The S.S. Sausage Beast Sets Sail - New Project

She stands on the back porch, dark brown ponytail whipping in the wind, fair skin already pink from the cold. In one hand: a plastic snow shovel. In the other: Freckles, her stuffed dog with one floppy ear and spots drawn on with marker.

“Attention, crew!” Bitty yells. “The S.S. Sausage Beast sails at noon! All hands on deck!”

Dassah — Hadassah, 4 years old, dark brown curls, fair cheeks, and a bossy streak a mile wide — stomps out in her moon boots. “I da First Mate!”

“Correct,” Bitty says. “And Freckles is Navigation Officer. He’s got spots, so he knows directions.”

Rowdy, the real half Pomeranian, half Dachshund, zooms in circles and barks. That’s his version of “aye aye.”

Dad pokes his head out the door. “My little lovely ladies launching a naval expedition, I see. You need senior officers?”

The back door slams again and out come the brothers. Since they’re homeschooled, they’re already done with math and more than ready for backyard duty.

Nation, 15, tall and quiet, carries a thermos. “Someone said sausage?”

Harbor, 10, drags the big blue sled behind him. “If we’re sailing, that’s the ship.”

Ocean, 12, has a roll of duct tape and a look in his eye that says ‘this might be genius or a disaster.’ “I can mount a mast. For science.”

Dad surveys his crew. Three sons, two daughters, one real dog, one stuffed dog. “Well,” he says, “looks like my little lovelies have backup. Rules are the same: stay where I can see you from the window. Woods are fine if you’re all together. Got it?”

“Got it!” all five kids shout. Dassah adds, “Lovey Law #2!”

“That's right,” Dad says, kissing the top of her head, then Bitty’s. “And don’t forget #1.”

“Keep each other warm and make each other laugh,” Bitty and Dassah say together. Nation rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

Launching the S.S. Sausage Beast

The “ship” is the blue sled. Ocean duct-tapes a broom handle to it for a mast. Harbor ties Dad’s old bandana to the top as a flag. Nation carves “S.S. Sausage Beast” into the side with a stick.

Bitty stands on the sled, Freckles tucked under her arm. “I am Captain Bitty! This is First Mate Dassah! That’s Commander Nation, Lieutenant Ocean, Ensign Harbor, and… Beast Master Rowdy!”

Rowdy barks. Freckles says nothing, which Bitty says means he agrees.

“What’s our mission, Captain?” Ocean asks, serious.

Bitty thinks. “We must cross the Snowy Sea —” she points at the wide white part of the yard “— and reach the Land of the Lost Mittens. Legend says there’s one whole glove out there from last winter.”

“That’s true,” Harbor says. “I lost it.”

Dassah claps. “We find it! For Harbor!”

Nation hauls the sled rope. “Then let’s sail. Everyone in.”

They all pile on. It’s tight. Dassah ends up on Nation’s lap, Freckles on Bitty’s head like a hat, and Rowdy trying to ride Harbor’s shoulders.

“Launch!” Bitty shouts.

Nation pulls. The S.S. Sausage Beast flies down the little hill behind the fence and into the open part of the yard. The girls shriek. The boys whoop. Rowdy slides off and chases them, barking.

Storm on the Snowy Sea

Halfway across the “sea,” Ocean stands up. “Uh oh, Captain. Storm incoming!” He scoops up handfuls of snow and lobs them.

“Snowball cannons!” Harbor yells, and returns fire.

Bitty shields Dassah with her body and Freckles. “Protect the First Mate! She’s only 4! She’s too young to walk the plank!”

“I four AND tough!” Dassah yells, then nails Ocean right in the hood with a snowball.

Nation just shakes his head and keeps pulling, but he’s grinning. “My little lovelies are vicious.”

They “crash” into a snowbank near the edge of the woods. Everyone tumbles out, laughing and covered in snow.

Dassah is shivering a little. Bitty notices first. No jokes this time. She grabs Freckles and shoves him into Dassah’s coat. “Here. Freckles is super warm. He’s got… uh… internal heating. Like a toaster.”

Ocean immediately takes off his gloves and puts them on Dassah’s hands. Harbor wraps his scarf around her twice. Nation blocks the wind with his back and opens the thermos Dad sent.

Dad’s watching from the window, two beautiful little young ladies and three good brothers, all looking out for each other. “My little lovely ladies,” he murmurs to himself, proud.

The Land of the Lost Mittens

Warm again, Dassah points. “There! Treasure!”

Half-buried by the birch trees is a single, crusty, very lost mitten. Harbor picks it up like it’s gold. “My mitten! From the Blizzard of Last February!”

Bitty takes Freckles back and holds him up. “Navigation Officer Freckles, you did it! You led us straight to it!”

Dassah hugs Bitty’s side. “We a good team.”

“The best team,” Bitty says. “Lovely Law #1, nailed it.”

Nation ties the mitten to the mast like a trophy. “The S.S. Sausage Beast is victorious. Let’s get these little lovelies home before they turn into icicles.”

They all pile on the sled again. This time Nation and Ocean pull, Harbor pushes, Rowdy runs ahead, and Bitty holds Dassah and Freckles tight so they stay warm.

Dad meets them at the fence with hot cocoa and a blanket big enough for all five. He wraps it around Bitty and Dassah first.

“There’s my lovely ladies,” he says. “And my brave sons. You keep each other safe out there?”

“We protect each other,” Dassah says, sipping cocoa. “Bitty gave me Freckles when I cold.”

“I was just following Lovely Law,” Bitty says, but she’s leaning into Dad, fair skin flushed, dark brown hair full of snow.

Dad looks at all of them — Ocean, Harbor, Nation, Bitty, Dassah, Rowdy, and even Freckles. “Best crew in Alaska. My little lovelies and my fine young men.”

Bitty lifts Freckles. “Freckles wants to know what tomorrow’s adventure is.”

Nation smirks. “Tomorrow we teach him how to do algebra.”

Dassah gasps. “No! Tomorrow we build a… a… moon rocket!”

Ocean’s eyes light up. “With duct tape?”

Harbor cheers. Rowdy barks.

Dad just laughs. “Then I better buy stock in hot cocoa.”

And under the big Wasilla sky, the crew of the S.S. Sausage Beast headed inside, warm, together, and already planning.