Beautiful Swimmer

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It was happening again, wonderfully. The Transition. The Moment Of The Crossing Over.  From One World Into Another.

Traversing the spiritual bridge between land and sea is bewitching, is familiar and comfortable yet also new and exciting… so powerful.

Man o Man what a home wrecker is the sea (an incredible blonde with dreamy eyes waiting under the motel sheets in the middle of the day).

I let myself ease in… I gather up the sensations, letting them build as I drift along with them… and then I let go, releasing myself into the moment, letting the moment take over, letting it sooth me, cleanse me.

Somewhere in this, briefly, my mind reached back to Pineapple Hill and our promises…but the water lured me away … until …soon …I was looking ahead instead of looking back.

The sails tightened. Water splashing easily off the hull provided an excellent shade of quiet. I let the sound of it wash over me for the longest time.

But then a voice came over the VHF radio. “Thanks for the wake, asshole!”

What an odd thing to be spoken “from out of the blue” like that, interrupting my reunion with the sea.

I looked around for the voice and for the wake but saw no likely suspects.

It became quiet again. But the mood was gone.

Then came more chatter on the VHF, this time between the dock master and a cargo vessel. At the same time, MadDog and Roger came out of the cabin congratulating one another on finding and fixing a shorted wire from the galley fan to the battery bank, and The Kid joined us in the cockpit (he’d been standing at the bow pulpit –perhaps also feeling himself led away by the sea, led away from his knocked up girlfriend and her eviction from the trailer over stolen beer).

We eavesdropped on the conversation that had intruded our space by way of the VHF. The harbormaster was recommending a Chinese restaurant to the crew of the cargo ship Beautiful Swimmer.

We looked for it on the horizon, hoping to watch it come in, hoping to see the craft with such a lovely name.

But all we saw out there was the dark thin line at the edge of the world.

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— Tim Bryant, Surf Director

 

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The blackberry trellis (Voila!)

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We have lots of blackberries growing wild on Pineapple Hill along the bottom pasture prunbl1fence line and in a thicket concealing the ravine out by the road in front of our house. The ones along the pasture don’t get very big but are easy to pick. The ones in the thicket get plump as thumbs and so juicy they’ll burst when you pick them –but you risk your life going after them. The thorn’s will tear you to shreds like the wood chipper in Fargo. That is if the snakes don’t get you first.

And, of course, you don’t want to be snacking on berries (five for Management, two for Labor) right after the power company has stopped by for a neighborly spraying of highly poisonous defoilant. (We’ve agreed they should warn me next time.)

Your trellis design could look something like this. (You can also make one using bamboo.)
Your trellis design could look something like this.

Making the switch from boat to land and from city to boonies has not been without hiccups (as described in my book Blue Rubber Pool, coming out in 2018) and although I seem to be learning the hard way I am, at least, picking up a few tricks. For instance: the blackberry trellis.

Training blackberry canes to grow on a trellis is ingenious. And a good addition to another thing I’ve learned –not to plant grapevine too close to oak trees (because the tree drink up the water intended for grapes. So now my vineyard includes a few blackberry bushes too.

Set out some mesh fence (of the type used for a goat pasture). Plant the bush. Start but cutting off any old canes. Then periodically weave the new growth through the mesh. Voila!

Pick up your game yet another notch by using thornless blackberry plants. That’s right, thorn-less.

The blackberry trellis “set up” might also be a good solution for city/suburb dwellers wanting to grow berries in limited garden space.

Be sure to have a good recipe for blackberry daiquiri

Stay tuned for another episode of Green Acres.

— Tim Bryant, Surf Director

 

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On Wine.

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Smuckers-Concord-Grape-Jelly-e1380113357359-1I’m not a wine connoisseur but I think its fun to stand at the tasting counter listening my fellow tasters describe wines as “nutty”, or “vanilla-y” or “crisp with hints of chocolate or walnut.” When it’s my turn, I’ll say something like “Oreo cookie dunked in apple juice followed by a shot of peach schnapps” and to my surprise the stranger fine of six people down will agree. “Exact-o-lackity! That’s what I was going to say!” I like the movie Sideways.

I’m more interested in how wine is made than actually drinking it. I want to know what is needed to arrive at different color and flavor characteristics. Plus I really like the concept of leveraging time as an ingredient. Having finally gotten to the other side of my mid-life crisis, I can say with authority that aging is a good thing.

I like it that my buddy Palmer, a wine sipping fiend from West Coast wine country, still enjoys exploring the under $10 bottles with their “relax kick your shoes off” names: Barefoot, Red Truck, Oops, and Mad Housewife, to name a few. But still he won’t buy the ones that come in a box instead of bottle.

I like it that wine making reflects humanity’s thousands-of-years-old patience: A legacy passed down through the ages not unlike passing poodles down from wolves.

I like looking at the neatly manicured vineyards versus my snaggle toothed rows here at Pineapple Hill and daydreaming aloud to Crystal that my experimental vineyard might look nice someday. And I like that she smiles and nods knowingly, saying nothing, motioning to the sommelier to bring the next sample.

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— Tim Bryant, Surf Director

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First Post

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My life hasn’t always been pretty but, lucky for me, has been filled with pretty things:  beaches, tim bryant on the beach20150910_0154boats, girlfriends, wives, children, perfect waves, amazing storms, cocktails with tiny umbrellas in them, words written by thoughtful people with incredible hearts and minds.

I like so many things of the world but find it hard to fit them all in: old movies, small dogs that do tricks and large ones that take up half the pickup truck bench, oysters, water tinkling as it tumbles over smooth stones, grits, big flowers growing wild in the tropics, machine guns, fishing poles, motoring out slowly in morning fog while sweet rolls are baking in the sailboat’s small oven, dolphins that swim along side for awhile… Many other things too. Many. How will I ever find time for them all?

— Tim Bryant, Surf Director

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