Fort Awsome

She loved her house, perched on the bluff at the very edge of the little island in San Francisco Bay. From here she could just make out the Golden Gate, which had saved them so many years ago before releasing them back out to the ocean on an adventure she would never forget. She loved to sit on her deck on sunny afternoons with a cup of tea warming her hands and the breeze dancing in her hair while day dreaming about that amazing journey. The remote islands they visited with their sandy beaches and swaying palm trees, hikes up volcanoes, snorkeling in remote reefs, and gathering driftwood and shells from tiny atolls, some of which made it all the way home with her and now adorned her backyard.

They hadn’t wanted the adventure to end, but the money ran out right around the time she discovered she was pregnant. At least the decision on where to settle down was easy. They found this perfect house, with its amazing view; they knew it was meant to be. With their experience sailing half way around the world landing jobs on the water in their new home proved easy. She taught sailing to would be adventurers; he captained a pilot boat out of the Port of Oakland. Their son was born a short time later, and life seemed perfect, until the day it all came crashing down.

It was a stormy afternoon much like the one that originally ushered them into this bay so many years ago, when she received the phone call. There had been an accident, her husband had gone overboard, the Coast Guard was searching, but the seas were so big and the storm was so violent. She knew he was gone, she could feel it in her heart, after trying so hard all of those years ago, the sea had finally claimed him. For a while after the accident she took her infant son to that bench with the inscription that had inspired her to go on their original voyage. She would sit, and cradle their boy, while she stared out across the bay with tears streaming down her face. Eventually, though, time moved on, her son started talking, then walking, and they took those long drives out to the bench less and less, until they no longer went at all.

One afternoon she was sitting in her backyard staring out at the bridge while her son ran around  collecting driftwood. He grabbed a piece she had brought back from Vanuatu, “Mom, can I use this one?”

“Sure hon.”

He took it and ran out the back gate to the bluff. She stood and followed him, and saw the driftwood pile he was building on the shore. A sign leaned against one side, “Fort Awsome” written on it in red paint. She grabbed a pen from the house, turned the sign over, and wrote in tiny letters on the back.

“For My Love, Whose Heart Belongs At Sea”