THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAILS

Originally, it was God

The origin of the expression is German, according to Wikipedia, “Der liebe Gott steckt im detail (God is in the details).” With that intriguing information, my thought is that whoever switched the protagonist from God to the Devil may have been building (or repairing) a big old wooden boat.

Depending on your perspective, perhaps both characters are in play. The details, the precision, may be a burden, but they keep us safe. It took decades for dozens of people to build the huge wooden ships of old. It took a score of men a year to build STEADFAST; ninety years ago this week she came out of her shed at Wheeler Shipyard. Scott C., a wise and respected reader, reminded me that those boats weren’t expected to last ninety years; they were built more for thirty, with care and shelter. It was a stark reminder, actually, and made me pause. It was us, of course. We decided that she should carry on. We had set our stage for SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE. Here we are, working on our chosen stage, one step at a time.

Gazing heavenward lets you see the strength and detail. Boatbuilder Duncan on the right.

Here we are, staying the winter in an inclimate climate for such things, buying new insulated coveralls, spending money allocated for exploration not lumber, elixirs not fasteners. “I work every day,” I said this morning, “but the tasks don’t seem to diminish.” I honestly wasn’t complaining, just stating a fact, no sympathy required, but I sat down as I said it, a little tired, a little older than I was last year. And then my mind rambled off and I wondered how many times I had said that, how many times I had been surprised at the intricacies and challenges of maintaining my home. How many times I had readily admitted that I had no idea about how boats, well, worked. My wise marine surveyor conveys, “Boats naturally don’t want to float. She weighs 80,000 pounds. It defies all the rules,” and he, a devil for details, leaves it at that. Ah, my brain says. Right. Of course.

There may be a dozen ingredients and as many steps in your favorite chocolate cake recipe, but if you forget the salt none of the other components come together properly. It’s a fail. That is this Chef’s current analogy for wooden boat building (oh, there are others....). If you think the small components, the finite details, don’t matter, if you think you can just leave something out, well, you’re probably wrong.

The joys of a well-constructed cake. And friendship. Thanks Nancy & Donna.

I’ve watched Boatbuilder Duncan Macfarlane for three months now, marking and measuring, cutting and chiseling, building and destructing. Most days, I take a photograph or two. Or twenty. If you’re not paying attention, you’ll miss what’s different, what’s happening each day. You’ll miss what steps took him hours of concentrated consideration and detailed production.

The phases of repair the last three weeks; it's hard to see where the progress is being made. Many of the replacement parts will rarely be seen again.

He’s replaced the main components that make the bow (the stem and knee) and now we have to ensure that they fit, support and properly connect to the other 77,000 pounds of STEADFAST; those are the devilish details that matter. Those are the salt.

I appreciate how quietly passionate Duncan is about what he does. Every day I learn something about his trade and my vessel. He has a big job here with us, and he’s doing it meticulously, one step at a time. No boat is quite the same as another, so we’re all learning as we go, modifying the original plan, figuring out what’s in all of our best interest. The weeks fly by, our budget already surpassed.

This major component of Duncan’s job, the stem and knee, went in on October 24 and were standing on their own days later.

Months ago now he taught me a favorite lesson, another Aha moment (remember, I’m a cook, and a writer). We were standing on the scaffold (as usual) and I was reefing, struggling mightily to remove the cotton that had been between the boards for forty years, amazed at how fluffy and white much of it still was, how it had stayed in there, how it sprung back to be what we all recognize as cotton, sealing the water out and the air in. “It’s all connected,” he told me. “If you pull the cotton out down there, it makes it easier up here. It’s all connected. It’s a boat.” Aha. Well, I knew it was a boat(!); I had never thought of it as an intricate, interdependent entity, all parts contributing to the whole. THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAILS. It takes me hours to reef a small section of seams. If you stood back and took a picture, you could barely tell the difference, yet it is a crucial step, just like all the others.

Tools of the trade. Most important? The mind.

If I had known then, standing in the bright, warm sunshine of September, that when I was trying to put all those components back, in the proper order, with tools I have never used, my toes and my nose would need warming, I still couldn’t have hesitated. We are combining basic, natural components in such a way that it all floats. And sails! Oh, how she sails! Particularly if you’re choosing to liveaboard for another decade or two, you damn well better build it right. And if the Devil is involved, I would appreciate it if he could at least keep the heat up a little….I wouldn’t sell my soul for that, necessarily, but I’d be grateful…

Always a pleasure to have you here. Know someone who might enjoy this story? Send it!

~J

Congratulations to David Miller; (read his fantastic Watermen story here) on his newly launched vessel, built by his family’s own hands. She’s a sleek, sturdy, beauty.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

The century-old Cambridge, Maryland, USA, City Clocktower at sunrise; I see this from my bedroom, that bell is surprisingly boisterous and a reminder of simpler times. Are you yearning for simpler times? I find myself focusing on our project as the world is simply too counterintuitive, too destructive, to contemplate right now.