Some of it is the usual vacation-is-over malaise; some of it is the sense that but for oppressive student loan debt, I'd like to live on the island for at least a year or two. I've lived in the east village for nearly ten years now and, particularly during this third visit to Vinalhaven, I've come to suspect I could be really, really happy there. I also strongly suspect that whatever bacon I would be able to bring home there would fail to satisfy The Student Loan People's voracious maw.
But! Of course the preceding two weeks were not marred by gloom.
We sniffed at pine-scented breezes.
We ate superlative clam chowder, fried clams, blueberry pie.
The chowder, clams and pie above were from the Harbor Gawker, which happens to be for sale (scroll down). Any fantastically generous readers want to buy me a restaurant? I am smart enough not to tinker with their menu, nor alienate their super-friendly employees. And I'm a lawyer, which might come in handy if Rebecca Charles ever drops by.
We also ate plenty of fearsome creatures from the deep.
It's a bad season for lobstermen so far, and I understand last year was bad too, but the industry seems to be a sustainable one.
We found a SPOOKY hidden graveyard in the woods.
We admired spindly, celadon green mosses and pearly seaweed.
It rained A LOT.
And it was foggy A LOT.
On the sunnier days, we drove around with all the windows open.
Or we sat on the deck and watched for the birds: osprey, herons, the occasional bald eagle.
I fell in love with moths and yellow spiders.
This preposterous fuzzy-headed creature in the faux bois style — a luna moth — alit on our door the morning of my birthday. He seemed determined to stay for a while so we moved him to a rock nearby, for fear that he'd be trampled by the guys coming to work on the hot water heater. He didn't move for a very long time, even after a breeze knocked him off the rock and onto the deck, and my mind rattled with plans for his florid little corpse: I didn't have a shoe box but I had a plastic container about the right size to transport him to Manhattan, and then he'd probably need to be sprayed with some sort of preserving tincture, wouldn't he, and maybe I ought to see about having a professional mount him in a little glass case, and wouldn't that be the most memorable birthday gift to myself? The little beast did not expire after all; he was only resting, and flew away before the morning was over.
Another one came by the next morning, and stayed until his impressive antennae were dry.
I'm still unpacking but hope to be posting recipes for lobster rolls and whatnot soon.