Jasmine
Being the complete and largely true record of the S.S. Jasmine: her flock, her papers, her succession, and her dog. Entered for posterity and for chuckles.
Jasmine is a small sloop on Lake Washington. Around her, over the better part of two decades, this family erected a full maritime bureaucracy: a head duckmaster, an associated flock, ducklings holding continuing rights of passage, a top hand answerable for both rescues and humor in poor taste, and, inevitably and catastrophically, a lawyer.
None of it is binding. All of it is filed. In 2025 we transferred her to a new captain, typed the terms on a Corona, stamped them, and sailed her to him ourselves, because conducting the business by email would have squandered a perfectly good excuse for a voyage.
What follows is the whole record.
The Name
RECORD INCOMPLETE. Testimony still awaited from the Duckmaster.
Be it known to the reader, who has arrived by some combination of idleness, curiosity, and questionable navigation at a stranger’s private accounting of a small boat: the origin of the name is not set down here, and will not be.
This is not secrecy. It is a toll road.
The account is understood to involve a yellow felt hat, a university in North Carolina, an admirer who was not yet the wife, an Easter gift of uncertain judgment, a bicycle, a closed grocery, a table of expectant guests, and one question asked at precisely the wrong moment. It runs eleven minutes with interruptions, longer if anyone interrupts well, and it does not survive transcription. It has never once been improved by being written down.
Testimony may be obtained from Will, in person, upon presentation of the customary consideration: beverages, cold, the second procured before the first is finished. Applications are accepted year round. Written requests will be denied on grounds of insufficient conviviality.
You have read this far. Come get the rest properly.
The Flock, duly entered in the ship’s record
| Person or designation | Standing |
|---|---|
| The Lippitt Family | Owners, crew, and origin of the entire vocabulary |
| B Lippitt | Head duckmaster. The man whose fault all of this is |
| The flock | Associated members, loosely defined, never audited |
| The ducklings | Holders of continuing rights of passage |
| Langston Biko Tabor | Recipient of the vessel. Current captain and steward |
| The anointed duckmaster | Alternate recipient of notice, should the office change hands |
| Captain Shackleton | Top hand. Mechanical faults, rescues, credit for fair weather, blame for bad jokes |
| Counselor Barnacle, Esq. | Counsel for the flock. See appendix, and pour yourself something first |
| Captain (the dog) | Foredeck. Retired. See Article the Seventh |
The Toast
Raise the cup and stow regret,
She’s never sunk, nor ducked us yet!
Adopted May 18, 2025, after four rounds of drafting, one instruction to insert a duck, and one instruction to remove a reference to making port. It sits in the header of the transfer papers and gets said aloud before we leave the dock. Both claims were accurate as of printing.
A motto, Steady winds, mischief kindled, was proposed in the same session and never ratified. It appears here anyway, which is roughly how everything else got adopted.
The Departure Reading
Spoken at casting off. Half blessing, half warning, entirely non-optional.
Lines away and spirits high! Mark ye the winds, and mind the tide,
For what lies ahead is salt and storm, and naught but truth rides on the brine.
Trust the hull, honor the crew, and fear no gale, save the ones ye bring with you!
The Papers
Two pages. Typed on a Corona, stamped with a wooden stamp, signature blocks at the bottom of page two, VIN and date along the footer, the Duck’s Toast across the header. Title passed to Langston Biko Tabor. The flock kept perpetual use, which is the only clause anyone actually negotiated.
