Gambier

Stepping off the water taxi onto the sea soaked dock; I always feel a sense of peace. Like all of the happy moments in my life collide in this one sacred place, leaving me breathless with emotion. Walking up the ramp to the long pier; I replay various childhood and adolescent memories, walking towards the dirt trail that will take me on a winding forest adventure to our cabin, I search the forest for familiar fallen trees or deer that have populated the Island for years. Out of the trees in a large clearing, I see the familiar dark gray outline of our cabin, opening the doors I quickly descend the stairs, into the kitchen and out onto the deck. When I open the slider a wave of sea air hits me. I run to the railing and peer over, forty feet below me is a flurry of movement as the sea collides with the shore…I see the logs we used for years as pirate ships and submarines sway with the current. I run inside and gather my things to go to the beach. I’m out the door in minutes racing to the cliffs, where I bound down them with the experience of a mountain goat. I walk the narrow path along the cliff and down to the rock filled beach. I lift rocks and see the small crabs scurrying about running for the cover of the nearest boulder. I walk along the beach toward the little Island; I can hear my family on the other side preparing for our annual bonfire cook out. I climb the rocky path up the small Island with ease…my feet pad along the soft mossy ground atop the little Island, I reach the end of the Island and see my family with marsh mellows and a small fire going, behind them some of the younger people are walking among the tide pools that gather there when the tide goes out…I hear a screech from the side of the Island, and know that someone has jumped off the diving rock, “that always seemed so daunting as a child”; I think as the memory draws my lips up in a small smile. I pull a log close to the fire and sit, relaxed by the sounds of the waves and my family all around me…. as I watch the flames of the fire lick up and down the logs in front of me I can’t help but to repeat the saying I have heard most of my life…”just another rough day on the Island”🤗

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.