1)
The swells were gentle and rolling like a beach ball in the
calm wind down a sand beach. The vibrations from the diesel pushing the old
mail boat across the water were enough to sooth the nerves of even those most
frayed.
Lou Marin watched where the horizon should be through the
moisture clinging on the window from the same fog that blocked the line where
sky and sea meet. Slowly the morning sun was burning off the blanket of wet
just in time to see his destination getting larger with each pulse of the engine.
He gathered up his day bag and tucked the sketchbook back
inside it along with a book he had taken out to read but being an artist, down
time meant time to sketch and a few basics for future paintings were in the
book making the trip a productive one.
As the Captain backed off the throttle while entering the
harbor the crew was busy manning the lines, the other few passengers were doing
busy stuff, some excited to visit for the day, others returning home from the
mainland. The crisp late September air mixed with the salty ocean air was all
Lou needed to complete his day and it wasn’t even 10 AM. The gentle swells from
the wake pushed them slowly to the pier letting the vessel bump gently to a
stop. The ramp was lowered to the boat and he began his next adventure in life.
2)
He had given up on life. He had been circulating in and out
of many great relationships turning sour. He had walked out on a position he
held for over twenty years with but a day’s notice, fed up with the bullshit
and politics and no help in sight. Working for the past few months on building
his portfolio of paintings and sketches to take to galleries trying to get
represented, with no luck.
His decision to move to the island was locked into place
after visiting for a few days in early summer. The quiet, the beauty the
solitude of the shores facing the ocean with nothing between him and Europe but
water, lots of water. He had spent three days wandering, taking pictures,
sketching and just sitting and absorbing.
He made friends of the owners of the Island Inn, both from
the same part of mainland Maine he was from, Hancock County, both late in life
year round residents of this little piece of rock 20 miles off the coast. The
Inn closed in the middle of October and it left about 75 year round residents
total to fend for themselves and look out after each other during the harsh
winter months. The Inn owners, Jim and Becky Bennett had lived on the rock and
ran the Inn for the past 20 years and were getting beyond the point of taking
care of the 30 rooms, dining area and their own quarters by themselves and were
considering selling out and buying one of the rental cottages used during the
summer months and winterizing it for their retirement years but hated to give
up the life that had consumed them for the past two decades.
3)
Waking up in the corner room of the second floor, both
windows thrown wide open, the crisp, no, cold sea breeze straight off the
Atlantic brought Lou into the new day with a bang. This is yet another of the
many reason why a permanent move the island was the wisest choice he had made
in decades. He laid there with his eyes shut, absorbing the early morning
magic.
Rising he threw on his sweatpants and stumbled down the hall
to the common bathroom area shared with the short timers staying there. Some just for hiking, birdwatching or just
the overabundance of inspiration for creating art of some genre, whether it is
drawing, painting , photography or writing. From the time you rose until you
close your eyes at night, the inspiration was everywhere.
Back in his room which contained a bed, a straight back
chair and a small dresser, Lou threw on his shorts and T-shirt along with
hiking boots and headed down stairs to the dining room. Being so early, he had
the area to himself sharing it only with the wait staff setting up for the
breakfast service. The coffee carafes had been filled with strong, freshly
ground coffee. Grabbing a carafe and a mug Lou headed to a window table to
start his day.
4)
Kasey hip checked the door exiting the kitchen carrying a
tray of fresh baked muffins to start filling up the table where the breakfast
buffet was set up. On her way past Lou’s
table she stopped, lowered the tray in front of him. “Mornin” she said. Lou
grabbed a fresh blueberry muffin and a couple of pads of butter and replied the
same, “Morin” and off Kasey went. Rituals of the island life. You live it long
enough with the same people and it all becomes comfortable and second nature.
