T . . . teamwork. Not the same idea as teams, which suggests competition. Teamwork . . . only unites all those people invested in the same project, whether they get along or not. Like maintaining buoys marking the channel, benefitting people on the water as well as those on land.
Like USACE Hayward responding to reports of hull-puncturing, wheel-destroying debris afloat in the channels.
Like Capt Log getting fuel where it’s needed and when.
Like Baltic Sea and its entire crew–invisible here–reporting to the next job, as
is true of Comet, its dispatchers, and harbor traffic controllers.
Ditto Huki, if that’s the canoe’s name. I love the outrigger.
As well as Spartan Service
And Morton S. Bouchard IV and Kristin Poling and every other
boat and ship that negotiates passage on 1 or 2. Like Marjorie B McAllister and Cape Cod.
And Meredith C. Reinauer and all the boat crew as well as shore crew, professional and personal.
And Delaware Bay . . . it can dredge away sand and silt to keep the channel clean ONLY because of its talented and dedicated crew and the efforts of hydrographers who determined what invisible amounts of earth was extraneous.
So who works alone? Nobody that I know, not even those who sit in their workspace alone like the crane operator solo in the control cabin hundreds of feet above the hoi polloi; even that solitaire draws a paycheck and follows orders or gives them. And we belong to all kinds of non-competitive teams simultaneously: ones that pay for our daily food, drink, and shelter. Ones that keep us safe in so many contexts. Ones that make us smile and chase away our blahs and blues. Ones that intrigue us and keep us curious. Ones that back us up when we feel vulnerable. Ones that trim us when we get too brazen or sure. Even the ones we don’t get along with; Hudson danced teamwork steps with Juet, even while lowering Henry, young John Hudson, and eight stalwarts overboard to their deaths on the cold waters of Hudson Bay. I could go on, but you get my point. I’m reminded of the point. Teamwork . . . sounds trite . . . but isn’t.
All fotos . . . Will Van Dorp.