Part One
In the middle of February, in a tantrum that was part frustration, part longing - after months and months of lockdown and not seeing anyone except through a screen - I went online and rented a house on an island for most of the month of August. An island I knew nothing about and had never been to before. It looked beautiful, remote - like you could be there and get away from it ALL.
Some things I found out before I came - like a bit about the history (quirky) and the exact process to be followed to get your car and yourself here (ferry, two ferries actually), and the fact that this is on the road to becoming a designated "dark spot" in this area of the country (August - Perseid Meteor Showers, enough said).
Other things I had no idea about - but they have all turned out to be delightful. Most people bike (so glad I brought mine) and only 600 some folks live here year-round. It is Irish. Very Irish. Names of people and places and streets - as familiar as Fitzgerald or McLaughlin or Tobin. I find myself being as enamored of this island as I am of the one on the other side of the pond.
In her book, Storming the Gates of Paradise: Landscapes for Politics, Rebecca Solnit writes, "Places matter. Their rules, their scale, their design include or exclude civil society, pedestrianism, equality, diversity (economic and otherwise), understanding of where water comes from and garbage goes, consumption, or conservation. They map our lives." I grew up in a suburb, where sameness was something to aspire to - as impossible as this proved itself to be. I've spent a lot of time thinking about place...and placemaking, because (as Solnit says) place matters.
Marina, Beaver Island
