2. The fog stays for days at a time. It just comes in and sits here and doesn't go away for three or four days. Like the fog and the island are in some torrid LDR and if fog makes the trip it damn well isn't gonna be just one night. Everything is spooky and gloamy and it feels like the rest of the world just went out like a light.
3. While we can't see water from our house due to excessive trees, at night, from our upstairs bedroom window, I can see the lights of Portland glittering through the branches. The air is so cold, they sparkle in this hard, golden way. It makes me think of one of my first nights in Edinburgh, when I climbed Arthur's Seat with a guy I totally shouldn't have slept with later, and looked out across the firth at the lights of St. Andrews. They glittered like this.
4. Living on an island, and negotiating the trips inland for things you need, (taking the car to the mainland is a cool $35, $80 in the summer. And we have had a terrible time finding monthly parking in Portland. Just epic hassle. So we still have to haul the car over every time and it adds up) makes you really re-evaluate what you need. And how soon you need it. We had a date night last week and took the ferry over to see the new Bond flick. Our new lives mean a 20-minute ferry ride each way in black and freezing waters and a half-mile walk through frigid cobblestone streets to the theater. We really wanted to see that movie. (It was eh. I think they're making some structural mistakes here, but it's entertaining enough.) But we shot down several others because Zack and Miri Make a Porno just isn't worth the hike. If it can't be gotten at the island store, or ordered online, chances are we don't really need it all that much. Except my allergy medicine, which they were out of at the drug store in town today, and can't be ordered except in single overpriced packages online due to residual OMGMETH nonsense. And I need that. Which means more shore leave next week. Grrr.
5. There is literally no small town in the world where you couldn't peel back the surface layer and find the grotesque love child of Peyton Place and Blue Velvet. This goes double for islands. I remember once I asked a lady on Kelley's Island what it was like in the winter there, and she laughed and said "It's like Peyton Place!" I blinked. She was a little elderly lady in a shawl selling candles. I wondered if she knew the reference she was making or just thought it was a book about the suburbs in the 50s. Now I think she probably knew exactly what she was talking about.