final days

1. The first time I was ever conscious of the smell of the ocean was when I arrived at the ferry terminal upon my return from a month-long student exchange in Arkangel'sk, Russia. Although I had lived on the water all my life, it took significant time away - my third fourth trip out of Maine & New Hampshire ever for me to understand that the ocean has a smell. It's the all-the-time smell I am talking about, not the fishy briny smell of low tide and exposed mudflats, but instead the fresh and cool smell of the air circulating over the salt water.
2. I went to the island on Sunday. No one was at the house so I was on my own. I took advantage of the warm weather and the sunshine to "take a lap." An amazing thing about the island is how much it will always be home to me. Soon my dad will sell the house and I will no longer have family out there, but it will still be home. First, there are the people who still know me - who stop me to find out how everyone is doing and to ask what I am up to these days. Then there is the place itself - whaleback rock, the tablerocks, big little rock, sandy beach, Brackett cemetery, and the familiar views of Portland Head, Ram Island Ledge Light, Halfway Rock Light, Junk of Pork, Inner Green, and Outer Green. It is as if I belong to the place - not that the place is mine. Long after I am dead and forgotten much of what I know about the island will still be true.