The great in-between has arrived. These few weeks between Thanksgiving and Xmas are one of my favorite times of the year thanks to a decision made by my mom and stepdad a decade or two ago. Unable to gather our large family for either holiday, they declared a new tradition between the two.
The birth of Chrisgiving
The celebration they forged focused on experiences over gifts. One year they surprised us with a magician, once a choir. One time, a woman taught us tamale-making. Another, a man helped us craft pro-level paper airplanes.
Every year brought a different theme, but it was always something we did, and it built such deep, magical memories that even though the tradition has since faded (as all beautiful things eventually must), this always feels like the time of the year to do something unique and interesting.
So, where am I celebrating this year's Chrisgiving? Care to guess?
If you read my last letter, you may remember I was headed to France, so a fair guess would be Normandy. But you’d be on the wrong continent.
Today, I’m writing this from Buenos Aires.
My husband and I did go to France to move onto our new floating home, a Garcia 45 sailboat named Pristine, but Pristine wasn’t quite ready for us. Construction delays met French holidays, and visa limits meant we couldn’t wait around until January.
It was a pretty big blow, but sailing is often about surrendering your expectations to the greater forces of the universe’s plans for you. And as it happened, the unexpected hole in my schedule aligned perfectly with something I’ve wanted to do for years.
You may know I’m working on a series of seafaring novels, and I write historical fiction precisely because I love all the juicy details, so I’m always aiming to be as accurate as possible. But being a real-life sailor has only made me understand how very different it was to sail the old square riggers, and how little I actually know about it.
I’ve read dozens of books, gone to umpteen museums, watched videos, studied models, and made diagrams. But I’ve never actually sailed a tall ship. So I haven’t felt how a 150-footer moves on deep swells. I haven’t trimmed a square sail, or stood at the yard to reef one.
Years ago, after I peppered a San Francisco Maritime Museum volunteer with questions, he finally said: “You just need to sail the Bark Europa.” I've been following their sail-training voyages ever since, waiting for the timing to work.
Surprise and Merry Christmas—to Cheyenne, from Cheyenne
Next week I’ll take a ferry from Buenos Aires to Piriápolis, Uruguay, where the Bark Europa and I will embark on a 16-day voyage to Ushuaia, Argentina—spitting distance from Cape Horn, where the real Ellen Creesy navigated the Flying Cloud through the treacherous rocks and currents that have claimed countless ships.
In other words, this Christmas, Santa will find me on the Southern Ocean, standing four-hour watches, taking the helm, and climbing the rigging.
And one day soon, you can take the armchair version of the adventure with the next book in The Navigator Series. My hope is I can make it that much more vivid and accurate a read for you.
In the meantime, for your in-between, I wish you less frantic shopping, fewer parking lot jam-ups, and a lot more Chrisgiving.
Fair winds,
Cheyenne
P.S. Fun fact: The name Buenos Aires comes from Spanish sailors invoking the patron saint of fair winds, Nuestra Señora Santa María del Buen Ayre.
P.P.S. I’m making progress on the next Ellen book, but I’ll quote the great Katherine Howe to describe what that means: “I’m drafting. It’s going okay. I think? I don’t know.”
