around down to the beach. Only six customers were allowed into the store at a time. Daniela had to stand in line for hours. Hung on the wall at every office and business was a framed portrait of Nicolas Madero and Hugo Chavez. Men in uniform swarmed everywhere—army, navy, coast guard, military police—as well the National Park rangers we’d seen the first time around. Everybody looked around to make sure there were no uniforms around before they dared to complain.” 

Rolf explained that corruption was rampant. For example, the governor of Los Roques commandeered a local home and declared that it was her home now. But eventually, she had enough of blackouts and lack of cell phone coverage. She boarded her private plane and left her post! But the locals were as nice as they were on their first visit. They would beg visitors: “Please take us with you.”

On Monday, our Presidents Day, we wished Rolf and Daniela Bon Voyage. They sailed south to Ensenada, Mexico and plan to spend some time relaxing in the Sea of Cortez before heading off to parts unknown. Who knows where their next adventure will be? Meanwhile, my head is still swimming with sailors’ tales!

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Los Roques Today

In 2022, Human Rights Watch reported that Venezuela was facing a severe humanitarian emergency, with millions unable to access basic healthcare and adequate nutrition. Persistent concerns include brutal policing practices, abject prison conditions, impunity for human rights violations, and harassment of human rights defenders and independent media. The exodus of Venezuelans fleeing repression represent the largest migration crisis in recent Latin American history. In 2023, the U.S. State Department issued a Level 4 Do Not Travel advisory. Mainland Venezuela is not safe for travelers and cruisers. The safety of  Los Roques, a National Park, can change quickly. The best advice for sailors is to rely on the network of cruisers who are there at any given time. 

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.

 

That Feeling of Freedom: Life at Sea

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.

 

From the Dog Days of Summer to Joie de Vivre

August 22, 2022

Are those steamy, sultry “dog days of summer” for real? Where does the term “dog days” originate? After googling my questions, I found that historically, these days are the period following the heliacal rising of the star system Sirius, which in Hellenistic astrology is connected to heat, drought, sudden thunderstorms, lethargy, fever, mad dogs, and bad luck. This year, the Farmer’s Almanac says that dog days occurred from July 3 through August 11, soon after the summer solstice. No wonder August came heavy this month. It’s all in the stars! 

I languished as I lugged four hoses around our acre of land and repositioned each of them four times. I was tired of watering, tired of deadheading, and tired of wishing for rain. At Northern Bliss, those sudden thunderstorms described by the Greeks arrived with threatening clouds and a fury of wind. But despite all that commotion, they typically dropped a meager centimeter or two of rain and then slinked off, leaving a green smear of algae on our shoreline.  

About mid-August the heaviness lifted. Northern Bliss received about one inch of rain and another inch the following week—not enough to break the drought or green the lawn, but sufficient to give us some relief. The cooler, fresher air lifted my mood, and I became myself again. My energy returned, and I looked forward to receiving visitors. 

This brings me to the big news at Northern Bliss. In this, our tenth summer here, we decided to install an irrigation system using water from the lake. The installation was completed last week—with six watering zones and 43 sprinkler heads. This frees up to three hours per day, which will allow me to pursue my creative projects while sparing my neck and back.

This morning as we sipped our coffee, read the newspaper, and planned our day, Gunter and I realized that our joie de vivre had returned. Consumed by To Do lists, we’d let that precious enjoyment of life slip away. We recounted all the experiences that had brought us joy in the past two weeks and realized that they were the little things. It was the lifting of our spirits that had made the difference.

I’d had a medical procedure performed that required two days of rest afterwards. For the first time all summer, Gunter and I spent hours on the patio reclining in our Zero Gravity chairs, laughing at the antics of the squirrels and chipmunks and listening to birdsongs. Toward the end of that week, my two adult granddaughters came over for a day to work on our custom recipe books. We searched the internet and printed out new recipes, deciding which ones would fit the criteria of “healthy” and “yummy” (not always the same). 

Two young families—each with two girls ages one and three—visited Northern Bliss during the last two weekends. What a delight small children bring to a home! They have a sense of wonder, intensity, spontaneity, and joie de vivre than we tend to lose as we age.During each visit, I taught the oldest girls how to pop a balloon flower. That kept them busy for at least 30 minutes before they wanted to go onto the next new thing. Riding the painted concrete turtle which sits on an old tree stump was another activity they loved. Every time they skipped down the flagstone path to the edge of the gardens, they stopped for a turtle ride. Climbing the boulders near the rain garden provided more excitement. And of course, both families enjoyed the pontoon ride on White Ash Lake.

Designing a fairy garden was their favorite project. They helped me unpack the figures stored in a box in the garage. One by one, we placed houses, stones, roads, animals, and all kinds of fairies into the red wagon and pulled it over to the old, leaking birdbath. Then we added a layer of moss and went to work. It didn’t take long for the girls to catch on. Soon they were rearranging homes and roads and adding blue stones for lakes and ponds.

In Wisconsin the last two weeks of August, followed by September’s Labor Day weekend, herald the end of summer. Lakes take on a greenish hue. Hostas turn brown at the edges and succumb to worms and bugs. Lilies lose their crowns of glory and stand naked and brown as vitality returns to their bulbs. The pastel colors of spring—pale yellows, lavenders, pinks, and whites—had changed into the bright, jewel colors of summer—red, blue, orange, and wine. Now all those splashes of color have begun to fade. My garden looks rather drab.

But wait! Tiger and “ditch” lilies are still hanging in there. Zinnias—outrageously colored in bold patterns of red, and orange and yellow—continue to blaze away. Gold and purple garden mums are blossoming.  Goldenrods, their heads clustered in lacy yellow panicles, line the roadsides. Hydrangeas are coming into their own—showing off varying shades of green, pink, burgundy, and white vanilla. My rain garden is coming alive with black-eyed Susans, deep-red cardinal flowers, wine-red swamp milkweed, and seven-foot tall stands of lavender Joe Pye weed. Bumblebees and monarch butterflies work the garden as if there’s no time to waste.

