It’s the people…

Since we moved here to coastal Georgia in April, we have both experienced a new coalescing community that feels really good. The marina where the boat lives, where WE will live in a few short weeks, and where Kevin works daily, is not a big one. But they call themselves a velcro marina because people come and then don’t leave, or if they do leave, they inevitably come back. The marina has worked hard to cultivate a sense of place, a sense of belonging, which is a hard thing to do with an inherently transient group of people. There is an events coordinator, and the monthly calendar shows some sort of community activity every day, from walks, yoga, pickleball, bowling trips, dinghy races, board game nights, and a 3x/week happy hour with free beer and wine. There is a dog park—a big one—with agility equipment, and taking Copper there has helped us cultivate friendships with so many other dog owning boaters.

She doesn’t know why this is a big deal.

People exchange boat cards, which are business cards with the peoples’ names (and sometimes pets), boat name and identifiers, and contact information. We met a couple last night who have been cruising for over 15 years who said they have a looseleaf notebook with pages and pages of these. Inevitably, conversation goes back and forth between stories—mostly about boat adventures—and gentle debates about how to fix something broken on a boat. It’s interesting to me how leveling this is; very rarely do people find divides, although they may have strong opinions about bottom paint or keel styles or what type of head is best. It’s refreshing, even as it’s a little overwhelming for someone who is less steeped in boat life. And the stories they tell! Military vessels that report their position falsely, boat disasters, encounters with famous sailors… I am a very good audience but so far I have few tales of my own to add unless we’re talking about boat upholstery.

Also, this community seems to comprise coastal cruisers (primarily), those who don’t really leave the marina, and the minority of people who stop and stay a weekend, a week, a couple of months, en route to other, more far-flung destinations. We seek this last group out for inspiration, and we get feedback that NOW is the time, that we’re definitely doing the right thing, that we will never regret it.

Brunswick municipal building, across the street from incredible barbecue joint Hootenanny’s.

Another sweet experience is the community around the house that we’ve been renting for the summer. It’s an unlikely location for us, as it is a de facto retirement community, and every neighbor around us is between the ages of 75-93. They are incredibly friendly, gregarious, and invariably want to chat every time we step outside. Every person wants to greet and pet Copper, and exchange their stories about the dogs they had growing up, or ask about the boat, or how the waves were when we went surfing. We have gathered in the street to try to figure out why the power is out, and last night a distraught neighbor told me she couldn’t find her cat. She was so discombobulated she couldn’t remember the cat’s name, but Kevin and I looked all over until the cat (Mittens) was finally located hiding in a closet in her house. I have never in my life lived in a place where everyone seemed so genuinely friendly and interested. Several people have said they don’t want us to move out.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to work in the morning from a coffee shop near the marina as I was checking out a temporary office to use for a couple of months while Kevin works on the boat as we live aboard. (Hard to have video calls when he needs to use a drill or access wiring in the cabinet behind my head.) I haven’t ever really done that—do computer work from a coffee shop—so I’m not totally sure what the normal experience is like, but the barista was a young woman who greeted every customer with genuine enthusiasm. A handful of her friends dropped by, and they talked excitedly about weekend plans, and concerts they want to see. Other people stopped by and then lingered, like me, listening in on the conversation, occasionally interjecting, and there was this easy camaraderie amongst everyone. I don’t know if it’s just living in the South, or just this community, but it makes such a difference to feel the warmth, and while GA will not likely ever be my home, I do feel like these people create that sense of belonging, each in a different but lovely way.

My average day involves 100% less grime than Kevin’s average day.