August: The Hardest Month to Love the Boat

August arrived with heat that felt unrelenting, the kind that drains you before the day even begins. Life on the boat became harder than I expected, and the longer the heat lingered, the more complicated my feelings became.

The windlass still wasn’t fixed, which meant every time we anchored, hauling it up by hand felt like a battle; especially in the heat. Small tasks turned into heavy chores. Sailing slowed, not because we wanted it to, but because things simply weren’t going smoothly. And that reality sat heavier with me than I cared to admit.

To catch a break from the heat and the constant frustrations, we decided to dock at Mermaid Island for a while, stepping away from the yacht club scene. It wasn’t a vacation stop—it was a pause. A place to breathe. A place for Tom to decompress and feel like, despite everything, he was still having a bit of an adventure.

Mermaid Island offered quiet. A gentle breeze. A bit of shade. Just enough relief to let us regroup and find our footing again. Sometimes stepping away isn’t giving up, it’s survival.

With sailing on hold, work continued. Tom began installing the framework for the solar panels, a project we both know will change our life at anchor. Someday, I am determined I will sleep peacefully at anchor. This is part of that dream. On an older boat, every upgrade feels delicate, one step forward, two things that could go wrong/ But each small piece completed felt like progress.

August, though, wasn’t just hard on the boat. It was hard on me.

The heat wore me down in ways I didn’t expect. More often than I wanted, I left Tom at the boat while I went home for the comfort of air conditioning. And with every drive away, a quiet guilt followed. Sadness too. I wanted to be there. I wanted to be sharing the load. Instead, Tom stayed aboard, sweating through projects, while I chose relief.

It took me time to accept that this didn’t mean I was failing, or abandoning the journey. Not every part of this life requires us to be together, side by side, all the time. Sometimes taking care of ourselves is what allows the journey to continue.

Owning an older boat has a way of humbling you, especially when you already feel stretched thin. The problems don’t wait their turn. One night, Tom was required to fix a leak in a hatch and found himself rigging a tarp under mast lights in the middle of the night. Moments like that remind us just how unpredictable this life can be.

Last year was a whirlwind. We lived in the moment, focused on the adventure, doing the bare minimum maintenance needed to keep going. This summer, those postponed tasks came knocking —ready or not.

August wasn’t full of long sails or perfect days. It was heavy, hot, and humbling. It came with regret for time not spent aboard, with lessons about patience, and with the realization that this journey isn’t always romantic or balanced.

But it’s still ours.

And even in the hardest month, we kept moving forward, quietly, imperfectly, and with care. ⚓💙