Next to spring, autumn is my favorite season. So my personal joie de vivre is the anticipation of fall. I realize that the dog days of summer are a necessary transition from tending the earth to harvesting what it has produced. Now, luscious red cherry tomatoes fill bowls on our kitchen counter while green, beefeater tomatoes ripen on the vines. The broccoli plants have produced little balls of green. In the orchard, our apple trees bow with partly-ripened fruit. And in the Veg-Trug, most of the herbs have bolted. Appreciating the cooler nights, I planted a new batch, looking forward to adding them to autumn soups and stews. 

I know in my head that August is the end of the growing season. But my heart wanted to experience that thrill of growing one more time. So after I took one last trip to my favorite nursery to buy the herbs, I searched for some tasseling burgundy grasses. They would look nice in that imitation log planter I didn’t use last spring. I took them home, along with a couple of gold-and-brown “Susans” to plant on either side. Today, while writing this story, I look out the window to view that arrangement sitting on the patio wall. Autumn is coming and it’s okay.

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.

 

The Northern Bliss Fauna Relocation Assistance Program

In 2022, Northern Bliss adopted a fauna relocation program. We love animals, but our love is not without boundaries. We cannot accept so many fauna on our one acre that it threatens our bliss.

During the first summer at our northern paradise, we relished all that nature had to offer. At dusk, we loved to sit side-by-side on the wrought-iron glider-bench at the top tier of our flower garden, observing the woods across South White Ash Lane. We looked forward to spotting deer in the thick underbrush. How cool was that? 

The previous owner had planted a row of variegated hostas to edge the garden. I liked the effect. But as spring grew into summer, the hostas became increasingly ragged, mere husks of their former selves. Ugly bites had been taken out of the bands of white outlining their shape. “Deer,” Dale, our gardener, said. “You need to buy Liquid Fence from Menards. That’s the big box home-and-garden supply store on Highway 8. Spraying the solution around the perimeter of your property will act as a barrier-to-entry to keep the deer away from your hostas…and the rest of your garden.” 

Yep. That solution worked─for a week or two. Then the deer were back. Ret, my sister from Texas, was visiting at the time. We drove back to Menards where we were greeted by a gaunt, gnarled man with a ragged horseshoe mustache and the longest white beard I’d seen since Santa. “How can I help you girls?” he grinned despite missing eyeteeth. 

“The deer are eating our hostas,” Ret blurted.

We followed him as he shuffled along for about five rows; he stopped abruptly in front of Sports and Ammo and pointed. “Then you’d be needing some 22 shells.” 

I threw my arms up in protest. “We don’t want to kill them!” 

“O-oh,” he feigned surprise, his eyes twinkling. He led us to the deer repellent section where we selected an alternative. 

Repelling Deer. Throughout the years, as our gardens expanded into a tempting salad buffet, we tried many products. Milorganite, an organic human waste fertilizer sold by the Milwaukee sewer department, worked for a time. But our deer became accustomed to the scent of humans. Fawns were the most curious. They sampled each new plant I brought back from the nursery. One day Gunter and I were relaxing on our pontoon at the dock enjoying a stunning peach-and-violet sunset. “There’s a fawn on the lake bank approaching your hostas,” Gunter warned.

She was merely eating grass, but inching toward the hosta lining the hillside near our house. How brazen! I decided to teach her a lesson. I moved silently to the bench on the dock. She kept on eating. I crept slowly up the bank. She looked up, stared at me, and kept on nibbling—this time on my prized lime-colored hosta.  I inched closer while she watched. “Scat!” I yelled. She ran for a few yards and then turned to stare at me. “Scat!” I yelled again, louder this time and running after her. She finally retreated across the road and into the woods. This one is not going to learn.

Gunter laughed when I returned to the pontoon, red-faced and sweaty. “You need to share some of your bounty.”

“Okay. I’ll tithe. Ten percent. That’s it.”

Every other year, we spend the Christmas holidays at Northern Bliss. Our grandchildren loved to see wildlife up close, so Mike brought a bag of corn and spread it on the snow outside the sunroom’s sliding glass door. After three days, the group of does returned with a big buck. He would have his fill first, and then the does stayed on for a while afterwards. A few days later, Mike sprinkled a trail of corn leading to the sunroom door. Before long, we were watching the antics of six does for our evening’s entertainment. The big buck would have no part of that. He continued to leave early.

“Now they will know just where to come back this spring,” I warned. Obviously, no one else was concerned.

By now, our tenth summer here, I’ve reached an uneasy truce with “our” deer. After every rain, I sprinkle Shake Away (coyote urine granules) on all the plants they like. Continued application does keep my “tithe” at an acceptable 10-15%. I’ve also added so-called “deer resistant” plants. Deer tend to avoid the onion family, which includes chives and allium. They don’t like yarrows, lilies, zinnias, geraniums, dusty miller, ferns and daylilies (except for the buds). The problem: deer don’t necessarily follow the rules set out in the gardening magazines. And some fawns haven’t been taught properly and go off on their own—exploring and experimenting. One year a curious fawn sampled almost everything—including the buds of an entire season of tiger lilies! 

I try to follow a design rule for container planting using the thriller, filler, and spiller technique; for example, for our pillar pots, I use a spike for the center thriller and three geraniums for the filler. But the typical spillers—dicondria, vinca vine, and sweet potato vine—are attacked by most fauna and disappear by midsummer. 

Rabbit on my garden step.

Relocating Rabbits. The bane of my existence this year is the exploding rabbit population in Polk County. All up and down White Ash Lane, property owners are complaining. Since May, we’ve seen three generations of rabbits, the youngest, about seven inches long.  Even though rabbits in the wild have a short lifespan, they can raise six litters each year! They can conceive when they’re three months old, and conceive again within 24 hours of giving birth. Gestation is one month. This is where the phrase “multiply like rabbits” comes from.

