I live approximately 10 miles from my mother.
That seems like a reasonable distance. That seems like a good hey-can-you-watch-the-kids-but-don’t-forget-to-call-before-you-drop-by distance.
It’s not a reasonable distance. Because it’s not an easy 10 miles.
Here’s what I imagine a 10-mile trip to Grammy’s house looks like for normal people:
1) Strap kids in car.
2) Drive for 15-20 minutes.
3) Get out of car.
4) Greet Grammy.
Here’s how our trip to Grammy’s goes:
1) Pack supplies, including extra clothing and diapers just in case of stranding.
2) Strap kids in car.
3) Drive for 15-20 minutes.
4) Get out of car.
5) Walk down slippery, icy, nearly perpendicular ramp to dock while carrying baby and fighting with three-year old about whether hand-holding is necessary (it is).
6) Climb on board boat, panicking that said three-year old will fall down between the boat and dock.
7) Take a 20-30 minute ferry ride.
8 ) Climb back off boat. Repeat panic,
9) Climb up slippery, icy, wet steps to dock.
10) Get in a pick-up of questionable quality.
11) Drive up the hill to Grammy’s house.
12) Greet Grammy.
After a visit of about 4 hours, redress, repack, and repeat everyone and everything, with an extra dose of ferry anxiety just for kicks.
Why do I do this? Especially in the winter, when we can’t even walk down to the rocky beach and while away the day throwing rocks and beachcombing? What’s the purpose?
Hard to say, really. Probably I do it because so many of my childhood memories are of that ferry, that dock, that ramp. My mother lives in what was my grandparent’s house. I spent a lot of time playing in that house, sliding down that cellar door, sleeping in the little front room that is now my mother’s office. I love that house. I want my kids to know that house. And I want my kids to know that ferry with its rickety stairs and quirky captains. I want my kids to know this island. I don’t spend enough time out there. I have absolutely no claim to this place. But it’s my island. It’s a critical, vital, instrumental part of who I am. And I want to graft this island, this ferry, and this house into their DNA like it is in mine.
I guess that’s why.
Plus, where else am I going to be able to let my kid wander down the middle of an empty road with absolute abandon knowing that the only thing she is in danger of is tripping over a stray pothole?
That’s worth the unreasonable ten miles alone.
Great post !!!!!That’s just the same way I feel about Key West.
Can’t wait for you’ll to come down again.
I’m with Pop – great post. Just curious – can you take your car on the ferry? If not, how do they get vehicles on the island? And is it your Mom’s pick-up that she leaves at the dock for you?
My husband & I had friends who had a cottage on an island in Maine – no vehicles, only one store that carried mostly canned sardines, extremely primitive. They LOVED it.
No car ferry; it’s just a tiny passenger ferry. They get cars back and forth via barging, but it’s expensive so once a car gets brought over it stays until it dies for good. Most of the vehicles on the island are pretty disreputable and not something you’d want to drive on the mainland!
Actually cottage was probably NOT in ME – I think it was called Deer Island sort of near Campobello – can’t find it on my map.
Yes! There is a Deer Island, New Brunswick right around Campobello. I think you can take a ferry there from Eastport (or Lubec?) in the summer.
Very interesting! I’d like to hear more about life on the island. Oh, now I sound like a spammer! LOL
Really, tell us more.
I’m sure I will! I’d like to work some family lore into the blog at some point, which is inter-twined with the island. I just need to figure out the best way to do it.
Wow, Cherie, does your mother live on one of the Cranberries?
You got it!
It’s really nice that you can, sort of, take a ferry back in time as well as distance. The road by my childhood home looked like that picture. The dog used to sleep on the yellow line on winter afternoons. (What? It was warm!) Last time I was back there the road was three lanes wide with curbs and sidewalks, and a speed limit. I should have put an ocean around it before I left, eh?
The ocean helps, yes. Back in the 60s/70s there was a movement to bridge some of the Casco Bay islands. At the time most of the residents were in favor. It never happened and now whenever the subject is mentioned it practically leads to bloodshed.
Never underestimate the deterrent of a mile or so of ocean water.
Speaking from a grandma’s point of view, I’m so glad you do it!
How beautiful. How absolutely beautiful. I have similar feelings about going to my grandparents’ house–although it wasn’t this difficult. 🙂
There you go again: dock, ferry, ocean, island? Are you trying to kill me over here in my flat, midwestern suburb?
Don’t worry. I’m planning a series of posts on my crappy house. That will make you feel much better.
Our house is great!
Fight! Fight!
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