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Summer vacation: those two little words convey freedom and release with undertones of adventure;  a break from a routine that is beginning to feel like a rut. The opportunity to read in bed before breakfast, without the usual sense of urgency to get moving. The chance to let loose, be daring — to strip off one’s clothes and dive into the waves lapping against a fogged-in and deserted beach, for instance, or to climb a small mountain and surrender oneself to a rocky, green fairyland.


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To vacate that routine, let go, and just wander. Take notice of what it means to live on an island, where discarded stuff eventually gets swallowed by the landscape. 



Paul and I spent last week with friends in a big house on a small island in Maine. It was a loose, undemanding group. We were able to arrange activities so that everyone got to spend their time the way they liked — including the children, who were happy to hike with any adult willing to take the hardest, scariest climb that day.

We cooked and ate beautiful food, had a front row seat to this year’s perseid meteor showers, and collected treasures from the island’s rocky beaches.

I arrived home refreshed, and, at long last, fully seduced by summer’s glow. I’ll hang onto that whiff of freedom for as long as I can. It’ll come in handy when summer’s light fades and the sea monsters of winter begin their yearly descent.

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