I make the rounds of our property morning and evening, clapping my hands and yelling “Scat!” They disappear into the woods or to the adjoining properties. I know they’ll be back. During my rounds, I check out the damage: fresh sprouts of hosta eaten from underneath their huge canopies, lily leaves torn from the lower stems to the highest they can reach, pansies and cosmos demolished. I’ve tried Liquid Fence, Shake Away, Deer & Rabbit Repellent to no avail. Fine Gardening contains ads for Plant Skydd and it’s recommended by my nursery. “Safe for people, plants, and pets” the label says. It features a picture of a bunny sniffing a red bloom. I should have known. That’s a clue that they are doing more than “smelling the roses;” they love this stuff! My last purchase was I Must Garden repellant. It stinks of rotten egg yolks, which rodents dislike. They do stay away, but it takes constant application. Do not apply before company arrives. 

Relocating groundhogs and raccoons. Groundhogs, (aka whistle pigs, ground pigs, woodchucks, thickwood badger, Canada marmot, monax, weenusk, and land beaver) have also entered Northern Bliss territory. With their thick claws, they dig two burrows 2-5 feet deep, each with backdoors.  One burrow is where they hibernate; the other is where they stay during the summer. These furry creatures are known for their special greeting called an Eskimo Kiss. One groundhog will walk up to another and touch its nose to another groundhog’s nose.  

But that’s not how I was greeted when I first encountered one last summer! I was in the middle of a garden tour for my friend Judy. We were walking two abreast down the narrow sidewalk between the astilbe and the garage. Suddenly Mr. Groundhog scurried toward us down the same sidewalk as if he owned it. He hissed like a steam engine and bared his teeth before he sulked away. This year, we’ve seen Mr. and Mrs. Groundhog taking their dawn and dusk foraging walks on the lake path, enjoying their salads at my expense. My grandson tracked them to their dugout underneath the neighbor’s porch. 

“All these pesky rodents have gotta go,” I vowed.

The final straw occurred when I opened the sliding glass door to see a second-gen rabbit on the porch step leisurely nibbling a sweet potato vine trailing from a pot. A third-gen baby scurried away. I interrupted Gunter’s morning reading of The Wall St. Journal. “This is it! Our territory is being invaded. We have to do something,”

He looked up from his paper. “So what do you plan to do?” (In our household, squirrels-at-the- bird-feeder are his problem; pests-in-the-garden are mine.)

“Well, I can’t poison them, because that would harm other animals. But here’s what the Wisconsin DNR says: 

Trapping and hunting for Eastern cottontail and snowshoe hare is legal year-round on your own property. However, many municipalities in Wisconsin have specific regulations regarding the discharge of firearms. Please check with your local government to ensure adherence to local ordinances. Jackrabbits are a protected species.

“So we could trap and deport.”

“To where?” he asked.

“Far enough that they can’t find their way back. I’m thinking across the Apple River and east to the Fox or those swamps near there. What kind of traps do you think I should use?”

Gunter’s nose was back in his paper. “Call Mike.” (That’s his standard answer for everything he doesn’t know how to do.)

“I’ve got a big trap that would work for the groundhogs,” Mike answered. “I’ll bring it over next time.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll buy a smaller rabbit trap at Menards,” I replied.

I interrupted Gunter again. “I feel better now that we have a solution. I’m calling it the Northern Bliss Fauna Relocation Assistance Program. NB FRAP for short.”

“Really?” He raised one eyebrow to make me laugh. “You’re crazy.”

I experimented with loading the cages. First, I placed the small cage on my potting table and placed a layer of lettuce scraps at the back. I added left-over mini-carrots (the kind that every hostess puts on the buffet table but no one ever eats) dipped into a jar of Rabbit Magic I’d purchased on the internet. Then I put the cage in the rhubarb patch, underneath the spreading leaves. To entice them into the cage, I placed a sacrificial carrot dipped in Rabbit Magic at the entrance. 

Prepping the trap.

Mrs. Groundhog in small trap.

Voilà! My system worked! But instead of a rabbit, I’d caught the smaller rodent I’d dubbed Mrs. Groundhog. She was packed in there so tight she couldn’t move a muscle.

Mrs. Groundhog

Second rabbit.

Rocky the racoon.

Mr. Groundhog

“Aha!” Gunter grinned as he loaded the cage with the docile rodent into the back of our Equinox SUV. “I think I’ll teach this one to swim. We’ll dump her on the banks of that swamp.” 

I’d read that groundhogs can climb trees and that they also know how to swim. But this one scrambled right up the bank. She wanted no part of that water!

Teaching a rabbit to swim.

Groundhog on the bank of the swamp.

And so our relocation program began. So far, we’ve trapped and relocated five rabbits, two groundhogs, and a raccoon. Most were docile in their cages. We covered them with a tarp until relocation time, and they didn’t bother to move until we let them loose. Rocky was an exception. This raccoon hated being in prison. He fought so hard, he bent (but failed to break) Mike’s large-animal cage. We asked our lawnmower crew (who, fortunately happened to be there at the time) to take him away in their truck, and return the trap. 

I expect that the Northern Bliss Fauna Relocation Program will continue all summer. A neighbor’s rabbit just birthed a new litter by their tree stump. She hops through the spruce to her home on “the other side” as soon as I clap my hands. But this one thing I know: she’ll be back.

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.

 

Tsunami in Tonga, Part III: Relief, Friendship and History

Update on Tonga Relief:

Thank you, readers, for your interest in Tonga. International humanitarian aid continues to arrive by air and sea from Australia, China, France, Japan, and New Zealand.

