“Island boy, you’ve got your mind in New York
But your heart is in the Caribbean
“Island boy,” I still hear my girlfriend say
“Come back home, to the land of the palmy beaches
Where your heart has always been, since the very first day.”
“Island Boy” done by the Baha Men, back in the ’80’s.
Last week one of B and my grandsons, Garrett, called me “Island boy.” I like it. A lot! Reason being, it is who I’ve become, and he recognized it. I have not considered the difference between the mainland and an island since I was 29… 52 years ago. God, how cruel are the numbers.
When I was 29 I spent two summers on Cape Cod. They were, as you might guess, magical summers. I, and three other guys, lived in a boat house on Pleasant Bay. One of them had just graduated from Harvard and was now studying Russian. One had just graduated from Brown, in law. And Timmy, the Silver Fox, 55, was tending bar for Skinny George in Chatham, a nearby town.
The boathouse on Pleasant Bay, Cape Cod. Countless happy hours!
I’ve written about all this before, as there were quite a few memorable moments during those two summers, so I won’t backtrack here. What I didn’t write about before was our concept of island life. See, we would have to drive into Boston every few weeks for… whatever, I can’t remember. On the way back, we’d get to the small bridge that spanned the mainland to the Cape, and always, one or more of us would say something like, “Ahh, back on the island!” Or, “Home again!” Because it was different, and we felt differently the moment we drove onto the island again.
Okay. Is that a real thing, or was it our imagination, or perhaps an attempt to romanticize our summer digs? I can’t speak for my pals, but I actually felt it… every time we came back to the Cape. It was a truly different feeling, one of freedom, of being able to be really who I was, to be close to the sea. When you go to sleep listening to the waves lapping 15 feet from your bunk, life is good.
Pleasant Bay’s tide came right up to (and occasionally under) the boathouse front deck. When you slide out of your bunk in the morning, put on your trunks and take a quick dip in the bay, you are immediately attached to, and a part of, the natural world that is so missing in the city. Now that I think about it, I’m sure my mates felt the same, for we were all so different in so many ways, except for the love of our temporary lives together there on the Cape.
I have been a Montana boy all my life… until now. I still love Montana, of course, for what it was, but now my life and my joy is on this island, and I expect it will remain that way. Our nearness to the water, now called Penn Cove, is calming and a daily reminder of how we’re a part of nature, and how important it is to us. There is beauty all around us… the Salish Sea only a two-mile drive, and from our town dock we can see the Olympic mountains to our left and the Cascades to our right, with lots of water all around, augmented by large portions of forest, and the fertile Skagit Valley.
Bridge to the North end of the island, ferry service to the South end.
It’s gotten to the point where I hate to get on the ferry, to leave the island, for any reason. And when we return, I always feel as I did when we returned to Cape Cod back in those days. It’s returning to someplace special, different, and just right for us. Betty feels the same. We are both so grateful for this to be our home now. Truth be known, I don’t care to go anywhere off the island any more. This is my comfort zone, my safe haven, my whole world from day to day, and I’m deliriously happy about that.
Several years back B and I had a week’s vacation sailing around the Virgin Islands with Jill and Brent Huntington. Stopping at one of the British Virgin Islands, we got off the boat to go through the small Customs shack that sat right above the dock. There were two doors to the Customs… the one on the left had a sign that read, “Visitors.” The door on the right had a sign above it that read, “Belongers.” It’s safe to say that B and I are truly belongers on our island!
Penn Cove view from our front deck.
I wish for you to find your island, or to be happy where you are while reading this right now. It’s so important, so healing to be grounded in a happy, peaceful place. I’m sure I’m living far beyond my projected life span because of the daily contentment that envelopes us here. We are here, we know, by luck and by golly. But we’ll take it!
And Garrett was right. Bless that boy’s heart, telling me what I should have realized all along. I am an island boy, and am damn proud and grateful to be!
The waterfront of our little town.
I wrote this soon after we moved here. Now it’s been 10 years.
Ah, to live by the sea!
What a heavenly life it can be!
The sound of the waves, of the sea birds and such
The sights and smells I’ve grown to love so much
To live by the sea becomes part of our lives
Like breathing, and loving, and feeling alive
The waves sound like Mother Earth, breathing and sighing
The gulls sound like humans, laughing and crying
The sea becomes part of us, part of our being
As each wave reminds us our reason for living
On boats, it can toss us around like a feather
Much as our life does, in all kinds of weather
I live by the sea now, and all I can say
It brings peace and contentment to us every day.
So if you would discover how sweet life can be
Then I highly suggest that you live by the sea!
Steve Hulse 