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As children I think we are oblivious to ideals. Things are, or they are not, and if they fall short than the imagination supplies the rest. However, if we had possessed the ability to see our surroundings in the sense of their perfection, we would have recognized an idyllic childhood, a perfect place, an unhindered time. I was eight and my sister was twelve when we moved to the Island - for such it was called. I believe I lived there for a long time - years - before I ever knew it had another, official, name. We protested, as the experience that our short lives had afforded us made it impossible to imagine the slow peace of the island after the busy excitement of the city. Our minds couldn’t conceive enjoying lazy, hazy summer days. Our misfortune, unrealized at the time, was to have lived as long as we did without hunting for seashells in the sand, or catching fireflies in the twilight. It was to my father’s credit that he moved us when he did, recognizing the slow wither of his own spirit, so far away from his home. He re-fortified himself, and he saved the rest of us - my mother and sister and me - from that fate. There were eight other families on the Island besides our own. The family who lived closest to us had twins - a boy and a girl - just two weeks my senior. I sported the disarming confidence of an eight year old, making the assumption that like ages guaranteed like interests and immediate, unquestioning friendship. I didn’t realize how fortunate I was that this was the case, else my life on the Island would have been a dull one indeed. But as it happened my first invitation of “Wanna play?” was immediately accepted, and from that point forward the three of us were inseparable. For a time my sister joined our little band, but then abandoned us in favor of the older friends she made on the Island - girls and boys who were already taking the Ferry every morning to the mainland and the junior high school there. As loud as my protests had been upon moving, they were quieted within the span of two weeks. Everything appealed to a side of me I’d never knew existed while living in the city; even the novelty of the tiny one-room grade school charmed me to renewed interest in my classes. Watching the ocean for hours, seeking out the hidden corners of the island, running the length and breadth of it, and chasing every fancy our minds could dream up occupied the long twilights after school. The constant breezes coming from off the water became like a companion; accommodating our kites, cooling to our necks and foreheads, informing us when dinner was ready or a pie was cooling on the sill. When the winds whipped, the Dragon God tossed the tops of the trees and chopped the surf, and we stood at the tip of the water break and bathed in the mists. When the winds howled at night, the twins and I huddled under the covers with flashlights, telling stories of the battles the Night God was fighting over our heads to protect our sleep. When the soft breezes moved the sea grass, we lay among it and watched the Cloud God make shapes in the sky. The days, seasons, and years dropped like pearls falling from a broken strand; each one precious, each one disappearing with startling speed. My sister grew up, and married. I grew up, and wrenched myself away from the Island to go to college. Our parents stayed behind, washing gray as the shingles of the surf-sprayed, wind tortured houses. My sister and I homed into them as often as we could, returning to refresh our senses and remind us that the hustling lives we endured were not the true meaning of living. I always knew, upon leaving, that my spirit could never dwell and thrive in another place. The unerring goal of my adult life was to return, to bring my family, and to recapture the peace. And so I write this, sitting here by my open window, on the eve of our departure. I listen to the cars passing on the nearby highway and do not mourn the fact that they will only lull me to sleep one last night. Tomorrow my husband, my two small children, and I will leave this place, and go to the Island. The idyllic days of my childhood will be passed on to my children. The times have turned in their way such that I know what a supreme gift my parents gave to me, in the way of life that they provided. I will smile to listen to the children tearing by the kitchen window. I will know that they are safe in their freedom on the Island, secure in the friendship they have with the other children - decedents of the original inhabitants, and new families looking for their own peace. I will watch them walk, hands clasped and lunch pails swinging, up the path from the tiny, one room school. We will spin stories, and collect seashells; chase fireflies and play “let’s pretend”. We will lie in the tall sea grass and trace shapes in the clouds together. I will introduce my children to my Summer Wind Gods, and perhaps they will meet some of their own. |