Free Lifesaving Lessons by Linda Greenlaw

of the scuttlebutt during the winter, but had never engaged in conversation enough to fully understand or repeat anything. Oh, and yes, I was too consumed with my own incongruity to pay attention to others’. “Mariah will be working at Black Dinah Café for the summer! Isn’t that great? A café on Isle au Haut . . . It’s about time.”
    â€œYeah, I knew that,” I answered in defense of what must have appeared as sheer ignorance.
    So I had to acknowledge that there had been a lot going on this winter and then attempt to explain to my sister, in the face of her continual questioning, why I had denied that anything was happening now that she understood much to the contrary. Because Bif rarely visits the island between Labor Day and Memorial Day (with the exception of New Year’s Eve on the millennium, which we would all sooner forget), it was difficult to explain how sticking my head in the sand, or snow in this case, had been preferable to being an integral part of the winter population. No, time had not completely stood still, as I might have falsely indicated. Yes, there had been stuff going on.
    It seemed to me, in hindsight, that winter happenings were all just undercurrent. The undertow was stronger than the waves on the surface. Things below the surface are always dark, but as summer came along, this aspect was reversed. The snow receded into thin strips that eventually disappeared. The rabbits were brown again, and boats were launched. As the days grew longer and warmer, people were everywhere. Fishermen were back to work, the store was open more often and was better stocked, and all things were happier. I finished my writing project and was thrilled to be back on the water. My social life was budding with the lilacs and included both seasonal and year-round folks. The kids were out of school; those who boarded at private schools were home, including Mariah to whom I hadn’t spoken in months. The young people added real spark to other changes. It was as though our island oyster world had been opened. And like a lobster in molt, we now had room to stretch and grow. Things always look better in the light of day.

CHAPTER 4
    Summer Return
    B ecause my parents had become snowbirds, exiting the island for Florida earlier and earlier every year, it doesn’t seem that winter has had an official end until they return, regardless of any calendar indicating otherwise. The vernal equinox might have passed on March 20, but I say spring hasn’t sprung until my mother steps from the boat to the town landing. May 1 used to be that date. From what I understand, that ended the year following my Mother’s Day gift of a ride to Barter Creek in my old truck to dig clams. And this year my folks didn’t make an appearance until June! So in that calendar, winter is indeed long and spring is super short, which is fine because most Mainers refer to spring as “mud season.” Mud season, which is as exciting as the name suggests, is something my mother has learned to avoid. “It’s just so damned gray and brown. I don’t know how anyone can stand it,” she has been known to say often when trying to entice me to join Dad and her down south. And I am always tempted, sometimes giving in to temptation to the detriment of whatever work I might otherwise feel compelled to grind out.
    Work and the need to do it is something my parents once understood. Having said that, it is also something that in their current age has caused confusion. When my folks
do
arrive on the island, my mother is slightly let down because, in her words, “Vacation is over.” To me, vacation indicates a break from a job or employment, and I have often wondered what it means to my mother. Her schedule while on Isle au Haut, from my observations, is 100 percent social. What she could possibly consider employment, or even a light task that she doesn’t also deal with in Florida, is