When I was a child we lived near a park with a duck pond, as we called it, and in the pond, close to the shore, was a small island. The island was so close to the land that we could almost jump onto it, but not quite. It was a completely insignificant mass, just a mound of earth really, but as a child it intrigued me: it was something separate, unique and inaccessible, therefore mysterious. What creatures lived there ? Insects and perhaps even field mice. I imagined having my very own one room house on it - all that would fit. I think we managed to walk to the island once in winter when the pond had frozen over and the tall grasses, which were all that existed there, were frozen too.
Years later, looking back, I realize how I had idealized separate spaces and internalized North American ideals of independence. It seems now, from my perspective of living in Portugal, something very new world pioneer and male too - disconnecting and perceiving being separate as superior.
In Nova Scotia there is a bay called Mahone Bay which contains hundreds of islands, some of them not much bigger than the one in the duck pond but others as large as a couple of kilometers in length and width. Most of them are uninhabited and anyone with a boat is free to visit them. Those that are nearest the shore I have visited many dozens, if not hundreds, of times : Big Fish, Clay and Quaker. Big Fish and Clay are rocky and wooded but Clay also has a sandy stretch of beach. Quaker is larger and has virtually no trees but a lighthouse and, like Clay, it has a sandy beach.
The largest island in the bay is so large that when you are in the middle of it, surrounded by hills, you can forget that it is an island at all. In the 1800’s about 400 people lived there.
Now there are about 125 year round residents and 50 more during the summer. In 1761 it was called Queen Charlotte Island but later it was given the Mi kmaq name Tancook , which means «facing the open sea». There are in fact two islands, Big Tancook and Little Tancook. These islands are reached from the mainland by a ferry. The ride takes about 45 minutes.
All this is geographical detail - gritty, the way eastern Canada is. At the same time I am aware that my connection with islands has a great deal to do with the imagination and fantasy. I have the same sense of curiosity and wonder I had as a child, the same desire to escape.This is in contrast with the tough and demanding lives of the year round residents living on islands such as Tancook, and the hard work they do - lobster fishing, small scale farming, tending wooden houses and gardens that require constant care. The contrast makes me uncomfortable, because I am aware of the privilege of my position as a visitor, an onlooker. I don’t work - I go for walks, talk, think and dream. From somewhere in my culture I have received the message that this is frivolous. I needed to leave to learn that it isn't.