Uncategorized | t o n y t h a r p . n e t

Sanding off the crud

The picnic table was here when I moved in more than seven years back, and the summer and winters had taken their toll.

So, finally, after years of putting it off, I spent a day sanding at an old man’s pace while Hazel kept watch and looked on.

Rot had eaten its way up one of the legs, so that had to be replaced; otherwise the old table of treated wood while poor cosmetically was in surprisingly good condition.

I found a suitable piece of lumber for the new table leg in my wood pile that was the right dimensions. Two quick cuts with the circular saw was all it took and then I screwed it in place with decking screws.

A No. 40 disk on the sander cut through the grime and got the wood ready for a coat of Cabot seal and stainer. I opted for a stain with a cedar tint, thinking, correctly, I believe,

The table after the first coat of stain.

that the tinting might help cover some of the many imperfections in the table’s surface.

To help keep it in better repair than it has been these past few years I’m considering putting paving stones down for a small patio like surface alongside the fire pit. Time will tell whether I ever actually get around to that job. Maintenance and chores around the place, while in ready supply, no longer hold the charm for me that they seemed to in years past. But, as I say, time will tell how much more actually gets done.

I trust, though, that I’ll at least have the will to add a few more coats of sealer and stain, though prettier weather returns tomorrow that promises to be nearly perfect for a motorcycle trip; so I’m not making any promises/

The Yoknapatawpha at a dock outside Bayboro, North Carolina.

“The sea is a different sort of enemy. Unlike the land, where courage and the simple will to endure can often see a man through, the struggle against the sea is an act of physical combat, and there is no escape. it is a battle against a tireless enemy in which man never actually wins; the most that he can hope for is not to be defeated.” — Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage

Alfred Lansing’s book on Sir Ernest Shackleton’s adventures in the Antarctic was on my mind as I made my way on my motorcycle along the Hiawssee River and into Tennessee.

I miss my old boat, the Yoknapatawpha, and the days and nights when she and I were alone on the sea or anchored off an inlet while thousands of stars pierced the blue-black night. The gentle swaying as she rode the current; the popping sound of shrimp against the hull.

A bird call far off in the night.

A motorcycle is a poor substitute for sailing, but it is a substitute, a stand-in of sorts. There is wind in both, but vastly different winds.

If you’ve been to sea alone on a small sailboat you’ll know what I mean. If not, then not.

A boat at sea will test you every day in a way a motorcycle never will. As Lansing said, there — aboard a boat at sea — you often face a kind of physical combat where the best outcome you can hope for is a draw.

And then there are the calm, clear days where the winds smile and the sky and water are the same impossible shades of blue. Dolphins leap. A sea turtle surfaces off the bow and looks at you with deep dark eyes more ancient than time itself.

The combat and the calm, both are what makes sailing the grand reward it is.

Motorcycling ain’t bad either, but it’s not sailing. Not by a long shot.