September found us making our way south down the coast of Oregon and into California, as well as beginning our grade 7 school year.

Before we left home it was pretty common for somebody to ask, “Will you homeschool your kids?”, with maybe a hint of mischief in their eyes.

“Of course we will.” I’d reply, oblivious. “How hard could it be?” Then I would stare into the distance and smile, imagining a typical day of homeschooling…

I’ll wake up early to find the kids already hard at work, unable to sleep for the excitement of learning. “Pass the protractor Papa, I’m working on some celestial reductions.” Certainly West, here you go. “Father, have you seen my latest invention?” Wow Nyah, is that… levitating? “Can we do Math soon Father? Writing? Science?” Patience children, let’s have breakfast first! “Can we at least play a song together?” Wests fingers fly across the piano keys. “Oh yes!” joins Nyah, setting aside her microscope, “but let’s sing in Spanish for extra practice!”

The reality of our first few weeks of homeschooling diverged slightly from this vision. For example, we don’t own a microscope, so that was unrealistic. Also there’s been quite a bit of frustration, begging, bribing, raised voices (not in song), apologies for the raised voices, threats (sometimes issued in song), apologies for the threats, tears from all corners, general strike actions, mediated settlements, and one set of math pages therapeutically set ablaze.

We could regularly waste 90 minutes arguing in protest of 20 minutes of schoolwork. “Would you behave this way for your real teacher back in normal school?” An appeal to reason. That should do it.

“You’re not a real teacher!!”

Ok, well, sure. That has become glaringly obvious.

I bet you’re thinking: But your kids are so quiet and polite, surely they’re no trouble?

Serial killers are polite too. And who’s side are you on anyway? Are you suggesting that I might be the problem? Me? With my total lack of qualifications and obvious failure to appreciate the magnitude of this responsibility?

You might be onto something. Deep breaths. We will do better. Let’s talk sailing…

From Astoria we’d head to Coos Bay and then to Crescent City and Eureka in California. This can be an intimidating stretch of coast to travel by boat, but with lots of time it was easy enough to wait for good weather. We’d stay in one place for up to a week.

In these ports we’d start to meet other sailboats on a similar path towards Mexico and an interesting sense of community developed. There were maybe 20 boats that we would see again and again as we went south, with shared ambitions and anxieties. Conversation was easy as everyone was happy to talk about the trip, where to do laundry, or the latest hot dock goss.

Did you SEE who departed today? Oh. Em. GEE. In THAT forecast? No they did not! Oh. Yes. They. DID!

The very first of these sailors that we met was Angie, in Coos Bay. She helped us find a place at the dock and after 3 minutes of conversation, offered us the use of her Mom’s car. Just like that. You’re on a sailboat? Heading south? I guess we’re friends now. Do you need a car? Meeting the Angies of the world really inspires a person to be more open and generous. Community is important and can be hard to find when travelling. We felt really lucky to meet so many friendly people heading in the same direction.

We really liked this part of the coast. Some of the communities were not classically touristy, but they all had their own character. Everywhere were new experiences for us. A Dad crabbing on the dock with his kids, with a handgun on his belt. A Friday night street market with a parade of old hot-rods. A shockingly racist bumper sticker. A funny tuna fishermen, excitedly preparing for his upcoming DJ set at Burning Man. An incredible redwood forest.

When you leave your home, there’s just a lot of stuff out there. Let’s call them educational opportunities to ease my conscience.

Next stop San Francisco!