VOLUNTARY SWEATSHOP

Learning a new skill can exponentially multiply respect for those who do it well

Janice Anne Wheeler Sep 27

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If you prefer, you can listen to me read the story, right up there~

There’s always something to be done. That’s life anywhere. Some of it can be put off, and some of it can’t. When one resides on a boat, any sort of boat, I believe, this boring dash of wisdom is even more relentless. Some days, I get stubborn; Virgo-esque, you might say, (there was more on that last week) and simply decide that I’m going to accomplish one of my bullet list items, regardless. Regardless of the odds against it.

You may be intuitive enough to realize these rodeos are not infrequent. I could say, “This is not my first rodeo,” but that just makes me look defiant and once again annoyed that a skill I thought would take just a bit of practice to perfect is rather (or vastly) more complicated to cultivate. Years of practice at this stubborn method has astonishingly not quelled my need to go through this oft-discouraging process. (A giant organic garden in the high desert of Colorado? How hard could it be?…). It was really hard.

My Colorado farmhouse—left half acre: chicken coop, greenhouse, raised beds. After years, the heirlooms loved it & 600# of butternut squash can’t be wrong…but yes, it tookyears.

Many humans I know and like possess these mule-like qualities, and I have yet to figure out why boat tasks seem so much harder than all the other things I have attempted. I may not have the know-how, tools, equipment, location, disposition or climate to accomplish said task, but I dive head-long into the endeavor. In every instance everything takes longer than anticipated. While that may be for an assortment of reasons, it’s often because SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE comes first. Last week, it was the sweat running into my eyes regardless of sun cover and portable fan.

Therefore, I’m calling this particular rodeo installment a Voluntary Sweatshop, an oxymoron, to be sure, and no offense is intended to anyone, anywhere, as always. My task appeared ordinarily surmountable. Every sailboat in the world has one or two and they’re not particularly interesting or exciting, simply utilitarian canvas and classically matching the style and decor of the vessel. As is often the case, STEADFAST’s are larger than most, and more complicated. Nevertheless, dive I do, but not before purchasing a demo, if you will, the Main sail cover, from the well-known sewer of all things boat, Chesapeake Sailmakers in Annapolis, Maryland. When that creator inquired, I confided that I wanted to achieve a portion of his skill and so had decided to create the Mizzen sail cover on my own. I can remember him gazing down at me and nodding his head, a cross between, “Oh yeah?” and utter amazement. My still-freshly-and-inexplicably-confidant self muttered, “I got this.”

Years ago now I purchased a Sailrite (brand) sewing machine which is wonderful and wholly inadequate for doing anything that has any bulk whatsoever while weighing a dense, substantial and hard-to manage sixty-five pounds. Portable? Sort of, if I can get my quads under it. STEADFAST’s Mizzen Mast boom is just over sixteen feet long with an average circumference of three. There is exactly nowhere on this vessel that I could possibly lay out the original raw cloth, five feet by twenty-four(8M). So. Outside we went. Heat index 103F/39+C. Humidity 85%+. The instructional video to sew a slightly smaller version of this sail cover is one hour and twenty-two minutes. Now, of course, even as a natural grayish-blonde, I knew that was edited. I didn’t know the project would turn yours truly into an impatient little grease spot. And I don’t even think I’m impatient.

Notice that once more the word “Feasible” appears in the background, It is the first word I see, most days. In this case “Rookie” also slipped into the image…

On the first day, watched the video, cut fabric with hot knife, organized myself and was ready to git ‘er done! Honestly, the basics are not difficult, double hems around the edges and ends, zippered front side, I added reinforcement with Textilene open mesh plastic to reduce chafing and increase strength. Good thing, too, because this is the only one of these I am EVER going to sew **.

On the second day, I watched video sixteen more times(at least) and I bestowed the term voluntary sweatshop. If I complained, it would have been quickly pointed out to me that I had, indeed, volunteered for this particular larger-than-me task. The six covered zippers that allow the lazy-jack lines through are stupidly complicated, in this chef’s opinion. At one point I donned the cover to test the longest zipper, appearing for all intents and purposes like Sesame Street character Snuffleupagus. I decided not to capture that moment for perpetuity.

I’m so pleased you’ve read this far! Late afternoon on the sixth day (yes, sixth, remember that 82-minute video…) my landlord strode around the corner into our little waterside world. I was bent over two abused sawhorses and a piece of splintering plywood, facing both her entrance point and my sewing machine, fabrics spread out from hell to breakfast, scraps and tools everywhere, sweat dripping, hair a frightening frizz, feeling too old, tired and thirsty to be trying to get one more row of stitches to line up with all the other freakin’ rows of stitches on what felt like miles of canvas. I don’t think either of us could have been more surprised.

“You have a sewing machine. On your boat,” she said by way of greeting. Caught off guard, I nodded. As always, she was cool, calm, groomed, dressed meticulously and self-assured. Distressingly so, in this case. She is the impressive, somewhat unexpected Chair of the Board of Directors for Richardson Maritime Museum where STEADFAST is docked; with her administration we are allowed generous access to a roomy bulkhead slip and the adjoining portion of ground which we utilize for work and play, some days more than others. To my increasing dismay with a dash of amusement, I looked past my workspace to realize this was one of those maxxed-out days—there was boat gear everywhere.

After a quick conversation where I tried awkwardly to look a little less wet, tame my curls and cover my discomfiture with what had instantly (but not previously) struck me as a completely unconventional activity, she continued on her way to a far more traditional home. FFS, I said to myself, trying to decide if I should be embarrassed or proud or just laugh at the stark differences between strong women at the same address. I laughed. Surprise can be such a reset, can’t it? We can’t take any of these things too seriously.

My voluntary sweatshop days are over with the fast-moving, early-season, bone-chilling Nor’Easter/Tropical Storm combo just offshore in the Western North Atlantic. (Pictured at the top of your emails). A forty-degree temp drop had me digging for my Smartwool socks, and I’m wearing them as I type this to you in your vast assortment of latitudes and climates.

Whatever will eventually happen is (nearly) always worth the wait, that cooler air is delightful, but it does seem to be an all-or-nothing world, doesn’t it?

Until next week, enjoy your corner of it! ~J

*I wrote about Deadrise-style FEASIBLE last year; a captivating, traditional, neglected little Watermen work boat, waiting to be saved. She most certainly has a story.

FEASIBLE Janice Anne Wheeler   ·   October 12, 2025 Read full story

** As always when I learn a new skill, my respect grows for those who do it well. Raise a toast to seamstresses and other masters of keeping us clothed, protected and looking good.

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There is no box around this floating crewmember. Nor you fine readers, I imagine.

Rock on!

© 2026 Janice Anne Wheeler
HOME IS WHERE WE DROP THE ANCHOR., Annapolis, Maryland, USA
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