Darkness on an Island

Two night ago, on a rainy night, the streetlights where I live were out. The darkness didn't make much of a difference until I turned out my bedroom lamp late that evening before falling asleep. Street lamplight no longer streamed into my windows. In truth, it was a welcome darkness, yet immediately I was transported back to a summer childhood experience.

It was on a small island, a little bit larger than a football field, situated on a lake in central New Hampshire with a long Native American name. Friends of our family owned the island and we'd stay for a night each summer. There was no electricity or running water and the island could only be reached via a brief canoe or rowboat trip. By day, we'd swim or walk through the wooded island, past blueberry bushes and well-traveled paths. Sunsets could be viewed from a large flat rock on the west side. A small one-room house sat at one end of the island filled with board games, a large table, comfortable chairs and a set of bunk beds. In the middle of the island, a wooden cabin housed a small kitchen, an indoor sitting area, an outdoor porch and a steep ladder leading to a sleeping area with a large bed and another set of bunk beds. Meals were simple and fresh, lake water would be boiled occasionally on a gas stove for pasta or rice. My brother and I were right at home, spending the days with two other children our age who we had grown up with. The four of us would have scavenger hunts in between afternoons of swimming or games of backgammon. I remember spying eagle nests, spending evenings playing cards and walking through the dark woods with flashlights.

We would sleep in the bunk beds, falling asleep easily, on a dark island, on a summer night and waking to the sun. Falling asleep two nights ago brought me back to these summer evenings on the island in ways that I had forgotten and never would have expected to be reminded of again. I've found much of writing and creativity is remembering. It's living memories again and understanding what sets each experience apart. I never would have imagined a streetlight-free night would provoke memories of nighttime darkness on a small island in a lake in New Hampshire, but it did, it reminded me of so much more.  

Island life, 1996 or 1997.