Chapter 3: Alone On The Island

Sunset ... Little Red Boat parked for the night.

I would have been disappointed with myself if I hadn't done it ... if I haven't camped out at the cabin.

Time was short. I had a month's worth of work to do in six days. Hours were running out. The weather had not really been conducive to outside painting and I really needed to be at that task, but I also needed to fulfill my vision and expectation even more.

When I told people I was staying there - alone on the island - I'm pretty sure they thought I was just plain weird.. While they didn't come right out and say it, I suspect that they thought that I had a hole in my net. Some thought that I would be/should be scared. 'Of what?' I'd ask." All that is out there is some rabbits, maybe a moose and ghosts." "Yes ... the ghosts!" they agreed. "Well," I assured them, "I know that they were ALL hardworking, lovely people and they're glad that I'm there with them." 

Not exactly on the beaten path.

Being 'alone' wasn't necessarily on my 'need-to-do' agenda. I would have happily welcomed company for my first sleepover, but it wasn't to be. That evening, my friend came to see the place, we hiked to Tom Tumbler to view the icebergs and visited the cemetary, but she wasn't about to spend the night even knowing that it meant I would have to be alone. 'Nope.' she said, 'Can't do it.'  And so I drove her home in my boat, both of us giggling like school girls at how 'independent' we were, running the boat by ourselves. Oh yeah, my friends are as easily amused as I am. Apparently not quite as adventurous sometimes, but easily amused.

The setting sun illuminating the bottom of the Steep, Steep Hill.

Icebergs ... more than a dozen of them surrounding us.

Sunset from Tom Tumbler

So, there I was - back on the Island, alone. As the sun was setting, I trod up the steep, steep hill ... which by the way, was getting easier each time I did it. I wound my way through the darkened, sheltered path to my little cabin nestled in the woods. Inside my tiny little abode, I lit the candles.

Candles are up there on my top 10 things that I'm passionate about. Along with chairs and small buildings, I probably have more than most normal people, so the fact that there is no power did not diminish lighting inside the cabin.  It was peaceful and lovely. Everything is lovely by candlelight. As I do in my little cabin at  home, I went outside to look in, to savour the vision of a candle lit window.

Cozying up for the night.

A candle lit window is a comforting, welcoming thing even if there is no one but yourself to welcome.

I sat in the rocking chair, glad that I had dragged it up there. Just as candles are, a rocking chair is mandatory in a cabin. I began a fresh new journal. I wrote about my fascination with and love of the history of Ship Island and what it was like to be spending the night there ... alone. I must admit, I didn't sleep well or much, but that was okay. In the morning, it was drizzling and gray, which totally pleased me. There was no need to rush back to paint. I lit the wood stove, a little bit of overkill to just boil a kettle, but necessary for my cup of tea.

And there I sat in the flickering candle light  ...

 blanket, tea, rocking chair and journal. 

And just me.

 It was quite lovely.

I've gone camping alone for couple times but in reality one is not overly alone on a campground with 1200 sites. This time I really was alone.
Well, except for the rabbits, the 'maybe-a-moose' and the ghosts.

People were curious when

 I returned and asked

''How was it on Ship Island?"

 "Quiet." I told them. "Quiet."
There wasn't really much more to say.