For the second year, we returned to a little house that we've come to think of as our island home. Nothing fancy really. Lumpy beds, dull kitchen knives, a broken player piano and lobster traps piled in the dooryard.
But, there's a collection of 80's vinyl for the turntable, and we can hear the Vinalhaven Ferry fog horn when we're making coffee. No cell service. No internet. No TV. Just the sound of the ocean in the distance and the occasional apple dropping from the tree outside the kitchen window.
I'm in love.