There’s an Irishman in the movie “Braveheart” that always refers to Ireland as his island. In much the same way, I think of the island that our house is on as somehow belonging exclusively to us. When an influx of British tourists discovered it a handful of years back, I recoiled at hearing English being spoken at various restaurants because it somehow felt like I had to share ownership of it.
When we arrive early in the season as we did this year, the illusion of ownership is amplified. As I sit here typing this, I’m sharing the cafe on the beach with just one other person and he’s a local. Yup, it’s my island, but I’m willing to share a piece of it with each of you.
We take a ferry boat over from the mainland and it takes about an hour to get there. Here we are departing from the mainland.
I love to sit above deck feeling the bite of the wind and the warmth of the sun. When I was little, I would jump at any chance to ride back and forth from the island to the mainland. There’s a peace on the upper deck that is hard to come by. While I’m up there, I almost always indulge in a book. During this trip, I’m reading Pillars of the Earth, which I downloaded to my Kindle at the airport.
There are always a host of birds following the ferry hoping to catch a fish that was caught up in the wake. Parker was transfixed and shouted, “It’s a bird!” probably 1,343 times.
When we’re about 15 minutes from arrival, I love to watch our approach to the island. I recognize every mountain silhouetting the port and I can picture our drive back to the house.
As my parents ordered lunch, I hopped online (picking up wifi from the cafe I’m sitting at now) to do my usual online business.
I swear, stress simply slips away from me as I step off of the ferry and onto familiar land. This place has been my home away from home since I was 7 years old. Parker made his first trip here when he was just 6 months old and I hope that he comes to feel as reverent as I do about the sweeping mountains and aqua blue waters.