Hands to Colors

                                                 

            Raising flags every morning is one of those important shipboard tasks that never crosses the mind of an average lands woman like me. I don’t remember the first time I hauled a flag up by its halyard as eight bells were struck before breakfast. I don’t recall the first time I watched the sun with anticipation waiting to strike the New England flag in tandem with my classmate tending the other flags at the moment the sun dipped below the horizon. I don’t recall the day or time, but I remember how abstract the idea of setting and striking flags was when a crewmember told me of its importance. I accepted the idea without realizing until later what doing such a seemingly minor and simple job means on a ship. After living aboard the Harvey Gamage for just shy of three months, a day doesn’t go by in which we don’t discuss and work on our flag handling procedure. Flags are symbols for nations, states, vessels, information and symbols of the care we take of our ship. No one but us will see our sole (floor) and its state of cleanliness; no one knows how the galley is stowed save those aboard Gamage. But each morning and evening as we raise and lower our flags, we have the opportunity to demonstrate to the world that we care about our ship and her dignity, her crew and the world outside.

Mira Watkins Brown

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The Charleston Aquarium

                                                

            Stepping into the fish exhibit at the Charleston Aquarium was like entering another world. The only light in the dim carpeted room was glowing from the aquariums that lined the walls, giving off a serene blue that made it seem like the depths of the ocean. Shimmering silver fish flicked back and forth, their wide eyes rimmed with copper and gold, staring through thick glass.

            Another tank stretched from the ceiling to the floor and then extended to the story below. Fish as long as our arm spans drifted by with bemused looks on their bulbous faces. Beside them, small sharks glided behind the rocks. Their leathery skin, white underside and quivering gills seemed magnified through the glass.

            The next tanks were tucked away in an alcove, and as we approached I was excited to find not fish, but ghostly white and transparent jellyfish. We pressed our noses to the glass and watched their soft bodies undulate calmly through the water, their wispy white tentacles following their bodies like streamers. Some had lines of sparkling lights running down their sides. The lights shimmered and changed places with each other, the metallic bright greens, yellows, reds, purples, and blues following one another down the line like lights at a carnival.

            Then we turned to the sea horses. They moved back and forth, wrapping their coiled black tails around the sea plants. Their shape and knobby head made them look like they were the inspiration for sea monsters. Our true seahorse experience didn’t begin until we had left the aquariums and were wandering around the Madagascar exhibition. There Julie met us, a young volunteer who offered to take us discreetly into the back room to show us the five and seven week old seahorses that had hatched at the aquarium. We were lead through double doors into a room filled with aquariums and terrariums. In two of the aquariums swam hundreds of little black sea horses, propelling themselves along with shivering fins on their backs.

            “We’ll swap them with other aquariums for animals we want,” Julie said. “We are lucky to have so many of them.”

            As we left, I couldn’t stop feeling as though by entering the Aquarium we had been privy to something special. It is something not everyone is lucky enough to get to see: the hypnotic world under the surface of the ocean.

Hila Shooter

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Dance, Dance, Dance

                                

            After busking on the streets of Charleston for a few hours with two guitars, two fiddles, a harmonica, a melodica and a group of enthusiastic dancers, we went to listen to Mr. K play his banjo with a band at the Kickin’ Chicken Restaurant. We threw our bags down and jumped up on the dance floor. My summery dress swung freely and my bare feet tapped lightly on the ground. The music started up with Mr. K leading the band. I had no idea what I was doing, but Ben grabbed me and we invented our own dance. When the song ended, another one started and I grabbed someone else and danced all over again. It was hot and stuffy and the music was fast paced. I spun around and around, my short hair getting in my eyes. By the end of the night, I had danced with everyone and even managed to drag Andrew up for a few songs. My feet hurt and I could barely keep my eyes open when we finally got back to the boat sometime after midnight. Thank you Mr. K for an awesome night!!

Anna Spring

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Rock me Charleston like a Wagon Wheel…

                  

            On the night of April 27^th, all of the students aboard the Harvey Gamage went out on the town after dinner. The plan was to busk for money to buy ice cream, and then go to a concert that Mr. K was playing in. We were all dressed up in thrift store clothing. Our band consisted of two guitars, two violins, a few harmonicas and a homemade shaker.

            Hayden made our first five dollars on the dock. An older couple gave them to us and we didn’t even have to play anything! We set up on the corner of the main street, King Street, right by the large fountain. We played a little and made some money, and then we packed up and moved further down the road.  We set up in the doorway of a closed movie theatre. The musicians played while some people danced and others sang. We had a repertoire of about three and a half songs. From the doors of the theatre, we moved down to the market, which was deserted at night.  We picked up some random street fans that hung out with us for an hour or so, and they helped bring in a Bachelorette party to dance to our main song, Wagon Wheel. By the end of this first adventure we had made $86. We decided to go check out Mr. K and the band he was playing with at the Kickin’ Chicken. Mr. K was awesome, and bunch of people were dancing with the crew.

            Meanwhile, Hayden, Alex and Mira were still busking at the theater where we started. After a bit of dancing, I grabbed my guitar and went to join them. We played for probably and hour, and made an additional $60. Our set was almost exclusively Wagon Wheel. The people loved it, and quite a few stopped to dance with us as we rocked out. Alex broke two strings on his guitar during the second to last Wagon Wheel cover. We returned to the ship after midnight. It was a great night out!

Carter Goodell

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Did Someone Say Presents?

                             

            Imagine, if you can, a small child, say six or seven, on Christmas morning. You were all small children once, maybe you still are. See if you can remember that feeling in the pit of your stomach. That utter elation associated with Christmas morning. However, as most of you can probably attest to, the older you get, the more boring Christmas becomes. It is a slow demise that starts with the truth about Santa Claus and ends with Christmas as an excuse to replenish your wardrobe once a year. However, if you’re lucky, Christmas just might hold all of the magic that it used to. Though for most of us, I doubt it does. But, if you are looking to re-introduce the “magic at Christmas” into your life, you’re in luck! Just hop on a schooner with little to no communication with the outside world and have somebody send you letters! Now, I can only speak for myself, but I believe many of my shipmates share my sentiment, and I’m being perfectly honest when I say that receiving letters while on board holds the same magical feeling as Christmas morning when Santa ate all the cookies and drank the milk. They do not have the colorful packaging or fancy ribbons like Christmas presents, and they may not contain more than a few trivial facts from our loved ones…However, I ‘ve ripped open my letters with the same feverish ferocity that I ripped open my packages when expecting that new playmobil castle not so many years ago. I can’t fully explain it, but on the boat, words from the ones we love are worth so much more than they ever were before. And, I am hoping this appreciation will last beyond the trip, and I will be able to carry it back into my normal life.

Joe Newlin

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