• Initial Damages Assessment (IDA) data has been completed and being is collected and analyzed by Tonga’s National Emergency Management Office (NEMO).
• “28,900 people have received water, sanitation and hygiene assistance throughout the country.” (“TONGA: Volcanic Eruption”)
• “Some 1,000 people (204 households) have received shelter assistance.” (“Tonga: Volcanic Eruption Situation Report No. 3 (As of 3 …”)
• The Secretariat of the Pacific Community (SPC) has supplied about 1.5 tons of maize and a variety of vegetable seeds to the Ministry of Agriculture, Food, and Forests.
• Donors and international organizations have committed some US$ 27 million in financial assistance plus a considerable amount of in-kind support to the relief effort in Tonga. (“Tonga: Volcanic Eruption Situation Report No. 3 (As of 3 …”)

This Polynesian country of over 170 islands has intrigued me ever since I viewed a TV broadcast of Tongans on the beach greeting the new millennium on January 1, 2000. Their feverish dancing was contagious. Later that year, I was captivated by the news that the 440-pound King Taufa’ahau Tupou IV had gone on a diet-fitness program and lost one hundred pounds! Gunter and I vowed to include this charming island in our circumnavigation plans.

Now, my heart continues to go out to the people of Tonga as I reflect on the few months that Gunter and I spent there during our travels. We sailed our catamaran Pacific Bliss to Tonga from Palmerston Island and arrived at Port of Refuge, Neiafu on August 28, 2002. I wrote this in my journal:

“The Kingdom of Tonga. The name evokes mystery, a sense of the exotic, perhaps because I have never been here before. Or perhaps because it is one of the few remaining absolute monarchies in the world. Tonga has a fierce reputation: It is the only island in the Pacific that was never colonized.”

Pacific Bliss Sails to Tonga

Loaf Island, Tonga

Friendship, Tongan style. Captain Cook called Tonga the Friendly Islands because the inhabitants welcomed him warmly and graciously provided him with the supplies he needed. We cruisers enjoyed the warmth of the locals as well. One Tongan who became my friend was Lucy, the owner of the Unisex Hair Salon. Her salon was the best because it was the only one in town! A mother of seven, she didn’t sit around—even though she’d had a stroke three years earlier. “Do what you love,” a wise Tongan doctor told her. “You will gradually improve.”

A hairdresser to the Royal Family, Lucy talked about them unceasingly while she did my hair. “We love our princess,” she gushed. “She is a princess of the people. She is beautiful, like Diana.” Lucy continued to let water run through my hair. “And she comes to all our functions. She likes us.” 

I told her that we can’t let the water run that long on our yacht. “We make our water from the sea, so we have to use it sparingly.” 

“You can come here and use my shower any time you want,” she said. That’s the way they are on those islands!

Dedications in Tonga are a big deal. The first one I experienced was shortly after we arrived in Tonga when I attended the dedication of an elementary school. Gunter and I arrived at the stated time, but these events run on island time. And island time means take your time. Being early, we had the privilege of watching the preparations. Teachers decorated the speaker’s podium with Tongan mats, then they fastened them in the back with rolls of duct tape. King Tupou IV was in attendance, but a pole holding up the canopy hid him from view! We changed our seats so we could see him clearly. 

The King of Tonga (left) and President of French Polynesia (right) speak at the dedication of a new school in Vavau.

A few weeks later, I attended the dedication of the new Arts and Handicrafts Center. The princess Lucy had praised took her seat on the stage and with a desultory stare, fanned herself during the monotonous dedication speech and long-winded prayer that followed. Halfway through the speeches, an intermission allowed us to walk around the hall and study the handicrafts for sale. The governor and princess dutifully rounded the tables. I watched them walk up to each display and talk with the artist. The ceremony continued. The princess spoke in Tongan and then English. “We have so many guests visiting us in Vavau. Welcome! May you enjoy your stay here.” Her warmth was contagious. I was impressed. After the princess spoke, groups of dancers performed, facing the princess—with their backs to the audience! 

Boys pose after they dance for the Princess.

At the end of the performances, we all rose as the princess and royals stepped down from the dais and walked along the aisles toward the rear of the hall, shaking hands. I was seated on the aisle. The princess reached out and grasped my hand with a firm, confident handshake as she looked me right in the eye. Her smile was genuine, warm, and inviting. I began to understand why the only Polynesian monarchy continues to exist.

These stories, and many more, are told in the second book in my “In Search of Adventure and Moments of Bliss” trilogy, “Sailing the South Pacific.”

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  Catholic Church, Colonial Style, Neiafu

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  Hut in Vavua, Tonga

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  Whale watching in Tonga.

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  Before the Dance.

• 

  Boy dancer, Tonga.

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  Cruising yachts

The death of King Tupou IV in 2006. The King died on September 11, 2006. Gunter and I were on a passage from Bali to Singapore and didn’t know about it until we read the Singapore Times at Raffles Marina. We realized that was the first King either of us had met. We were sad but weren’t surprised; he was 88.He had been the King of Tonga since the death of his mother, Queen Sālote Tupou III, in 1965. His son was sworn in immediately as King Tupou V, but the coronation would be held in 2007 after an official six-month mourning period. That made sense to us. What blew our minds were the Tonga Riots of November 2006. By then, we were in Yacht Haven Marina in Phuket, Thailand, pre-occupied with preparing Pacific Bliss for our January Indian Ocean crossing. As we worked, we wondered: Why would the peaceful, law-abiding Tongans storm their capital, Nuku’alofa?

