Christmas came early this year when I put down a deposit for water-resistant, flame-retardant, brightly colored teal cushions for our 22 foot sailboat. What will cost upwards of my paycheck, every month until the cushions are completed and paid for by January, are not only intended to last a decade, but help with the ever-pressing condensation issue my partner and I face as winter live aboards in the San Juan Islands.

Such is life when outfitting a boat, most of your money and time goes into it.

I left my home state of New York in 2012, and set off to travel halfway around the world. I’ve somehow managed to find the beginning inklings of roots here in Friday Harbor. To the delight of my parents, it is not on another continent–but to their dismay, my current situation also does not afford a trip home for the holidays.

As much as I’ll miss my mom’s crab dip, baked macaroni and cheese, and butter cookies at our annual extended family pot-luck holiday parties, my dad playing John Lennon Christmas songs throughout the house, and drinking spiked egg-nog with my siblings while we watch home movies from when we were kids—I’m at peace with my sacrifices.

Having spent the last two years living out of a backpack, and now out of a tiny boat, I’m learning the art of minimalism. Coming from a big family, Christmas time can get expensive with all the gifts I give, and cumbersome from all the gifts I receive. This year I’ll have to delicately broach the subject with my kin, and hope that they understand I have all of the stuff I need, and that their wandering daughter/sister may have bitten off a project a little bigger than she can chew financially.

On our constantly revised list, we have the major projects to get our little floating home ship shape. It is no easy task, and she will never be “finished,” but with every addition we make, our foundation strengthens.

This month it was the cushions, next month it will be a small galley rebuild and the addition of a two-burner alcohol stove, then it’s on to the rigging and lifelines.

We’ve opted for an oven-less set up, to avoid drilling holes on our deck to plumb the boat, and to avoid having such a heavy piece of equipment on one side. But this brings into account one issue—we can’t cook a turkey for Thanksgiving.

Some of our friends who have gone out cruising tell us about a Christmas ham they enjoyed aboard in Mexico, and their Thanksgiving turkey in the South Pacific. But for our feast, it will be cold-cut turkey sandwiches, mashed potatoes, and canned cranberry sauce.

As far as Christmas presents go, it will be sailing gloves and boat knives exchanged under mistletoe hanging in our salon. Perhaps an Altoid tin wilderness survival kit, or a new lock for our bicycles. Everything we give this year and going forward, will have to be practical.

The boat will receive the most generosity this holiday season—but it’s kind of like the gift that gives back, as having a safe, warm, dry boat is the best present a sailor can ask for.