Life on the island is slow. Like, truly slow. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Even with all the work that is done daily to keep us somewhat sustainable and self sufficient, life slows down. I have a week in each day, months in my weeks. Time changes and bends and stirs.
And as I mix in with this pace, I stir the pot just to watch it change, watch it adapt, like skipping rocks on a placid lake to pass the time and boredom. The softness of the place (the flowers, the ferns, the moss) fights back with cliffs and ocean and danger. I love it.
I hike through the crazy wonderland forest, 3 ecosystems dancing together on the ocean, I sit atop cliffs and look for whales, I sunbathe on rocks and wave to the boats.
Yesterday I had a breakfast shift and then the whole day off. I day drank and rode the boat around the island, soaking in too much sun and not enough water and loving every minute of it. I shared my cheeses and capers and crackers, wishing someone else loved kippered herring like it do, because that’s not exactly something you can just eat in front of someone who is a vegetarian. I took a nap. I read a short story. I went to the fish house and ate fresh mussels for dinner with friends. They tasted like the ocean. I hiked to the lighthouse and fell asleep watching stars.
I was glowing and happy and refreshed at breakfast this morning. Because you can’t make or set a schedule out here. You have to let your time bend as well. You become part of the crazy slowness that is Monhegan Island. 12 miles to shore and somehow an incredibly long journey away from society.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have so much to do.
Lindsaygrocks 