| Provision | As written |
|---|---|
| Continuing access | Perpetual use by the flock, in perpetuity, unto the sinking of the vessel or the heat death of the sun, whichever proves later |
| Insurance | Buyer insures her against the ordinary perils of the sea and the extraordinary perils of the flock |
| Documentation | Buyer maintains registration, documentation, and such papers as the State of Washington in its wisdom requires |
| Notice for family use | By 11:11 p.m. the evening prior, to the buyer or to the current anointed duckmaster. No reason for the hour has ever been offered and none has ever been demanded |
| Annual contribution | Not less than 5 hours of maintenance and nautical service, or 256 ounces of beer per annum, at the obligor’s election |
| Mechanical help | Captain Shackleton may be summoned upon fault, failure, or any foul sound originating below the waterline |
| Rescue jurisdiction | Also upon exhaustion of gas or of beer, these being the two recognized emergencies at sea |
| Weather and humor | Shackleton receives credit for all fair weather and blame for all nautical humor in poor taste, without right of appeal |
256 ounces is a case. He has never once chosen the beer. The 11:11 p.m. deadline has never been explained and has never been missed.
Exhibits: the pages, up close
Years Before the Mast
The Delivery
You do not hand a man a boat in a parking lot. We sailed her down, which took most of a day and routed us straight through the Duck Dodge on Lake Union: a few hundred boats, most of them drunk, all of them turning at once. For a vessel carrying this much duck in her paperwork it read less as traffic than as an honor guard.
The Succession
He earned her. He also inherited an 11:11 p.m. notice clause, a hereditary duck, a top hand who invoices in beer, and a family that will absolutely use all of it.
The Ship’s Dog
He died the year Wiley turned one, so most of the current crew has no memory of him at all, which is the only part of this whole business that actually gets me. He was a hell of a dog. He gets the last photograph.
Appendices
The complete drafting record, entered for posterity. Read at your own hazard.
A. Counsel for the flock
Every fleet needs a lawyer. Ours received an introduction he did not request and cannot escape.
The Honorable and Occasionally Housebroken Counselor Reginald T. Barnacle, Esq., First Mate of the Bar, Admiral of Ambiguity, and Lord High Scrivener of the Salt-Slick Statutes. A man whose legal briefs are pressed with seafoam and whose signature smells faintly of kelp and kerosene.
Born mid-broadside aboard a disputed schooner in international waters, Barnacle cut his first teeth on liability waivers and barnacle-encrusted bylaws. Schooled at the illustrious Leviathan Academy for the Nautically Inclined Legal Mind, he graduated portside with distinction in Admiralty Wrangling and Mutinous Mediation.
His nautical accomplishments, as recorded in the tide-worn logbooks of yore:
- Successfully argued a tort claim against a haunted buoy in the Court of Maritime Apparitions. Verdict: the ghost owed damages.
- Authored Habeas Porpoise, the definitive treatise on the rights of cetaceans in confined waters.
- Single-handedly resolved a hostile takeover of a crab boat using only semaphore and a well-placed footnote.
- Brokered a truce between rival tugboat captains by invoking an obscure clause from the Treaty of Brine.
- Won a landmark case classifying seagull guano as a sovereign act of nature, freeing an entire flotilla from insurance surcharges.
- Swam three nautical miles in full robes to deliver closing arguments on a capsized jury barge.
- Holds honorary titles in six pirate republics, four of which still consider him legally untouchable.
- Successfully sued the Moon for tidal misconduct. The court was lunar and the outcome purely symbolic.
When the seas of litigation grow stormy and the compass of reason spins wild, you’ll find no better navigator than Counselor Barnacle, who charts justice by the stars and serves subpoenas with a harpoon.
B. The toast, in all its rejected forms
For general mirth:
To Jasmine’s keel and steady beam, / May our troubles drift like a sailor’s dream!
For fair weather and friends:
Here’s to the breeze and a bottle near, / To the boat we love and the friends we cheer!
For saltier spirits, the version selected as the starting point:
Raise the cup and stow regret, / She’s not made port, nor failed us yet!
First duck revision, before the port line was struck:
Raise the cup and stow regret, / She’s not made port, nor ducked us yet!
Alternate:
Raise your glass, let worries pluck, / She’s true of hull and rich in duck!
Tavern variant:
No course too wild, no beer too flat, / With Jasmine’s crew, and one bold duck!
Offered alongside the final and declined:
Raise the cup and stow regret, / She’s held her line and ducked us yet!
