Over one more hill and we'll be home, my grandmother announced with a lightness in her voice that I hadn't heard since leaving St. John 12 hours earlier, Just one more turn.
The ocean came into view first, a gorgeous stretch of green blue just a mile across with Tiverton on the other side and streaks of early afternoon sun flashing across the water. I could see the lighthouse and all the brightly painted houses, the church spire and the boats at rest. The ferry was on the far side and Nana pulled the old Lincoln to the side of the road to wait, rolling all the windows down and letting the salt air fill our noses. It could hardly have been a more perfect day.
It was late May, just after Memorial Day and we'd been on the road for three days, we were restless, anxious, cabin feverish and tired but the sight of the ocean and the village changed all that. We let the dogs out to run and stretch their legs and I leaned against the car, closed my eyes and let the sounds and the feel wash over me. I listened to the waves and heard the ferry's engine, smelled sweet grass and salt, sensed the change of pace and country and tried to breathe away the knots of excitement in my belly. Unaccountably I began to cry, the joy of coming home was overwhelming and nearly too much to comprehend. An entire summer was ahead of me, an entire summer in a place I loved better than anywhere on earth and still do.
I would grow up on this small island, would smoke my first cigarette, have my first taste of alcohol, go on my first date and fall in love for the first time. I would learn the true nature of my mother and grandmother's relationship, would see my first animal die, learn my phobic fear of reptiles, go to my first picture show, see the inside of my first dance hall. Each summer, I would slowly step further and further away from childhood, would pass the 8 o'clock bedtime in favor of staying out, sometimes half the night, sometimes with a boy. I would meet and come to love the island's eccentrics and bootleggers and even the flat out crazies, wild people living in worlds no one else could share. I would learn how to let my imagination run free and embrace the ocean and I would discover a life long love of books. I would see death and drunkenness given free rein, would come to realize the damage abuse and inbreeding could create, would confront inevitability, loss, pure joy and even magic. I would come to treasure solitude and the quiet.
I still dream of sweet grass and salt and a welcoming ocean.
The ocean came into view first, a gorgeous stretch of green blue just a mile across with Tiverton on the other side and streaks of early afternoon sun flashing across the water. I could see the lighthouse and all the brightly painted houses, the church spire and the boats at rest. The ferry was on the far side and Nana pulled the old Lincoln to the side of the road to wait, rolling all the windows down and letting the salt air fill our noses. It could hardly have been a more perfect day.
It was late May, just after Memorial Day and we'd been on the road for three days, we were restless, anxious, cabin feverish and tired but the sight of the ocean and the village changed all that. We let the dogs out to run and stretch their legs and I leaned against the car, closed my eyes and let the sounds and the feel wash over me. I listened to the waves and heard the ferry's engine, smelled sweet grass and salt, sensed the change of pace and country and tried to breathe away the knots of excitement in my belly. Unaccountably I began to cry, the joy of coming home was overwhelming and nearly too much to comprehend. An entire summer was ahead of me, an entire summer in a place I loved better than anywhere on earth and still do.
I would grow up on this small island, would smoke my first cigarette, have my first taste of alcohol, go on my first date and fall in love for the first time. I would learn the true nature of my mother and grandmother's relationship, would see my first animal die, learn my phobic fear of reptiles, go to my first picture show, see the inside of my first dance hall. Each summer, I would slowly step further and further away from childhood, would pass the 8 o'clock bedtime in favor of staying out, sometimes half the night, sometimes with a boy. I would meet and come to love the island's eccentrics and bootleggers and even the flat out crazies, wild people living in worlds no one else could share. I would learn how to let my imagination run free and embrace the ocean and I would discover a life long love of books. I would see death and drunkenness given free rein, would come to realize the damage abuse and inbreeding could create, would confront inevitability, loss, pure joy and even magic. I would come to treasure solitude and the quiet.
I still dream of sweet grass and salt and a welcoming ocean.
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