FOLLOW THE STARS
My first real memories — tangible memories that I know to be my own and not false memories born of old photos and stories — were formed as a nine-yearold boy on a boat.
In 1993 my mom and dad, Gail and Dennis, took my younger sister Kaitie and I out of school for a year. Along with two cats, Ketchie and Salty, we lived aboard our 36ft Allied Princess ketch Sojourner, cruising down the US east coast and spending the winter in the Bahamas. I was in 4th grade, my sister 2nd, our parents homeschooling us in the intervals between adventures.
I remember building a little cardboard house on the shelf in the quarterberth where I slept for our cat, Salty, who hated it despite my efforts. I remember Salty riding on the bow of as we crossed the Gulf Stream, Bahamas bound, perched atop the inflated dinghy and balancing with the grace that only a cat can have on a boat. I remember that first Bahamian anchorage in Chubb Cay, going snorkelling with my mom over the shallow reef, holding her hand while we swam because I was afraid of touching the coral, and seeing spotted eagle rays swim under the boat. I remember waking up at four in the morning in Nassau on Boxing Day and sitting in
