This one has island blood. He shrieked to be free of his carrier as soon as we scrambled down to the beach. I lowered him to the sand and he was off to explore.
This one needed some food before she was ready to brave the slippery seaweed and the chilly water. (In fact, there was a whole week that felt like an endless succession of meals punctuated by the declaration, “I’m STILL hungwy!”)
Jolly couldn’t be bothered with a bathing costume. In he went.
Oh, that island of mine. I’m never ready to leave. Ada, though, was missing her own home. Despite the beach, despite swimming in the lake, stalking deer with a gaggle of other little people, cooking out with friends, exclaiming over the cows every time we passed their fields, eating ice cream and watching the ferry churn away from the dock, staying up late for live music, and riding the patient horses at Plum Pond, my girl was asking to go home to Portland. It’s a little sad to know our deepest roots won’t be sunk in the same soil and that she may never love the island in her marrow the way I do. But there’s time for her to claim a second home as she grows. And I’m glad she loves the life we’ve made for her in the city.
I have a souvenir of this vacation: a finished sweater! I stuffed the ends I hadn’t woven in up the sleeves and made my husband pull the car over on the way to the ferry to take pictures before we left. Stay tuned…