ISLAND REVERIE

Recently, CA and I were fortunate to spend an entire week on Monhegan Island. We've been doing this for a long time - about 18 years, with only a year or two skipped for one reason or another.

Over that time, I have occasionally considered the possibility of not coming out here again. I've said things like, "Well, I have walked all these trails many times and have discovered all the secrets of he island so why keep coming?". And you know what - I keep being surprised, inspired and challenged.` So, I kept coming. There will come a time when I won't go to the island. Too old, too sick or too crippled  - or just unable to walk the trails I have always claimed were the primary reason I came to the island. Something like that happens to us all, sooner or later.

This was an unusual week as we were able to have our evening cocktail on the high deck that overlooked the village and on toward the mainland every evening. We have never had a week with such mild and inviting weather. There's always some rain and a chilly breeze that ends up chasing us inside or beneath layers of protective outerwear. Over the years, I have spent entire days hiking beneath a poncho or bone dry in a rain suit.  Not this week. It was incredible.

The photo above of the Island Inn at sunset was taken from our deck. When I see this, and other pictures from the week, I am, of course, arrested by the unique beauty and power of the island.  But there is another quality that has become extremely valuable to me: the natural silence of the place. I may be selectively observing or perhaps there is some force - real or imagined that enabled me to hear better. I am always needing a repetition of something CA or someone else has said. I'll take it - whatever it is, and relish it while it lasts. It could be that when we are hiking, we don't talk much. there's too much to see and "feel". Often we encounter people who seem to keep up a constant chatter as they walk along. I don't get it. 

On our first hike after unpacking we walked the trail out to Gull Cove on the ocean side of the island. Usually we can hear the sea well before we get there.  But it was low tide and the sound of the cove, usually domineering,  was absent.  When we got to the overlook, waves were making a little noise but it was a timid low tide demonstration. Later perhaps.

We walked down to the Island Inn Wednesday evening for dinner in their excellent dining room. The food and the view as the sun retreated behind Manana were memorable. 

We brought flashlights for the walk home. The ascent of Horn hill, where we were staying, seemed measurably steeper - due to the wine I am sure. It was still warm enough to sit for a while on the deck and make the photograph of the Inn. We  talked about the day. I remember hearing and understanding. It was so quiet. Then we silently absorbed the closing of the day.