It felt to good to see so many enjoying the rowing and climbing, such an ideal way to end the day and complete our introduction to the Morgan. Those who wished to linger were to meet at the Shipyard Tavern adjacent to the Latitude Restaurant, so Wyn and I went there for a quick bite before beginning our long drive back to her home in Arlington, west of Boston. The food was just right, and we had a nice farewell moment with Mary K before she went off to round out her duties at the water’s edge. Susan Funk joined us while the tables with incoming voyagers were filling up, giving us a welcome chance to learn more about the museum and the process by which the staff had put everything together.
It had been an entirely satisfying day, made more so by the opportunity to chat with Wyn all the way home, no more enjoyable companion being possible. Her husband Dale welcomed us home around 9 o’clock, and we talked and had a drink in front of the fire he had built for us until about 10, a wonderful opportunity to learn about the very satisfying residency he has had this year in a fellowship program at Radcliff College, where he is making excellent progress on an African narrative he is now calling Ghost.
Wyn and I met in the kitchen for breakfast at about 8 on Sunday morning, and she had dropped me off at Logan airport by 9. This time there was no line to speak of at the security check and I was able to sit and make nice progress on this narrative until it was time for the plane to board.
I am now finishing this draft before dinner time a few hours after the plane landed, my wife Joan just having come in my study to say, “What are you doing, writing a letter to yourself?” Well, I guess, in a way, I am, though I hope it will also speak to others, and to the purpose of the 38th Voyager program, before all is said and done. It’s now time to go to the computer and upload the photos I was able to take, hoping a few of them will be worthy companions to what I have written here. My plan is to insert some of them at appropriate places in the narrative when the time comes to transcribe his handwritten journal into a Word document someone else can read.