Our Dryer is the Sun, and the Sun Has Quit

Now, for those who don’t live on a boat, let me explain our laundry situation. We do not have a dryer. Our dryer is the sun. Full stop. That’s the whole system. We wash in a bucket with a plunger—yes, a plunger—and then we depend entirely on that big flaming ball in the sky to finish the job. When the sun is gone, our dryer is gone. And right now? Our dryer has clearly packed its bags, turned off its phone, and taken an unapproved personal day.

Laundry on a boat is already a delicate ecosystem. There are five of us, which means the laundry multiplies like rabbits. Normally, with good weather, we can wash a few shirts, some underwear, a handful of towels, and spread them out on the lines like civilized sea-dwellers. But the moment the sun disappears? The whole system collapses. Completely. And I need to stress, we have to do laundry every day!!! We have limited water, limited railings, and limited clothespins. We have to stay on top of it. Which, up until now, has been completely manageable, maybe we have the odd day where we get backed up, but normally we have sun all day, every day (minus a daily 10-minute downpour…we call that the rinse cycle!)

We are now three days into this wet doom cloud, and every single piece of clothing we own is trapped somewhere between “clean-ish” and “permanently damp.” Everything smells like humidity and regret. The towels haven’t been dry since sometime last week. Our underwear supply has reached a level of emergency that should probably qualify us for foreign aid.

I tried to wash a few things yesterday. Washed, plunged, rinsed… feeling quite proud of myself for functioning like an old-timey pioneer wrangler. But then came the drying step, which is the part where nature usually steps in to help. Except nature has abandoned us. Everything I hung out was actually wetter three hours later than when I started. I didn’t even know that was physically possible.

At this point, every railing and lifeline on the boat looks like we’re hosting a garage sale for soggy castaways. The wind keeps trying to steal our shirts—honestly, I don’t blame it. If I were a piece of clothing in this weather, I’d try to escape too. With the current humidity, I expect the underwear I washed today to be dry in 3-5 business days.

So here we are: five people, no sun, no dry towels, and no underwear left in active circulation. We are basically one day away from wrapping ourselves in sails and calling it fashion.

But we have hope. Because eventually—eventually—the clouds will part, and the dryer will return. And on that glorious day, I swear we will celebrate like it’s Christmas morning. Every line will be full. Every sock will have a fighting chance. And the smell of musty moisture will be replaced with the intoxicating scent of sun-dried freedom.

Until then, we wait. Damp, slightly feral, but still afloat. Building resiliency and character (at least that’s what we are telling the kids living in their swimsuits).