The Tongan Riots. Tongans expected democratic reforms under the new monarch; after all, the government had formed a committee to do so following a 2005 strike by government workers. They demanded that a vote on at least some of these reforms take place before Parliament adjourned for the year. That didn’t happen. So on November 16, 2006, a pro-democracy rally of several thousand marched to parliament in Nuku’alofa. After the peaceful march ended outside parliament, an irate crowd of 2,000-3,000 took to the streets. The rioters spanned all ages, from children to the elderly; however, most were young men. As they rampaged through town, they tipped over cars, attacked government buildings, smashed windows, looted businesses and then set them on fire. For many Tongans, it was like a Christmas give-away bonanza that had come early. By the night’s end, the mob had burnt down a remarkable 80% of the Central Business District of Nuku’alofa. Six people were dead, and damage totaled millions of Pa’anga (the currency of Tonga). 

Building burns in Tonga during 2006 riots.

The Tongan government, fearing that it was facing a revolution, quickly requested armed assistance from Australia and New Zealand to quell its unruly subjects. About 150 Australian and New Zealand troops and police officers arrived. After a few weeks, over 570 people were arrested, most of whom were beaten by soldiers and police.

Tonga’s Transition to a Constitutional Democracy. The ceremonial accession of King Tupou V was deferred to 2008 due to his decision to focus on the reconstruction of the damaged capital. 

Two ceremonies marked Tupou’s coronation. The first was a Taumafa Kava(Royal Kava Ring Ceremony). The king sat on a pile of handwoven pandanus mats facing the sea while 200 Tongan nobles and chiefs wearing woven skirts and seashells marched around him. He wore a garland of flowers and the traditional Tongan ta’ovala (woven mat skirt). Hundreds of baskets of food and seventy cooked pigs were presented to the King and his assembly of chiefs and nobles. Later that night, schoolchildren carrying 30,000 torches lit the sky to proclaim the coronation. 

A second, European-style coronation ceremony took place on August 2, 2008 in the Nuku’alofa Centennial Chapel, attended by royalty and nobility from around the world. Archbishop Bryce presented Tongan regalia: the ring, scepter and sword; then he placed the Tongan Crown on the monarch’s head. 

As a Crown Prince, King George had been in favor of a gradual transition to democracy. He said that the Constitution of Tonga protected free speech. After his coronation, he announced that he would relinquish most of his power and follow the recommendations of his Prime Minister, who would manage day-to-day affairs. The King also sold off lucrative business interests and announced parliamentary reform and elections in 2010. The royal palace spokesperson announced, “The Sovereign of the only Polynesian kingdom … is voluntarily surrendering his powers to meet the democratic aspirations of many of his people … [The people] favour a more representative, elected Parliament. The king agrees with them.” 

In July 2010, the government published a new electoral roll and called on Tonga’s 101,900 citizens to add their names to the document so that they could take part in the historic vote on November 25. King George would lose his executive powers, including the ability to appoint the prime minister and ministers, but he would remain head of state. Unfortunately, a year later, Tupou V died from cancer. Friends and political leaders from around the world sent condolences. “He believed that the monarchy was an instrument of change and can be seen as the architect of evolving democracy in Tonga,” said New Zealand Prime Minister John Key. “This will be his enduring legacy.”

The politics of Tonga currently takes place within the framework of a constitutional monarchy. The King is the head of state and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces. The Prime Minister is appointed by the King from among members of Parliament, after having won majority support of its members. Executive power is vested in the Cabinet of Ministers. Legislative power is vested in the King through the Parliament, and judicial power, in the Supreme Court. 

The “Kingdom of Tonga” we experienced during our circumnavigation is no more. Tupou VI, the younger brother of the late King George Tupou, is now the King of Tonga. The current prime minister is Siaosi Sovaleni, elected on December 15, 2021.

King Tupou VI

“If a boat ends up on a reef you don’t blame the reef;
you don’t blame the boat;
you don’t blame the wind;
you don’t blame the waves;
you blame the captain.”

— Tongan Saying

(Tongan riots, 2006 – libcom.org)

The Tongan monarchy eventually got it right. The country may have floundered on a reef temporarily, but now it is solidly on course.

In case you missed them, click to read my Tsunami in Tonga Part I and Part II.

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.

 

Tsunami in Tonga, Part II

Images from Tonga’s shoreline to structures and trees following the tsunami.

News about Tonga. “The volcanic eruption in Tonga that triggered a tsunami was hundreds of times more powerful than the atomic bomb the US dropped on Hiroshima during World War Two,” NASA says.

From the BBC: “The eruption “obliterated” a volcanic island north of the Tongan capital Nuku’alofa. Tonga says more than four-fifths of the population has been affected by the tsunami and falling ash. Three people were confirmed killed.” 

Before the eruption, the Hunga Tonga-Hunga Ha’apai volcanic island was two separate islands joined by new land formed in 2015. NASA says the eruption was so powerful all the new land is gone, along with “large chunks” of the two older islands.

The widespread emission of volcanic ash, gases and particles from the eruption has proven to be a massive challenge for Tongan officials.  Early on, there were fears that water sources had been polluted by the thick blanket of ash, increasing the risk of diseases like cholera and diarrhea. However, testing in recent days had cleared ground water and rainwater as safe to drink.

Fine volcanic ash and emissions, however, continue to pose a public health risk. Exposure could potentially cause breathing difficulties, affect the cardiovascular system, and irritate the lungs, eyes and skin.

New Zealand naval vessels have conducted contactless delivery of vaccines.

An additional complication is that Tonga has been Covid-free. Now the island nation is fearing that the virus will tag along with the aid that’s being delivered. An Australian warship on its way to this South Pacific island nation has recorded about two dozen positive cases onboard, and will now continue in a “Covid-safe manner.” Aid agencies are providing coordination assistance remotely, but local authorities and community groups run the response on the ground. New Zealand delivered vaccines to Pacific Island nations by naval ship, then on helicopters or inflatable boats, before handing them over to teams on land. The international aid community is familiar with non-contact measures during the pandemic. For example, contactless methods were also used to distribute relief supplies to Vanuatu, in the aftermath of Cyclone Harold, in April 2020.

