Ah, the hallmarks of the holiday season. A foot of snow covering my car in the morning, turning in that final paper that means I am free from one more semester, carols that I have been hearing since April finally seeming appropriate, bundling up in a warm hat and blanket and sitting in front of a fire with hot chocolate and a book, 24 hours of A Christmas Story on TV, a tree that barely fits in the living room, testing all of the decorative Christmas lights, ransacking the storage room for the Christmas boxes we only open once a year which contain the wrapping paper and tree ornaments.
My first Christmas away from home featured none of those hallmark moments. I woke up Christmas morning in my bunk in the fo’c’sle. I was sweating from the heat, but turned off my fan anyway, to conserve electricity. I stumbled sleepily up the ladder on to deck, finding not a snowy morning, but ominous thunder clouds approaching over the island of St. Croix and a surprisingly calm ocean surrounding me. I walked into the galley to find my chipper crewmates, all wide awake and well caffeinated, cooking Christmas breakfast.
I am accustomed to fighting my brothers to get to the Christmas presents first, but as all of the crew is away from home, there no presents under a tree. There was no tree. There were no stockings. There were mimosas and fruit salads and a rain shower. After cleaning up breakfast, Tanner and I took a dinghy ashore to find some beer for our Christmas afternoon aboard the boat his parents chartered. We dropped off a few local brews on their catamaran and swung back by Roseway to pick up the rest of the crew.
I climbed back up the ladder lashed to the hull of the schooner. As I cleared the rail, I spotted a Boy Scout Popcorn box sitting on the bench. I knew it had to be for me. I immediately tore it open and was assaulted with an intoxicating amount of holiday familiarity. A selection of Christmas presents from my parents and brother, wrapped in the same Harry Potter wrapping paper that has been used for my presents since early high school, sat on top of my stocking, personalized by me back in fifth grade. I had no time to bask in the homeliness and excitement, as my crewmates wanted to leave.
By the time we had dropped anchor at Buck Island, I had raised and dropped the tiny mainsail of the catamaran and gushed over the luxuriousness of the quarters in each of the twin hulls. My Christmas adventures rarely extend beyond a Nerf battle in the living room. Normally, I lounge with my brothers, eat candy and watch my mom cook and my dad make pie. This Christmas, I snorkeled for manta rays, but my mask was foggy, so I came back up on to the boat and read the Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook and argued with some of its ideas.
Once dinner time rolled around, we were up in the hills of the island at the home of a friend of the boat. They left for the holidays, so we used their kitchen and house. Jess made us an amazing dinner, as usual, and I felt kind of awkward and left out. I have yet to connect to these shipmates in the way I did my last crew, and celebrating such a family-oriented holiday such as Christmas was odd. Especially because dessert wasn’t a pie that my dad had spent all afternoon making nor did dinner feature ham, cranberry sauce or yams. Overall, it was probably good to be able to spend a Christmas away from home; it has made me appreciate home so much more. Familiarity and the ability to go home are two things I have really missed during this tall ship adventure and two things that I am really looking forward to having back.
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