The Thrill of Chill
Every summer, I look forward to my usual schedule calming down….there are fewer deadlines, dinners can be more spontaneous and life takes on a more relaxed vibe. Life becomes chill. I’ve always enjoyed vacations that take “chill” to another level, such as camping or heading to a remote shack on the beach or in the woods. Chill is to be expected there. One plans for it, with extra supplies, books, the knowledge that there will be no internet. Life slows down.
There’s an even deeper chill, like the one we experienced in Vinylhaven, Maine recently. Although I didn’t expect it to be a booming metropolis, the more-chill-than-chill vibe startled me. I anticipated Vinylhaven to be like a low-key Martha’s Vineyard. In fact, it might be the polar opposite of Martha’s Vineyard. Where Martha’s Vineyard has a plethora of restaurants, shops, foodstands, hotels, inns, rentals and industry to support all those businesses, Vinylhaven has a dearth of industry….any industry. A friend whose family summered on Vinylhaven for many generations told me “it’s not touristy”, but I hadn’t really understood the blatant honesty of this statement.
We stayed at a tiny motel called the Tidewater Inn, the only motel on the island. Our motel room had a deck and a view of a working harbor cluttered with lobster and fishing boats. Every day, tidewaters would flow in and out underneath our motel. There was WiFi, barely, so there was no need to attempt to do any important business. In fact, there was barely any cell either. Of the 6 restaurants on the island, 3 had completely shuttered due to COVID. We were told by the motel owner that the ferry was an “experience” if you planned to bring your car, and that many situations could interfere with your transit. We paid her an extra $50 each way to ensure our car passage.
On our first day, after dinner, we decided to explore the island by car on “Around the Island” road. Once we left the town, there were no GPS, cell service, nor directions! We assumed if we followed the island around we would eventually end up where we started. We did not have a physical map (bad move). We took a couple of peninsulas, by mistake, and ended up on roads that took us to dead ends. A map of Vinylhaven, which is 15 miles long and 10 miles wide, reveals that there are actually 270 miles of coastline. At dusk, we finally picked up a faint signal which allowed us to wind our way back to the motel.
We made the wise decision of booking two restaurant reservations before we arrived. One of the restaurants, the Nebo Lodge, required us to take a small skiff across the channel to the nearby island of North Haven. On the return voyage from North Haven, a family from NY accompanied us on the tiny boat. They had rented a house during COVID, and had purchased a home there last fall, so this was their first complete summer as full-time residents. I inquired how they were adjusting. She said they loved it, but it required “an attitude of nonchalance if one of your requests is not met immediately; a lot of things don’t happen when they’re supposed to, and you just have to let go.”
One day, we chartered a local lobsterman to take us around the island. I had a chance to steer the boat, harvest lobsters and band their claws. Seeing the island from the water gave us a completely different perspective as fog settled lightly upon the craggy outposts and evergreen spikes that peppered the landscape.
No restaurants are open on Mondays, so our motel ordered lobster dinners provided by a local lobsterman. In fact, nothing except the small grocery store is open on Mondays. As the central nervous system softens into the lack of activity, one can notice the surrounding grandeur, which is both mystical and astounding.
At the ferry on our last day, we were told our reservation might not be honored. There was a medical emergency the previous night, which required the ambulance to monopolize the early ferry, thereby pushing those reservations to our ferry time. By some miracle, we squeaked on with barely half a foot from the car in front. Next to us, the last car squeezed in, inches away. We were trapped in our cars for an hour and 15 minutes, and ended up chatting to the woman in the car next door. A resident for 20 years, and art teacher for pre-K to grade 12, Heather talked about living on the island. She said “you have to get used to being alone, but you never are really alone. The community here is very strong, and we all know each other, help each other, support each other.” I took a moment to ponder that….a remote island community inhabited by loners where no matter what happens, community is there and juxtaposed that with living in an apartment in a city with millions of people and being completely anonymous.
Life is filled with contrasts that can provide insight. Although I wouldn’t move to Vinylhaven, I felt a deeper chill there, and learned something wonderful about finding a sense of meaning and connection in the tranquility.