Photos from Tonga are still hard to come by. The country is only now re-establishing some connections through satellite telephone links. Tonga’s only underseas communication cable is still ruptured.  The country’s internet is still down, although a repair vessel is underway.

Here’s another photo from the Tonga Consulate:

The island of Tongatapu has been coated in a layer of volcanic ash. 

In Part I of this blog series, I wrote about the volcanic eruption in Tonga and the tsunami that followed. I ended the blog with the story about the New Year’s Eve cyclone that hit the Vavua Islands of 2000, and how Gunter and I decided to give back.  This is Part II of that story, excerpted from the second book in my “In Search of Adventure and Moments of Bliss” trilogy, “Sailing the South Pacific:”

Giving Is Receiving, Part II

Hunga Lagoon, Ika Lahi Resort, Vava’u, Tonga, August 2002.

I consider how to go about giving back. In the past we have had unfortunate experiences with giving to village chiefs and matriarchs. We would find out later that our gifts were not distributed to the needy families and children. Many times our donations were resold for profit. So after breakfast at the Lodge, I seek the advice of the friendly New Zealand proprietress.

“I’ve had bad experiences with giving as well,” she says, tossing her long red hair. “One of my vacationers, a doctor from New Zealand, gave a box of medical supplies to the clinic in the village up over the hill. Hundreds of dollars worth. That should have lasted the little village an entire year or more! Yet a few days later a villager came asking at the resort for a tube of antiseptic cream. He had a badly skinned knee. ‘Have you been to your nurse?’ I asked him. ‘He should have some.’ It turned out that the nurse at the clinic had sent the entire box to his family in Nukualofa, where they sold them all!”

“Would it be better if I walk house to house and distribute gifts where they’re needed?” I ask.

“Hmm,” she answers. “You could, if you had someone to point out the needy families… I know! I’ll ask Moule to accompany you after her shift. She is done working at the Lodge by noon. She herself comes from a family of nine, and they could use some help.”

I return to our table where Günter is picking up the tab. I tell him what I’ve discovered. Then I suggest that we start with our unopened box of 96 servings of Idaho potato flakes. “Moule’sfamily would be perfect for that.”

Before we leave the Lodge, the owner introduces me to Moule. She is a teenager with a wide but shy smile and an unusually slight frame for a Tongan. She agrees to lead us to her village at noon. When she calls on the VHF, we find that she has enlisted the help of two Tongan girlfriends who live in the village high on the hill.

Gunter poses with the local girls who selected the families in need.

The girls accompany us to Pacific Bliss. There we gather tins of food, clothing, shampoo, bars of soap, and cosmetics. Then, back on land, we trudge up a narrow footpath for what seems like forever, carrying everything in bags and backpacks. Finally we reach the crest of the hill. Cyclone Waka has destroyed everything!  Not a tree stands. There is no longer a jungle, not even a path to lead to the village clearing. Such devastation is shocking. All I see is a pitiful assortment of run-down, hastily built bamboo huts. What misery and poverty! I feel like crying.

Moule leads us to the first hut, where her own family lives. I give the introductory speech I have prepared. Moule translates for her family. “We travel and live on a boat called Pacific Bliss. We are moored by the Lodge in your very beautiful Hunga Lagoon. You are blessed with such wonderful Nature here. Because your lagoon has given us so much pleasure, we want to give back to your village. We understand that your village suffered a horrible cyclone and that it will take a long time to recover. So we want to help by giving you some small gifts and food.” 

I explain how to use the Idaho mashed potatoes by heating water and then stirring it in. Then we let each of the family members choose a T-shirt from our bag. Afterward, I distribute cosmetics and soaps to the women. 

Günter holds up a petite princess-waist dress that we had purchased in a used-clothing store. “Who can fit into this?” he jokes.

“Not any of us!” Everyone laughs.

Moule appears to be the only lean one of the family, but the dress is too small even for her. 

Our second stop is a bent-over widow with scraggly gray hair whose children had left Vavau for Tongatapu, the main island of Tonga. She seldom hears from them. She lives alone in a tiny dilapidated one-room shack. We leave her a supply of tinned food and a bag filled with soaps and shampoos. 

“I’ll begin to eat this today,” she says haltingly, holding up a can of chicken breast. 

Next we visit a man whose leg has been crushed in an accident. He sleeps on the floor, on a woven mat. There is no other furniture in the hut. We leave him cans of stew and trust that someone will come in to make it for him.

After this a wizened grandmother, who looks to be over a hundred years old, breaks into a wide, toothless grin as she sees the food we carry. We can’t imagine her being able to chew!  So Günter hands her a stack of canned soups.

We go from home to home on bare ground that is broken only by thin tufts of grass. No landscaping or flowers grace these homes. 

This is the poorest, most downtrodden village I have ever seen in my life! 

One of the families to whom we donated food.

Later, Günter turns to Moule, “You chose the eight needy families well.” He tries to lighten the mood. “But I’m still worried about finding a Tongan girl to fit into this small dress.”

“I know a lady who has a small daughter,” Moule laughs.

We head toward their house. The daughter is quite small. The dress will fit. After my standard speech about our enjoying the bounty of the lagoon, the mother says, “But I don’t have anything to give you in return.” 

Moule assures her that it is okay; we expect nothing in return.

Our trip has been well-planned. Our bags are empty—except for some nail polish and costume jewelry. We give these to the girls who have helped us so cheerfully. They are amazed and flattered. As they walk us down the hill and back to our dinghy, we again emphasize how much we appreciate the beauty of Vavau and the wonderful friendliness of the Tongan people. I do not know whether they understand what I mean, but I do know that Günter and I will treasure this special day in our hearts for the rest of our lives.

A special thanks to each of you who contributed clothing, glasses and gifts during our Bon Voyage Party in San Diego. Some of those items were used in Tonga.

Click here to read Part I of this series. For Part III, click 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.

