sea kayaking

Sunrise

As I stepped outside, the darkness of night was punched through with a million tiny pinholes of light. The rays of the sun would not begin to lighten the eastern horizon for another half hour, ushering in a new day, the last of an Outward Bound course that had spanned the New Year’s holiday bridging the time between 2010 and 2011. The dew clung heavily over all exposed surfaces, giving everything a shimmering quality with the starlight providing illumination. I made my way across the lawn of the Sunset Island base camp and looked upon the tents and personal bug shelters, where our students were still soundly sleeping. I glanced up and saw a shooting star blazing it’s short life across the canopy of the universe overhead. I walked more slowly, eyes pointed upwards. Another! At the bottom of the stairs leading into the lodge, I paused, and saw yet another shooting star. The sky above was alive this morning with spent pieces of the cosmos taking their final plunge after a journey none of us could possibly imagine. I turned to face the door, took one more lingering look at the sky above, and then placed my foot on the first stair. The coffee pot was calling, it was time to head inside again. It was time for the sailor to rest, and for the farmer to once again take prominence in my life.

For the past week, I had traveled by sea kayak through Everglades National Park and the 10,000 Islands National Wildlife Refuge with eight strangers and my co-instructor. It had been a good Outward Bound course. For me, the end of it marked the end of a period of many months of movement, of being outdoors. Since June, I have not spent much time in one place for very long. Leading backpacking trips, bicycle tours, and being away on vacation has kept me in motion. Heading inside that last morning of course felt symbolic to me of the larger direction my life will be going during the next several months. The sailor in me was returning from sea for awhile.

Kayaking by Gullivan Key

I am back in Asheville today, settled into my favorite chair, and ready to begin being a member of the community of people here. I will step back into the role of full-time student for the semester. I will enjoy watching the winter turn to spring. This is the farmer in me.

This concept of farmers and sailors was brought to my attention by a post I was reading this morning from a blog called The Path Less Pedaled.

[A friend] said, “There’s basically two kinds of people on this earth. There are farmers….and there are sailors. Farmers are the people that take great joy in laying down roots and are comforted by the predictable day to day routine and the dependable seasons. Sailors have to be constantly moving and looking for new experiences. There is nothing more satisfying than the prospects of a new port for a sailor. The world needs both kinds.” I’m not quite sure if I’m either wholly farmer or wholly sailor

I could not agree more. The farmer in me loves my home and community here in Asheville. He enjoys raking the leaves to the curb in the fall and going out to breakfast with friends at his favorite breakfast spot. But the sailor within me just won’t be quiet. He is a restless soul who does not tolerate sitting still for too long.

Therein lies my challenge. Can I convince the farmer and the sailor to work out a compromise? In 2010, I was able to have them coexist fairly well, though always at some level of uneasy tension between the two of them. When one of them is allowed to thrive, the other necessarily must suffer some. One thing is certain, the farmer and the sailor are both a part of me and neither is going away any time soon. And the thing is, the farmer within me learns so much from the sailor, just as the sailor is nourished by the contributions of the farmer.

What about you? Are you a farmer, a sailor, or a little of both?

The Mag at sunrise

Gullivan Key at sunset