Ten days to go *sniffle sniffle*

Ready or not the countdown to my final housekeeping duties and seasonal stay on Monhegan Island is officially approaching a close. I’ve thought about what September would like like for me since the day I arrived to the island and I seriously can’t believe it’s crept up on me the way it has. August was so jam-packed with making the most of every evening and afternoon off from work, I hardly had time to even take note of the changes in Monhegan’s tourist visitation, loss of seasonal staff, and dwindling daylight. But now I find myself seated at the wharf next to a boat departure line that’s never looked shorter and battling a chilly breeze that’s never felt colder. Fall is certainly on the way if not already here.

Had to take a selfie as "Jet Pack Lady" with my trusty vacuum for ol' time's sake.

I’ve always enjoyed the unveiling of autumn. I was never one to despise the starting of school (mostly for the newfound outfit opportunities), dropping temps or falling leaves. There’s at least a solid three to four weeks of time when fall actually feels like an accurate word to describe the weather and environment before bitter coldness and ugly dead tones of brown take over the Maine landscape by late October.

Since it’s my last little bit here, I’ve attempted to stay true to my plans for the end of my stay on Mohegan. I’ve said all along that I wish for my last while to be filled with art and writing, self-reflection, bucket list items that I never got to complete and a (somewhat) healthy-ish routine for sleep, diet, and water consumption. And for the most part I’ve been doing all of that. I’ve finished more drawings in the last two weeks than I have all summer, made writing on my laptop a daily hobby, and I’ve certainly spent my fair share of headphones-in alone time thinking about and feeling grateful for the last few months. Plus I went on the booze cruise for the first time (twice!), attended two debut trash nights with Mark, and even worked up the nerve to show some of my drawings to the owners of the Lupine Gallery (it was completely fueled by encouragement from a local painter who seemed intrigued by my work, but still).

Sketching along the road, a favorite pastime of mine.

Alice on the booze cruise!

In other words, I’ve been a wholesome little bean over here for my last stretch of island life.

It’s tough to gauge exactly how I feel about leaving. On the one hand, it feels like I’ve hit a wall at work. Scrubbing showers gets a little old when you realize you’ve done it every morning for the last 120 days. But on the flip side, there’s a kind of soothing rhythm I’ve settled into with my habitual flow here: work, get paid, see familiar faces, do slightly different activities every day with said familiar faces, and repeat. Does the day-to-day get predictable? Occasionally, but man is it a beautiful lifestyle.

I’m also worried about my transition to a world in which I’m sure covid feels very much alive and well unlike the pandemic-less atmosphere I’ve been privileged enough to exist within on Monhegan. I’ve hardly been able to read (let alone load) the news out here, so I’m basically strolling into the mainland ignorantly blind.

Ultimately it does feel like my time to go though. I miss seeing, meeting, and leaving strangers, wandering unknown places, and weirdly enough, I really miss driving my car. Fleeting interactions with day trippers and riding shotgun in Mark’s truck doesn’t quite suffice for the little creature comforts that I’m accustomed to at home. Plus I’d do just about anything for a Dunks iced coffee and some Krista’s sweet potato fries right about now.

McKenna and I hitching a ride from Mark.

I think the main factor that softens the blow of leaving Monhegan is knowing that it’ll always be here. Sure a few folks might come and go––island life isn’t for everyone after all––but the island (and a majority of the people I’ve come to know and love on it) are constants that I get to revisit next year. It’s like having a one-sided open relationship with a location. Win-win for me. No matter how long you’re gone for or how much you change during a hiatus, the island always seems to welcome returnees with open arms.

That being said, I am perhaps the worst person when it comes to goodbyes. Doesn’t matter if it’s a family member, a friend, an animal, a campus, an island, a job, you name it––I fucking hate saying goodbye. A large part of that has to do with the fact that I haven’t yet gotten in-touch with my emotions enough to release sentiments on a healthy steady basis. Instead, I tend to let them bottle up and explode all over the place at the most inconvenient of times. Hence why I typically only cry in front of people once in a blue moon and usually (to my chagrin) when no one else is shedding a tear.

I suppose part of it also could have to do with some slight deep-rooted fear-of-abandonment issues, but the bottling up feelings thing seems more likely. Plus there’s just always this massive pressure I feel to suddenly come up with grand farewell gestures when the time comes. I know deep down that a goodbye is a goodbye and a letter or speech or bout of sobbing doesn’t make or break anything for either party, but still I always feel this expectation to make exits a whole thing. And trust me it’s not like I wished this on myself. I would give anything to be a seasoned Irish goodbyer, unfortunately it’s just not in my nature.

Silka (who is indeed good at Irish goodbyes) pondering.

So yeah the actual leaving bit is destined to sting. I have no doubt in my mind that I’ll be weeping on the dock and depressedly listening to Bon Iver the whole trek back. But once I get through the melancholy phase spent scrolling through old photos and rereading blog posts in an attempt to relive the summer (which hopefully only lasts a few weeks), I’ll shift to an attitude of appreciation.

There’s just so much that I admire here.

I’m thankful for the water, the way it crashes off Lobster Cove and decorates Fish Beach with skipping stones and sea glass. I’m thankful for the rocks, which have provided me with too many natural seats, beds, and tables to count. I’ll miss running my hands along their indents and smashing bottles off their jagged edges. I’m thankful for Monhegan nature; the trees that have offered me so much shade; the flowers that have become a favorite artistic subject; and the grass that offers a soft mattress while stargazing. I’m thankful for the sun and moon which rise and set each vibrant day and star-speckled night to signify another dreamy 24 hours in paradise. I’m thankful for the people; the daily “how are you”s; carpools to parties; shared sips of god knows what; and genuine connections about anything and everything. While I owe it all to the island, it’s the people that really make this place one to yearn for.

An intense game of chess at Lobster Cove.

And with that, I suppose all that’s left to do is soak up my last ten days (and probably write another blog or two). It’s time to start taking mental notes of the little things I’ve become too used to observing and the big things I tend to overlook. Ten days to go folks, can't believe we're finally here and when I say we I really mean it, thanks for taking the time to keep up with my rant-filled and inconsistent blog this summer. Writing is, has, and always will be a medium that helps me cope with life and knowing that at least someone out there're gets a kick out of it means the world to me!