 

Legends of the Joe Pye Weed

I have wild and nursery-grown Joe Pye Weed blooming in the naturalized section of Northern Bliss gardens this month. Despite the recent drought in the Midwest, these plants are taller than ever. The only differences between the wild Joe Pye—which has grown in the same spot for years—is that the nursery variety has a more intense color that doesn’t fade as fast.

One stem of Joe Pye Weed at Northern Bliss Gardens.

Joe Pye weeds (Eupatorium) are native essentials for any pollinator garden. These plants are attractive because of their hardiness as well as their popularity with butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds. There are several species; all have tall leafy stems with flat or rounded heads of small-but-bountiful, showy flowers. Because they can rise to 6-8 feet tall, I keep them confined to our lot border near the Rain Garden, and also behind a couple of tall boulders. Joe Pye is a tough perennial that loves moist conditions but can withstand high summer temperatures. The flowers bloom bright purple-pink in August when most perennials are fading.

Nursery-grown Joe Pye Weed (eupatorium purpureum).

Wild Joe Pye forms a backdrop to Black-eyed Susan, Swamp Milkweed, and Cardinal Flower.

 

What’s in a name? When my friends and family tour Northern Bliss Gardens, they ask,” Why is this called Joe Pye? Who was he?” The story begins with an Eastern Algonquian Indian medicine man named Zhopai and is set in the area around Stockbridge, New York (east of Syracuse). His name was anglicized to Joe Pye. When a typhoid epidemic struck the area, Joe successfully treated Indians using two plants of the genus Eupatorium, “Joe Pye” and Boneset. Legend has it that a white man from a neighboring town had befriended the local Indians while repairing their plows and harnesses. He begged their medicine man, Zhopai, to cure his two young sons who were dying of the fever. “You can see that I’m an older man, I probably will have no more children,” he said. “Save their lives and I will give you everything I have—including my farm.” Because the white man had done a lot for his people in the past, Joe turned down the offer but agreed to help the man’s sons. He treated them with Boneset and “Joe Pye.” Miraculously, they lived!

Later, the Stockbridge Indians were forcibly removed to Wisconsin to make more room for European settlers. They were taken to Wisconsin in the dead of winter and deposited on land belonging to the Menominee people, who pitied them and even gave them part of their land. This band is still in Wisconsin, where it is called the Stockbridge Munsee.

Zhopai stayed behind with whites in New York State, but as his family left, he gave each of his grandchildren a bag filled with Joe Pye seeds. “Scatter them on your journey, whenever you pass a wet or swampy area,” he said. “When I’m well enough to follow you, I will know you passed this way.” The old man never made the trip; however, Joe Pye Weed, his legacy, is indeed scattered all the way from the eastern U.S. to Wisconsin. Source: Plants Have So Much to Give Us, All We Have to Do Is Ask, by Mary Siisip Geniusz.

A second legend: Another version of the Joe Pye legend was told to me by a nursery worker: In this story, the medicine man, Zhopai, used a brew made from this plant to cure the blacksmith’s two sons of typhoid. Because of this, the father’s lifelong dream was to spread Joe Pye from east to west. His sons heeded the call, “Go west, young man!” and prepared to take off to settle the new land. Their father was too ill and old to make the trip, but asked his two sons to spread the seeds along ponds and marshes as far west as they could go. They stopped in Wisconsin, and that’s why Joe Pye Weed is sold as a “native wildflower” here.

The facts as we know them: My curiosity drove me to dig deep into research, where I unearthed archives of The Great Lakes Botanist, Vol 56. The year Joe Pye Weed entered the English language was 1818, according to Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. It gives the origin of the name as “unknown.”  Popular literature on native plants associate Zhopai with the colonial days of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, specifically to English settlers from 1628-1691. Some records attribute spectacular success to Zhopai’s treatment of typhus using the plants that now bear his name, even to the extent of the saving an entire colony of early settlers. Other stories (with no sources cited) portray Zhopai as a traveling salesman with a horse and wagon! Another claimed that he traveled around the Northeast peddling medicines around the time of the American Revolution. Some insisted that he came from the Carolinas. As recently as 2011, Joe was considered to be a Caucasian “snake-oil salesman.” There are also discrepancies about whether Zhopai used the leaves and stems of the plants or the roots. 

Legendary expansion, as it is called, is a phenomenon quite familiar to folklorists and historians. The Botanist found no evidence to support the statements that Zhopai was Caucasian or that he was a peddler or showman of any kind. I prefer to believe the first legend and that’s the one I plan to tell. Meanwhile, I’m enjoying the exuberance of Joe Pye Weed blowing in the wind at Northern Bliss.

Rain Garden backed by Joe Pye Weed.

Other stories about Northern Bliss:

How to Drain a Wet Lot https://sailorstales.wordpress.com/2014/09/29/how-to-drain-a-wet-lot/

I Never Promised You a Rain Garden https://sailorstales.wordpress.com/2015/08/26/i-never-promised-you-a-rain-garden/

Returning to Northern Bliss: Fifty Shades of Green https://sailorstales.wordpress.com/2016/06/15/returning-to-northern-bliss-fifty-shades-of-green/

A Winter-Wonderland Holiday in Northwest Wisconsin https://sailorstales.wordpress.com/2021/02/14/a-winter-wonderland-holiday-in-northwest-wisconsin/

Wise Old Oak https://sailorstales.wordpress.com/2020/11/13/wise-old-oak/

The Miracle of Autumn https://sailorstales.wordpress.com/2020/10/25/the-miracle-of-autumn/

April is the Cruelest Month https://sailorstales.wordpress.com/2020/04/25/april-is-the-cruelest-month/

Tornado: Disaster at Northern Bliss https://sailorstales.wordpress.com/2019/08/16/tornado-disaster-at-northern-bliss/

Recovery from Natural Disasters https://sailorstales.wordpress.com/2019/09/28/recovery-from-natural-disasters/

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.

