Yesterday, fog sat thick over the island, a viscous reminder of being 30 miles out to sea. It was muggy, but I try to get out of the house each day for a change of scenery, so I loaded up the jogger, strapped Nora in, and set out for town. I felt like I was wading through the air. After a brief swing at the playground on Children’s Beach and some time people watching in the grass (one of Nora’s favorite activities if the people are of the little variety), the humidity was making me antsy, so we packed back up and decided to chart new territory.
and, eventually, the Brant Point lighthouse, which seemed an appropriate place to end up in the fog.
By that time, Nora was sound asleep, but I enjoyed walking barefoot in the sand and taking pictures with my cell phone.
Looking in all four directions on the point – yes, bottom right is someone’s house. Must be awful.
The harbor through the mist and sea shells.
Just before I left for home, I caught sight of a ferry coming into the island – and I thought how excited the people on-board must be to arrive at the island. How wonderful it must be to see the low Brant Point lighthouse after the two hour ride across gray waves and fog.
Each time I came to the island recently, it was bright and sunny, and Nantucket could be seen for miles. There was anticipation and impatience as we tried to get the boat to move faster, but no surprise of an island where before there had been none; no magical sight of a squat tower suddenly appearing in the mist to guide travelers into port. Watching the ferry come in made me think how welcoming that lighthouse must have been to whalers, returning home after months at sea. And the mixed emotions with which they glided past it out of the harbor into the unknown.
We won’t be going past the light house for awhile, which is just how I want it. It will, though, welcome a steady stream of our friends and family, I hope.