The past six years of my life have been indescribable. So I won’t. But along with tragedy there has been tremendous joy, the greatest of which was last summer. I drove 24 hours and 1398 miles to Bailey Island, Maine, where I spent the season walking, laughing, eating, exploring, digging, collecting, painting, listening, watching, marveling, and making new friends. I wish I was there now. My heart will be there forever.
If Once You Have Slept on an Island By Rachel Lyman FieldIf once you have slept on an island You’ll never be quite the same; You may look as you looked the day before And go by the same old name,
You may bustle about in street and shop; You may sit at home and sew, But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls Wherever your feet may go.
You may chat with the neighbors of this and that And close to your fire keep, But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell And tides beat through your sleep.
Oh, you won’t know why, and you can’t say how Such change upon you came, But–once you have slept on an island, You’ll never be quite the same!