My wife’s long dreamed of living on an island and had come close to making that a reality. She’s still pained by the way that came apart, back before she met me. Well, indirectly it’s a reason we came together.
So here we are, finally with a destination that’s technically an island, one connected to the mainland by a causeway rather than a ferry.
As for me, Downeast Maine – the lands and waters east of fashionable Acadia and Bar Harbor – reminds me of the Far West, with its long distances to anywhere, the wilds and wildlife, and opportunities to explore nature. But our destination also has a lively arts scene, one that reminds me of Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula, back in the early ’80s.
Leaving the Pacific Northwest crushed a passion and way of life, something I’m feeling rekindled in this new setting.
No, it’s not Alaska or the coast of British Columbia and there are no glacier-glad mountains, but the vibe’s right. For that matter, I’m not up for that degree of isolation in my life at this stage.
Somehow, though, this is exciting.
For us, it’s not quite as simple as packing everything onto a boat and landing at a new dock.
Instead, we’re relocating in stages, eventually merging two households into one. Two households with barns, to an old Cape without one.
Whatever we keep will be strategic, for sure. And yes, it will still be lined with books, lots of them.