The adopted couplet is in Article the Third. The verdict on it was “This is it! The duck’s toast!”
C. Shackleton’s titles, ten proposed, none adopted
- Top Hand & Occasional Savior
- Keeper of the Bilge and Whisperer of Rudders
- First Responder to Sudden Stillness (and Sudsy Shortages)
- Captain Emeritus, Order of the Ever-Righted Dinghy
- Notary of Nautical Nonsense
- Bearer of the Emergency Beer Beacon
- The Duckmaster’s Right Flipper
- Acting Vice Admiral, Department of Regret Recovery
- Consulting Mariner, Retired but Tethered
- Senior Officer of All That Floats and Most That Sinks
The duckmaster then supplied his own: Rear Admiral of Relinquished Regrets and Designated Mariner. Close, but four words too long for a signature line. Three shorter cuts followed:
- Rear Admiral of Wayward Whimsy & Designated Oarsman
- Commodore of Let-Go Lore & Keeper of the Helm
- Chief Mariner of Former Follies
No selection was ever made. The signature block went out bare.
Further titles accrued in the invitation drafts: Captain Shackleton & the Loyal Lippitt Duckwatch · Notary-at-Wake, Esq. · Warden of Webbed Boundaries & Keeper of the Emancipated Log · Esq. (retired, reinstated, retired again) · Duck Advocate, Keeper of the Last Grape Soda, & Court-Appointed Witness to Joy.
D. The Lunch of Legacy, five drafts
A welcome to a working lunch convened before the transfer. It was drafted five times: a nautical welcome, a version built around a proposed Tacos & Typewriters theme, a version in Shackleton’s voice, a version with the flourish stripped out for business, and a final that dropped the theme and went back to sea.
Final. Captain Shackleton’s Noon Orders
All hands gathered, I now call this working session to order. We've made good headway, but there's squall and opportunity both on the horizon. This convening is to chart our next course with precision.
Agenda off the port bow: brief log updates from each station; identification of any fouled lines, drift, or shifting winds; clarify bearings, crew duties, and waypoints for the next leg.
Speak plain and sharp. No need for tall tales nor tangled rope. We aim for swift consensus and a sound heading. Let’s begin with status from the foredeck.
Draft 1. Lunch of Significance
Ahoy and well-met, you salt-battered scholars of sandwiches and strategy! Welcome to this Lunch of Significance, a convening most curious, where the soup is hot, the stakes are high, and the napkins are metaphorical.
Let it be known across these oilcloth seas: forks are tridents, sparkling water is truth serum, and the first to spill mustard shall captain the minutes.
Speak freely and boldly, ye who hunger not only for lunch, but for legacy. The table is open. The mustard is passed.
Draft 2. Tacos & Typewriters
Well butter my boots and refill my inkpot, welcome one and all to Tacos & Typewriters: A Lunch of Significance!
Here we sit, half-carnitas, half-carriage return, poised between the guacamole of possibility and the QWERTY of purpose. Who’s drafting the next chapter of this tale, and what’s the working title? Who’s got a broken ribbon or a bold new font?
Let us not simply eat, but compose. Now pass the hot sauce and strike the bell.
Draft 3. Shackleton, mid-barbacoa
Esteemed voyagers of vision and verb, welcome to this most hallowed summit of Tacos & Typewriters, a repast not merely for the gut, but for the ghost in the machine! I, Captain Shackleton (retired, reappointed, and recently re-fed), hereby convene this council of curious minds and seasoned tongues.
Let each party state their purpose, their flavor, and their font. Let grievances be typed, ideas folded like quesadillas, and futures outlined in salsa.
Draft 4. After a request for more business, less flourish
Colleagues, welcome to this working lunch, convened to advance the business at hand with clarity, focus, and a little flavor. I thank you for making the time.
We will review standing on all active initiatives, surface and resolve blockers, and confirm roles and next steps for the quarter ahead. Please be direct, brief, and constructive.
