It’s been a while since Terrapin tasted the saltwater, but she’s definitely the right boat for a day on an island. It’s spring, and spring means the annual northward pilgrimages begin. And what better way to to start than with a good friend, my wife.
We all know that there’s magic on an island: self contained, apart from the land (even if within view), and mysterious for its seclusion.
Life clings to the edge of the island, the subtidal exposed and covered in life, temporarily observable by us air breathers. All day long, the water drops and drops to a whopping -2 feet.
A big boat would be stranded. Terrapin seems right at home on the fringe of a shell midden, ready to go, happy to stay.
Tenacious is the word that springs to mind when I look at the edge, a long game of geology, ecology, and astronomy on display.
We venture inside and get lost in a different environment. It starts young and vibrant.
But shows depth, age, possibly wisdom on the interior.
I can’t sit still, chasing new angles, watching to see what the receding water will leave behind.
Contentment can be found in other ways, by scarcely moving.
All too soon, the day has passed. It is time to go. Terrapin sits on her cart, prepared to carry us home.
Bittersweet, yes. But the scarcity of island time increases the appeal.
We will return.
(And if you liked this post read my review of the Summer Book which is all about islands.)