 

Botanical Warfare: Why Iceland is turning purple.

Icelanders are at odds with each other, and they are split 50/50. This battle has nothing to do with politics; it has everything to do with aesthetics, conservation, and the color purple.

Lois with lupines

The Alaskan lupine (Lupinus nootkatensis) is under attack. Warriors head for their battlefield in Eastern Iceland, armed with long knives and weed whackers. Their enemy? Purple lupines, stretching high into the mountains above—alien invaders that carpet gorges, sprawl over lava fields and climb the very mountains trekkers used to climb—without pushing through meter-high plants. These Icelandic warriors found that if they slash lupines during their peak blooming season in June, when all their effort goes into the blooms, they have a better chance at killing the enemy. Under the cover of twilight, Lupine Defenders, their pockets full of lupine seeds, visit the scene of devastation to spread them among the fallen, hoping they will rise again. 

Defenders have a point. Tourists and half of Icelanders think the lupine fields are breathtakingly gorgeous. Plus, Lupine Defenders say lupine beauty goes well beyond skin deep. They point to conditions before lupines were introduced by the Icelandic Forest Service. Up to 40% of Iceland was covered by forest before the settlers arrived. Today, there are very few trees, and those that remain are small and twisted. A common joke among Icelanders goes like this: “What do you do if you’re lost in an Icelandic forest? Stand up.”

After 1,100 years of settlement, much of the island was ecologically exhausted from overgrazing and slash-and-burn agriculture. Less than 25% of the island’s green cover remained and strong winds were blowing the remaining soil into the sea. In 1945, Hakon Bjarnson was sent to Alaska by the Forest Service to find plants suitable to revegetate his country. He returned with Alaskan lupine in his luggage, along with a clever plan. Besides reducing erosion, lupines would improve the soil at almost no cost. That’s because—as part of the pea family—they are “nitrogen-fixers.” The plants host bacteria that gather nitrogen from the air, transferring the gas to its root nodules and providing nourishments for other plants. 

Those plants grew quietly around Reykjavik for 31 years until 1976 when an initiative was made to spread the seeds throughout the country. The objective: to improve the soil so trees could grow. When tall, their shade would dominate the three-foot lupines. 

Field of lupines near Reykjavik.

The plan worked well—too well, detractors say. Scoops of lupine seeds to spread were made available at gas stations! Lupines are tall and dense, so they can starve small plants and moss of crucial sunlight. When I visited Iceland with my granddaughter in late July, 2018, we missed most of the early summer lupine season. When we drove the Ring Road, Route 1, we saw lupines growing alongside a stream, in a few fields, and at the botanical garden in Borganes (Skallagrimsgardur).  Along the way, we talked to many friendly locals and the divisive subject of lupines never came up. We were amazed, however, at the 600-plus species of moss! These lichens draw their nutrients from the environment and are easily contaminated. They grow slowly—about one centimeter in length each year. I’d hate to see any precious moss fields overtaken! 

There are over 600 species of moss in Iceland.

Lupine Creep. “Exponential growth is the nature of an invasive species,” says Pawel Wasowicz, a botanist and lupine expert at the Institute of Natural History. The growth curve, he estimates, will peak in the next two decades. Eastern Icelanders have experienced lupine creep in real time. Over the past 17 years, the plant has spread up to 35-fold in areas of East Iceland. 

“We are at the point of no return,” says Arni Bragason, director of Soil Conservation Service of Iceland. “The best thing we can do is reach a consensus about where the plant should be. That has been hard too.”  In the spring of 2018, his agency, the one that introduced lupine decades ago, called for its eradication. After 42 years of providing seeds to the entire country, the agency terminated its lupine project. Grabbing a free scoop of seeds at gas stations is no more! Most of the culling of plants, however, is carried out by volunteers. Cities and towns have been hesitant to allocate money, given the controversy that would entail.

Meanwhile lupine slaughtering parties, followed by determined lupine seeders, continue to roam the landscape.

A stand of lupine alongside a stream.

Do lupines destroy the view? The question is also a point of friction among Icelanders. Old-timers don’t care all that much about revegetation and reforestation. They care about image—and memories. They show visitors an iconic picture of Neil Armstrong salmon fishing in Iceland in 1967, two years before he made history with one small step on the moon. They’re proud to tell you that nine of the twelve astronauts who walked on the moon came to Iceland first. “They were there because in the middle of Iceland’s highlands, NASA had found a landscape that paralleled the lunar: no vegetation, no life, no colors, no landmarks. The entire area was essentially a natural gravel field,” wrote Egill Bjarnason, in his recently-published book, “How Iceland Changed the World.”  

“The term ‘lunar landscape’ is a phrase often used to describe the boundless Icelandic deserts shaped by volcanic eruptions and covered in different shades of lava…their very barrenness is an asset,” Egill continues. 

Magnificent Desolation is the phrase Buzz Aldrin once used to describe the moon. Some Iceland homeowners love that view and regret that their magnificent desolation has been replaced by the color purple. Farmers, on the other hand, appreciate the lupine cover. They recall roads blocked by sandstorms many times every year. 

Magnificent Desolation.

And so the debate continues. If you were an Icelander, which side would you take?

Stories about Iceland: 

Iceland’s Ring Road: Exploring the Snæfellsnes Peninsula

Iceland: A Country Rich in Culture and Legend

Discovering Iceland’s Southeast Coast

How to Drive Iceland’s Golden Circle

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.

 

A Winter-Wonderland Holiday in Northwest Wisconsin

Winter? Bah Humbug!

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. 

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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:

Tornado Disaster at Northern Bliss

Recovery from Natural Disasters

Returning to Northern Bliss: Fifty Shades of Green

Fiddlehead Ferns Unfurling: My spring garden explodes in 50 shades of green.

Wise Old Oak

The Miracle of Autumn

Wander Birds: Migrating North

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.