If you read Genevieve’s last post (and I hope you did!), you’ll know the difference between those who feel that summer means vacation and those who don’t. Like Ms. Brown, I am of the former category. Whether it is a hardwired impulse or simply a remnant of schooldays when warm weather and responsibility were inversely proportional, I can’t help but get restless when the days are long and the breeze blows balmier. To be honest, I’m on vacation now! This year, as we’ve done for the last 25 Augusts, my family and I put some time aside, drop just about everything, and go to Nantucket. That’s right, I’m on vacation right now. Of course, I have used just about all my vacation days to do it, so don’t be too jealous (though I just came in from the beach).

Photo courtesy of IgoUgo member richardhall99.

Every year, we pack up the car—now more than just one to accommodate various Davidson additions—and make the 2am departure from the city to get on that first ferry across the sound. It’s a bit of a rude awakening, literally, to be on the road so early, but once you catch a glimpse of the island, rising out of the Atlantic, all sense of travel fatigue dissipates under the sun like Nantucket’s signature fog.

Nantucket has changed some over the years. Aside from a considerable increase in the number of people, cars, and boutique shops, the nature of the island is perhaps less friendly than it was when I used to ride my bike around the many then-dirt roads and cars would wave to me as I skidded by. That is not to say that the Grey Lady has lost her charm. People are still much calmer here—I have yet to hear a car horn, for example—and the beaches, though slightly more populated each year, are some of the best in the country. In fact, there remains the handful of small beaches that only a few know. We sat on the beach this afternoon, completely alone save for the occasional kayaker paddling through the rollers, and maybe a dog who ran over the dunes, not knowing the rules.

The constant humidity of New York is non-existent here. At night, the temperature drops, requiring a sweatshirt or layer of some kind. As the wind blows, it carries the sound of buoys in the harbor and foghorns from the lighthouses. Though it’s cool for a New Yorker used to the oppressive August of the City, I relish the temperate evenings; they prepare me for the coming of fall and my return to work. My tan fades and my hair becomes dark again but the sense of relaxation that comes from this place stays with me just long enough to get me through the harsh New York winter until next year when the long days start to hint at my dawn departure.