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10:28 a.m. - 2004-08-16
The pilgrimage.
I never really thought of myself as a writer. I love writing in this diary, but its really more like talking than writing. I write like I talk. Most of the time. Without regard for punctuation, grammer or ease on the eyes. I just ramble on as I'm prone to do in person.

Saturday, I felt like a writer. Riding the bus down to the water and standing on the back of the rain drenched boat, I felt the keenest urge to write here. I had so many thoughts in my head, so many small experiences to relate, I was shaking with the need to commit it to media. The day took on a mystical feel early on. The skys were cloudy, and the rain pummelled us as soon as we made the halfway point. It was a cool, powerful rain that pelted rather than misted. There was a glow about the world that brightened the dark sky and muddy roads. The glow wasn't of sun or moon, but of anticipation.

I spent the ride down reading "Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife" non-stop, except for brief glances at green signs that told how far I had come on the journey. Our arrival in the seaport was soggy, the puddles inches deep. I saw the boat and my heart skipped. It was just a junky little ferry, but it was a boat and the boat was taking us to the island that has held my interest for these many years. It was a pilgrimage of sorts. It was a place I knew I had to go.

I wasn't disappointed. I got off the boat first, not afraid of the downpour. We had lunch scheduled at a local place where we had a family style meal of seafood, meats, hot and cold side dishes, and home brewed tea. This was one of three restaurants on the island. It was delicious, and shared among the brave souls who walked out into the rain. The waitress gave us a history of the island, explaining where the strange accent came from, how the residents made their livings and how many students graduated from the school last year (6).

I opted to take a tour via golfcart. There are only three cars on the island, and all are for public works use. Residents keep their cars at the seaport, and use bikes and golfcarts to move about. You'd think that kids raised there would be itching to leave the island as soon as possible, but 90% return to the island after higher education. It must be an incredibe place to live.

I'm glad I went. While others on the tour opted to stay on the boat, I chose to skip through the puddles, walk about the island, flirt with local young men, and watch a plywood surfing contest where the kids skimmed the marsh on pieces of plywood. They find entertainment of their own creation.

I hated to leave. If I get the opportunity, I'd love to stay at the inn for a weekend just to wind down and let the environment sink in. And maybe, write. The island inspired my creative spirit.

Once on the boat again, I chose to stand outside to leave room for some older person to sit. It was over crowded with those wishing to leave before the big storm brushed by. I was soggy anyway and needed to breath in the open, and watch the water go by.

I'll go back. Sooner rather than later. I didn't get enough this time around. I'm thinking it might be a good fall weather thing to do if plans to fly to Florida don't pan out.

In the meantime, I am nursing a sunburn from floating in a friend's pool yesterday. So much for generic sunscreen. Ouch! I did venture out to see "The PRincess Diaries" last night. The folks were entertaining guests, so I made my escape. I enjoyed the movie, even more than the first. I'm still a romantic at heart.


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