Author Archives: Jeffrey A. Carver

A couple of hours after I posted about my retreat in the Mothership, I heard a loud bang, followed by the sound of running water. What the–? At first I thought it was something outside. Then I saw the water pouring out from under the kitchen sink counter, spreading across the floor…

I ran outside to shut the water off, and then started pulling things apart. Drawers full of dishes, full of water, too. What a mess. All I could tell for sure was that the water had come from under the kitchen faucet. I spent about two hours mopping it all up. Finally, about midnight, I sat down with a heavy sigh to figure out what to do next. Sproingggg! The window shade beside me abruptly unrolled all the way to its end. Is this a sign?

Next morning, I established that both water pipes to the kitchen faucet had popped loose as one and started pouring water into the space inside the cabinet. Some disassembly later, I found that the plastic connectors on the underside of the faucet had cracked and let go. With no separate shut-off valves to the sink, I was sunk. My water system was kacked until I could get a replacement faucet. A few phone calls later, I knew there were none to be had on the Cape. A few hours later, I packed it in and headed home.

But not without a final bike ride to the beach and some time contemplating the surf rolling in. Bright side: While sitting there, I found (I hope) the solution to the plot problem that had been eluding me, and I wrote a couple of pages on that before I broke camp for home.

Here’s a glimpse of the better side of the retreat…

It’s been a while since I’ve gotten away on a retreat to bang heads with my book—I mean, commune with nature and become one with my book. Well, one or the other. I’m in the Mothership on Cape Cod, but farther out than I usually go, this time near the National Seashore, and also First Encounter Beach, above. The campground literally borders the Cape Cod Rail Trail, so it’s a perfect spot for biking. (Biking defined as peddling some and letting the electric motor keep me moving, and up over the hills.) The connection with the book is coming slowly, but not not at all. Remember those slow watch movement wheels I mentioned a while back? Like that.

Sadly, with my breathing issues, I can no longer enjoy the smell of wood smoke from campfires, much less sit next to one. In fact, I have to retreat into the van when my nose starts noticing a new one. This is a grave loss.

I just noticed that when I sit in my man cave in the back of the Mothership, there’s a robot face staring at me from the cab up front. I think it’s friendly.