I love summer. As someone who has been on an academic schedule my whole life, summer is a time to reset after the chaotic, frantic pace of the end of the academic year. I have been reflecting on the phrase “spend your time on what is important, not what is urgent.” This year I learned how easily one can be overwhelmed by the urgencies of worldly deadlines and demands, even at the expense of what is most important. So, I plan to use this blog post to share briefly something very important.

Let’s talk about boats.

Ok, perhaps they’re mostly important to me. In a way I never expected, boats, or more accurately watercraft and seafaring, have been a huge part of my life. In May of 2025, I finished seven long years attaining an M.A. and Ph.D. in Nautical Archaeology from Texas A&M. During those years, I was immersed in studying the history of ship construction and design, as well as their use, underwater excavation, and conservation. The program challenged me with every step but was also one of my most rewarding endeavors.

Why study ships and seafaring? In part, their study reflects how until very recently, ships and nautical technology were the pinnacle of man’s innovation. At Texas A&M, we studied the vessels that carried colossal obelisks from Ancient Egypt throughout the Mediterranean. We read excavation reports for the remains of sewn boats that finally illuminated Book 5 of Homer’s Odyssey. In that section, Homer describes Odysseus constructing a vessel to leave Calypso’s island, with methods long misunderstood. We drew the ship lines of the Vasa, a colossal, ornate, 17th-century Swedish warship that heeled over 1300 meters into its maiden voyage due to extensive decorations and weaponry. We explored the contents of the Uluburun wreck, a multi-national merchantman from 1300 B.C. that demonstrated the connections between cultures throughout the Mediterranean. Throughout history, human-made vessels accomplished the seemingly impossible. Nearly every part of history is a testament to the effects of watercraft. These vessels illustrate the might of human innovation and intellect, as well as the courage and drive of the human spirit. Vessels are not designed to master the oceans—an impossible task—but rather to endure them. Watercraft face some of the most incredible obstacles nature can produce. Further, voyages are often undertaken knowingly at great risk or with no guarantees, simply the desire to discover the unknown.

The part of my studies I loved most was working in the preservation and conservation of artifacts and ship materials. For me, these were efforts of storytelling. Shipwrecks are fascinating narratives. When I started working at the Conservation and Research Laboratory (CRL) at Texas A&M, the conservators were completing work on the “Ground Zero Ship.” Over 250 years ago, trees in a Pennsylvania forest were harvested. Some went to buildings in Philadelphia, including Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence was signed. Other trees were developed to build a trade and coastal patrol gunboat that voyaged throughout the southern Atlantic. When the vessel was no longer seaworthy, it seems to have been scuttled as a base for expansion of the lower Manhattan coastline. Centuries later, this vessel was witness as the World Trade Center, constructed directly over it, fell on September 11. Crews cleaning Ground Zero found the vessel buried beneath the wreckage. It was quickly excavated and sent to the Texas A&M CRL. Today, researchers are reassembling the conserved pieces in the New York State Museum for our country’s semiquincentennial anniversary.

These are the stories I love to discover in my studies. Shipwrecks are so often a rich layering of histories and cultures. While I had fallen into the habit of putting my studies aside for ‘urgencies,’ I have been reminded recently that Nautical Archaeology is not only a priority, but a joy. This start of summer has already given me the chance to take a step back, to pick up my books, to re-examine images for an upcoming article, to ponder research questions I had not considered in some time. I am not only relishing diving back in (pun intended), but discovering new energy, ambitions, and goals. I brought my children to the newly designed Houston Maritime Center and Museum, where we examined models of ships I had helped conserve. We spent time in Galveston simply sitting together and naming ships as they passed. Together we wondered where they were going, and what it must be like to sail towards a seemingly unending horizon. There is nothing urgent about these experiences and conversations. I hope you too get to spend your summer on such necessary things.