Things I love about living on board

I’ve been waking up early the last couple of weeks. Since I have no curtains on board, the light streams through my roof window and wakes me, but I don’t get up for a while. I love just lying in bed and listening to the sounds of life on the water.

At this time of year, there’s a lot of activity around my barge. The small gap between my neighbour and me is a perfect safe spot for the ducks to hide their babies from the predatory herons, so they tend to gather there in the mornings. I can hear the cheeping of the ducklings and the bossy commands of their mum. They scuffle and splosh around as they perform whatever morning routines they have and make a quite a noise for such tiny balls of fluff. It's a wonderfully cheerful sound to start the day with. Then there’s the systematic pecking against the hull as the adult ducks feed off the weed that grows on the water line. It should be annoying, but somehow it isn't; it's a reassuring sound that tells me nature carries on regardless of our presence.

The small gap between the boats makes an
ideal hiding place for the ducklings

Even though the harbour itself is very quiet in the mornings, the wildlife is not, but it doesn’t matter at all. I relish it. The other morning, I heard the desperate squeaking of what sounded like a bird in danger, so I got up and opened the hatch, only to see a baby coot swimming around my bows looking for its mum. Talk about yelling. This one had the voice of a town crier in the making. Mum reappeared soon, though, gathered up her offspring, and after administering an impatient nudge, off she went again with the chick in hot pursuit.

Mother coots are definitely the sharp-tongued, no-nonsense types, unlike the protective ducks. Mrs Coot will expect her babies to follow her and if they don’t, well, she’s not going to wait for them. This could be why we rarely see more than two or three coot chicks at a time. I fear they fall prey to the herons all too often.

The fish are also pretty busy these days. We have large shoals of carp in the harbour, another threat for the ducklings and possibly why the little coot was so alarmed. The carp swim around the boats looking for food and sadly, ducklings are on their menu, which is horrible, but that’s real life. I often look down and see quite massive fish circling the waters between my barge and the quay wall. This has the result of drawing the fishermen too, so it’s quite common for me to step off the boat and have to climb over fishing tackle to reach the path. I find the proximity of these fishing addicts a bit intrusive, but at least it means our harbour is alive.

And then there's the water itself. In a tidal harbour, there is a constant slapping of water against the barge and often a 'glubbing' sound of air bubbles being released when the water is low. It can be worrying at first, as I’ve mentioned before, but now I know it’s one of those morning sounds I enjoy, a part of my watery life, along with the gentle bumping of hull to hull and the creak of the gangplank on the quay as the barges shift and sway with the wind.

Evening approaching in our Zeeland the harbour

Last night, for a change, I slept on board the Henni H in our harbour in Zeeland. It’s not the first time I’ve done this, but it’s the first time I’ve been here alone, and now I’m enjoying completely different morning sounds. The boat bumps against the jetty constantly making the fenders squeak each time they squish against the poles. The factory close by huffs, puffs and wheezes like an old organ. Then above all the distant noises, I can hear the birds singing in the woods next to the harbour. I love it, all of it.

The factory huffs and puffs like an industrial organ

Faring is, of course, the greatest of joys, but simply living on board brings me so much pleasure. I count my blessings with every morning I can wake to these sounds and motions.

Evening lights appear

Have a great week allemaal