May 24, 2026by: Curtis Hoff No Comments

IF I MAY – Janice Anne Wheeler, Sparring With Mother Nature

Forwarded this email? Subscribe here for more

Welcome aboard !!— please know that this weekend is Memorial Day in the US, and this writer is wandering down memory lane…

If you just found our very engaging little community, please read SPARS & SPARRING, .….it introduces my wonders and my wanders. ~J

IF I MAY

A bit of introspection as a milestone is noted and a long-gone parent still sorely missed

Janice Anne Wheeler

May 24

READ IN APP

As a new boat dweller (Cruisers, we are called) I quickly became accustomed to surreal seasons of stunning, clear-water, creature-filled swims, new vistas, deserted islands, and a humbling, fortifying existence far different than I had ever known. It’s not a particularly straightforward life; constantly SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE takes wily stamina, but the highlights make it worthwhile. I’ve missed it.

After two years on this one solid piece of ground with many WTF-could-possibly-happen-next moments, the circle of friends here are my lifelines. A Marine Industry guru described me this way and shared my May 10th Publication:

Fortunate is the “amateur” (in the true and best sense of the word) boatbuilder who finds ways to live a parallel life concomitantly with a seemingly never-ending restoration project. For it is that boatbuilder who will find the fortitude and the balance not to be ground down by the project.
— Phil Friedman For Yacht Builders, Buyers and Owners

THE LONGER WE STAY HERE, THE WORSE OUR HABITS BECOME

Janice Anne Wheeler

May 10

Read full story

While carrying a tremendous amount of respect for Phil’s resume I’m not certain that fortunate is the word with which I would describe myself throughout the ‘seemingly never-ending restoration project’. Spending a fortune? Most certainly! Fortunate? Well, perhaps. Respected subscriber and frequent commenter Switter believes I am because of the acquired wisdom he eludes to, and the fortitude magnified.

SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE came to be when a LOOSE CANNON contacted me in the way-south out-islands of the Bahamas because World’s Worst Homing Pigeon landed (and decided to stay) on my classic wooden sailing yacht; that journalist encouraged me to start my own publication. Two years later I offer lessons, ironies and correlations that most hard-working, adventure-loving, nature-worshipping folks can relate to no matter their origins. Most importantly, it gives me a creative outlet and a way to connect with humanity in a time when it’s not all that easy.

Writing is simply what I am wired to do, a constant underlying wave of words and titles run through my brain, giving my life the balance that Phil aptly describes. People tell me they savor how I meld assorted elements together; many are distinctly surprised that even though they are NOT self-described “readers”, they look for my weekly commentary. I have never, could never, imagine a better compliment than that. You know who you are and my life would be less happy if you had not shared how you felt! Let’s all do that more often, eh? Give someone an easy compliment. Make them feel like what they do matters. It’s not hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, IF I MAY, here’s what I have for you. May, for a quarter-century or so, has weighed down this heart. I wanted to share because our Secret Sparring Society is a tight-knit group and growing in numbers. On May 1, I celebrated my mother’s birthday. She would have been eighty-seven, created five years after my floating home just miles apart on opposite shores of the western end of Long Island, New York. Born Martha Ann Graves she became Marti Graves Wheeler, Home Economics and Third Grade Teacher, a parent who nurtured my first life all over Upstate New York. The second life she visited, in the deserts of Arizona and Montana, the third and longest, Colorado, appealed in its stark differences to all she had ever known and beckoned. On a snowy Memorial Day weekend my brother moved her out to me, where she built a wonderful world of her own. Diagnosed that same summer, Marti was a five-year Breast Cancer survivor until a second primary, Peritoneal Cancer, took her in a span of three spinning, impossible weeks on an assortment of hospital floors; we never left her side. Wedding invitations to a smart, smitten man never got sent. We lost her twenty-four years ago today at only sixty-three. As I approach that age, I am more and more aware of how lives fly by and how much like her I have become. It’s hard to believe I’m the age I am.

Here, she is 53, I am 48 in my final year as a Colorado Chef & organic farmer.

My mom could not have even remotely imagined what my fourth reinvented life would bring, the one where I am a writer/liveaboard sailor/boat maintenance apprentice. She would be pleased beyond belief that I had finally given in to my desire to write (and write and write).

I believe, strongly, that she’s watching me, and I don’t say that lightly. I was embarrassed, sometimes, at her mom-in-the-bleachers cheering, rueful now because I thought her too enthusiastic, too devoted. Today I thoroughly understand there is no such thing as too devoted, I love that expressive passion. On a few things we were polar opposites but if she was disappointed, it showed only when I was grounded for the entire summer of my 16^th year, or when, in her unflagging honesty, she divulged opinions I had no interested in hearing. Marti blessed me with a love of delicious food and beaches along with the ethic to stay in touch with friends no matter how one-sided that may be.

Myriads of characters and creatures, some remarkably memorable and others best forgotten, contributed to who I am but she was the most predominant for the thirty-two years I had her; my best friend, companion and confidant during her time out west. One of our loyal readers from Down Under penned a comment I’m sharing because I’d love to share it with her but you who surround me are an excellent substitute:

……What I think is most distinctive about *Sparring with Mother Nature* is that it doesn’t set out to be memoir, even though it draws from observation and memory. You curate and present inspirational impressions. That’s its own craft. When I first talked about your work with fellow writers (outside of Substack), I compared it to a Robert Pirsig *Chautauqua* or reflective educational narrative drawn from adventurous experience. Not everyone adventures; not everyone reflects. Not everyone can do what you do regularly and fluently. Ruv Draba

Thank you for staying aboard— there’s lots of space at the end to share whatever you want, too. Until next week, when we re-explore STEADFAST’s Bronze Age…

~J the accidental boatbuilder

I have long not believed in coincidence, so do with it what you will. This is the bottle of wine I popped open to accompany dinner as I finished this up. Cheers.

Whether you partake or not, sometimes these things are a kind of, well, weirdness that I rather believe in. Regardless, I would truly appreciate you ‘liking’ (that dang heart icon we’re so familiar with) & ‘restacking’ this work. The impersonal algorithms of Substack only pay attention to those, not the quality of the words nor the nature of the audience. So, it just takes a sec, affects you not at all and means that people who discover us may just help me make a living doing what I love. Wouldn’t that be grand?

When you comment, I always both appreciate and respond to those thoughts. So take another sip of that coffee and type away. Thank you.

OH WAIT!! THERE’S MORE! I just uploaded a YouTube video from last weekend’s BOOK DEBUT! Don’t resist this, it’s worth three minutes of your life, and then, buy the man’s memoir. Seriously.