Robin made it home to Cambridge, MD, and about three weeks later, Monica and I flew to Alaska for one of those glacier cruises.
First, we went to Denali, also known as Mt. McKinley, which we saw from a bus about 75 miles away.

We took a long train ride to Anchorage through your standard Alaska spectacular scenery.

This was followed by a week on a cruise ship that got close to several glaciers, close enough to hear the thunder rumble through the shifting ice and see shards of glacier fall, as if in slow motion, from the 200-foot-high face of the glacier.

When we flew home, I fetched Robin from Cambridge, brought her up the Delaware River to a marina on the far shore from our home. There she now sits on dry land, propped up by four jack-stands, her mast disconnected and down on the ground, all of her parts awaiting my winter-long inspection.
I've begun work on a new project -- a book or a long magazine piece -- a portrait of the small New England town where I was raised, centered around or focusing on a profile of my father, Archie Campbell, who, as a newcomer to the village, became a civic leader who, twenty-five years after his death, is remembered and revered when town folk gather to discuss their community.