The middle of August and things are changing on the island. We barely had a summer this year and it’s already rolling on to fall.
John and Betsy sold their house and are moving to Texas. John is my second cousin. His father was my father’s first cousin, but I didn’t know him or even know of his existence until I came to the island. One day,12 years ago, when I was visiting my ex in Bellingham he told me there was a new guy at his tennis club named John Fincke. I said if it was spelled with a cke I must be related to him — it’s an unusual spelling of the name.
Although John lived on the island it was almost another year before I met him. It was on the morning of 9/11 at the ferry dock. I had come down to take the passenger ferry (it was the period of dry dock with no car ferry); a man came up to me and said, excitedly, “Have you heard the news?” Since I have no TV and had been in too much of a hurry that morning to turn on the radio I had heard nothing. The man then told me all the details of the 9/11 attacks. We sat together on the ferry on the trip over and talked about the astonishing events and what might happen next. We were so engrossed in the news that we didn’t exchange names as one usually does when becoming acquainted on the ferry. My ex met me on the other side to take me to lunch and introduced us.
John and I became good friends. He often took me out on his boat to go crabbing or just cruise. Sometimes Betsy came too, but she had significant health problems and so often needed to stay quiet. Sometimes I went to concerts with him to use the ticket when Betsy wasn’t well enough to go. One evening we went out in his little outboard motor boat to clandestinely pull up his illegal crab pot (crab season was over). It was a beautiful calm evening; the sun was setting in the west and the moon rising in the east and I was scared the whole time that the coast guard would catch us. The penalties for crab fishing out of season are substantial. I thought John was very audacious, but I didn’t really approve and felt a bit guilty about participating. But I admit that I enjoyed adventure. There were no crabs in the pot.
That was 10 years ago. Now John and Betsy need to be near their son who is a doctor in Texas. They both have health issues. Their house has been sold to a doctor and a lawyer who will use it as a summer place. The island is going that way.
Last night Earl died: Earl Granger, the island patriarch about whom I wrote in my last post. He was 90. Donna, his wife, is still with us, but she needs lots of help. Her sister, Irene, lives next door and she is now blind. I used to see Irene and chat with her as she walked her 2 dogs up Granger way. First one dog died, then the other. Irene doesn’t walk these days.
As Jerry and I walk in the evenings with the poodles we see flocks of little birds, gathering for their journey south. The blackberries are ripening. I tried to pick some thimble-berries, but I found it difficult to get much quantity. When they are ripe they fall apart as you touch them.
They were an important food source for the Indians before the European invasion, but Indians must have had thimble-berry picking skills that I lack. I plan to get some blackberries to combine with the salmon-berries I collected earlier in the season. The cilantro has become flowers and coriander seeds.
Peas are finished. This year, for the first time, there are pears on the pear tree given to me by Lawyer Daughter.
There’s a scattering of alder leaves on the lawns and roads. The ferns are huge and the woods are the deep green of late summer.
Tammy’s chickens are still laying their enormous eggs and we often have them for breakfast. Earlier this summer a big old white hen began to lay little eggs and her eggs got smaller and smaller over the summer. Then she stopped laying altogether. Tammy says that’s chicken menopause. I save carrot tops and pea pods for Tammy’s menagerie. She says the guinea pig gets first choice, then the rabbits.
The chickens in my new header are Tammy’s. As the days get shorter they’ll slow production and we will have to wait for spring to get fresh island eggs.
Friends of Russ and Cathy are staying in our rental and on Friday the 6 of us plan to grill a sockeye salmon on our deck. Russ and Cathy got one from the reef netters out in Legoe Bay. This years’ catch was poor. Last year’s was huge. I’ll add carrots and cucumbers from my garden — and perhaps beans and zucchini if they are ready.
Seasons change, generations change, there’s a regular ebb and flow in life, sometimes calm and regular, sometimes sudden and scary. But it’s always fascinating to watch, even within the limited landscape of a tiny island.
I love reading about your daily life, Anne. And astonished at your wonderful crop!
Our summer has been the best in years and years. Non-stop sun with no humidity to make it uncomfortable.
Great photos, especially the chickens.
A small island is ‘somewhere’, a place with an identity, I think, in a way a city cannot be. Sad to think of the effect on this of more and more of the houses becoming holiday homes.
Our carrots while sweet are so small every year. Still we cut and eat them as they are so much better than what we get in the stores. I find your story of changes on the island so compelling. Time grabs us and shakes loose a few memories and then we realize another years has raced by and we are close to the end.
Thank you so much for this glimpse into your world. Here there are signs that winter is drawing to an end – the days are both longer and warmer. I have hyacinths in bloom, some jonquils and daffodils, and the tulips are poking through the soil.
Nearby willows have a haze of green signalling their imminent bud burst.
The change of seasons – whichever season, is always miraculouse.
My thoughts have been shared by others
so will not repeat.
How wonderful you still have vegetables in your garden.
I am down to a tomato plant and yesterday planted turnip green seeds.
Need to try carrots like you and Tabor.
Miss having chickens like in the past but with being at the
edge of the woods I do believe something would kill them.
Yes, seasons change, generations change.
Calm, scary, and facinating to watch.
Just wish I was not so sensitive to all that
goes on in my world.
Thank you for letting me visit you
over the ocean and far away…
Wonderful to share the good and bad times with you, if only on your blog. I hope we can see each other again some time.
Everyday life as it is lived by millions of us in many places over the globe. Somehow the excitement and adventure part goes and the calm and even tenor of life in one’s later years becomes so much more important. It’s sad to have to say good-bye to old friends.
Fincke, is that of German origin?
Wow, I’m surprised how far along your garden is. You live even further north than I do, with generally cooler weather, and your garden is weeks ahead of mine.
Unfortunately, I’m not surprised by the attrition rate in your friends and acquaintances. I attended the funeral of a favorite colleague from my teaching days, and all those in attendance agreed that we can’t keep meeting this way. Soon there will be no one left to meet.
You summer was too short and ours is too long. Too bad that we can’t find a compromise.
Wonderful photos and snippets of your life on your little island. I love your stories. Enjoy these last lovely days of summer, too hot for me again, but soon it will be fall.
How much I like reading these words today. I used to live in a community of neighbors in a little shack by the beach. We knew everyone and everything that was happening. Now we live up the hill in a walled off community where even after 16 years we know so few.
I love the thought of the chicken menopause – why not? All we egg producers have to face it, one way or another.
And laundry drying in the sun – poetry in motion.