E. The sendoff invitation, five drafts
An invitation to the last outing under the old flag. The drafting ran through ducks, invented maritime precedent, deliberate silliness, and finally a request to address the passage of time and be wistful. The final version is first; the earlier ones are better.
Final. The passage of time
To all those who have walked her planks, shared her shade, or simply stood nearby and smiled:
Time, like tide, knows no anchorage. It moves quietly, sometimes imperceptibly, then all at once. And now, here we are, on the brink of transfer, the final turning of the tiller, as the Jasmine prepares to sail beneath a new banner.
She has been more than timber and fastenings. She has been a stage for laughter, a shelter from storms, and a witness to quiet moments of reflection: webbed feet on wet decks, children growing into taller shadows, sunsets no photograph could keep.
So let us gather, one last time, to honor her journey and ours. We’ll send her forward not with sorrow, but with reverence and a little bit of music.
With mist in the eyes and wind at our backs,
Shackleton
Draft 1. Heartfelt
Ahoy dear companions of the Jasmine, as we drift toward the final berth of her current stewardship, I bid you, friends, family, faithful hands and feathered hearts, to join us in a moment of joy and reverence. This is not a farewell, but a celebration of passage.
Let us raise our voices and our cups in shared gratitude: for voyages taken, for laughter in the galley, for duckprints on the deck. Bring your sea legs, your stories, and your spirits high.
Captain Shackleton and the Lippitt crew
Draft 2. The duck-filled sendoff
Ahoy, ye fine flock of sailors, scallywags, and steadfast ducks:
With feathers ruffled by time and hearts buoyed by memory, we now paddle together toward the final golden sunset before our beloved vessel changes wings. All mallards, mariners, and mateys are warmly summoned to one last gathering under her current quackmand. Let the deck echo with waddles and laughter, let the air ring with toasts and tailfeathers.
Bring your beaks, your bottles, and your best barnyard blessings.
Captain Shackleton & the Loyal Lippitt Duckwatch
Draft 3. Antique legalese, invented precedent included
Hearken, ye assembled birds of fortune, waterfaring libertines, and duly appointed witnesses of the realm nautical:
By my hand as acting keeper of the Lippitt Ledger and under the shadow of the twin lanterns of liberty and lubricity, I do extend a most solemn and jubilant invitation to parley, feast, and flap.
Let it be known, under maritime custom and the irreproachable precedent set forth by Admiral Goose of the 1798 Delaware River Encampment (who famously declared “No taxation without pond access”), that every sentient soul, be he man, duck, or barnacle, retains the inalienable right to drift, dally, and declare joy.
Non-seaworthy landlubbers shall be offered provisional duckling status, provided they pledge at least one quack and tipple a dram of grog beneath the mizzenmast. Prepare your gizzards, trim your legalese, and mind the bilge, for emotion may slosh.
Captain Shackleton, Notary-at-Wake, Esq., Warden of Webbed Boundaries & Keeper of the Emancipated Log
Draft 4. Toned down and funnier
To all ducks, dockhands, and loosely affiliated parties with strong opinions and weak sea legs:
It is my great and mildly disorganized pleasure to summon you aboard for one final voyage of mirth and mild chaos. This is not a trial nor tribunal (though there may be cross-examination if anyone drinks the last cider), but a celebration.
As is tradition dating back to at least the 18th century (possibly 19th, sources unclear), a vessel may not pass to new command without one final gathering of its associated ducks, sailors, former boyfriends, and legal ambiguities. This is that gathering.
Dress code: feathers optional, enthusiasm mandatory.
Captain Shackleton, Esq. (retired, reinstated, retired again), Duck Advocate, Keeper of the Last Grape Soda, & Court-Appointed Witness to Joy
F. Outstanding, unrecovered
- The remainder of page two, which breaks off mid-clause at “In the event.”
- Her make, model, year, and dimensions, which I should know and do not.
- How she came to the family in the first place.
Filed as open. Anyone holding the missing pieces should produce them, ideally over beers.