Island Time

I’ve been dreaming of palm trees and sandy beaches these days. I love living in Washington State, I really do. The green forests, the dramatic Puget Sound, the mountains within an easy drive - it’s a constant wonder to me. There’s this ferry that you can take up to the San Juan Islands, and when you get off, you drive over a wooden ferry dock and up a hill, where you can see the Sound all around you before moving into misty hills that have what my kids call a “fogalanche”. The mist rolls down the side of them in the morning, looking like an avalanche of clouds. It is truly breathtaking.

But I miss being warm. I miss my toes in the sand, and calm breezes and drinks in coconuts. It’s been years since I’ve been to a beach that didn’t require a wetsuit to swim. And maybe it’s the idea of it. Forrest and I went to the Florida Keys for our honeymoon and I remember arriving late and frazzled after a flight delay and a long drive from Miami. We came to our B&B and walked in, apologizing and rushed. The woman offered Forrest a Corona and a glass of wine to me, before telling us to sit down and relax. “You’re on Island Time now,” she said.

So maybe I am merely missing the idea of Island Time. I’m missing the idea of nothing to do but bask in the moment. As a parent, as a homeowner, as a grown-up, I wonder if I will ever get back there. There’s always something to think of. What’s for dinner? Who has homework due? Did I respond to that email? I’m missing the rhythms that are slower and softer than these.

Which is funny, because some days, I feel like there’s nothing at all to do around here. We’ve used up all the charms our home has to offer over this year.

Over Christmas break, we went out to a different, closer island, one we often visit in the summer. We went to a state park up there, one that has a historic fort. It was a glorious day, sunny with blue skies. I was so happy; I’d been hoping for no rain. But the moment we opened the door, the gusting wind shut it closed. It was blowing so hard that day, we couldn’t hear each other speak without yelling. I wore my mask the whole time, just to keep my face warm. Magnolia and I walked down to the beach and she hunted for shells while I huddled against the cliffs to stay out of the wind. An hour later, we were all back in the car, eating our picnic lunch, happy to look out at the island but not fully experience it.

My life feels like that island these days. Not the breathtaking beauty of the San Juans, or the relaxed vibe of the Keys. No, around here, looking out, we see a perfect day. And the fundamentals really are as good as it gets. Forrest works from home, the kids are getting their schoolwork done, I’m able to write, everyone is healthy, we have a roof over our heads and probably more to eat than we should. But open that car door and the bracing wind will hit you. Lots of emotions, lots of worry, lots of anticipation for future freedom.

I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. It’s not bad to react to unusual situations in unusual ways. It’s worse to pretend that the wind isn’t blowing, to act like because the sun is out we should be frolicking on the sand. On that particular island, come summer, we’ll be doing just that. There are seasons for everything and I will admit this: getting back into the sheltered car after the windy beach was so amazing. Like a warm house after a cold walk, or a cool morning after a summer storm. There’s shelter on this island and beauty even when we’re surrounded by wind.

I’ve learned to appreciate the goodness of this little island. But if I have to be honest, I’m still dreaming of palm trees and sandy beaches.