Read Online Lifesaving Lessons by Linda Greenlaw - Free Book Online

They were getting quite old. They always took time to visit whenever I happened upon them, I remembered. Things were different in summer. The climate was warmer on many levels. Everyone was more sociable. I coasted to a stop and took in the stunning vista while I tried to recite Robert Frost’s “A Time to Talk.” Frustrated that I couldn’t bring it back from the depths, I continued on my way vowing to look it up when I got home.
    I startled a large snowshoe hare out of hiding at the end of Anne Davidson’s road. Its white fur was as fluffy as the snow it skittered over. I love rabbit tracks in their perfect triangular pattern. You can speculate on some tracks: Are they coyote or dog or some large cat? But nothing looks like rabbit tracks. The rabbit ducked under a low-hanging branch heavy with snow that clung to the needles and threatened to slide at any disturbance. If Greg and Diana hadn’t gone to Arizona for the winter, there would certainly have been a beagle chasing that bunny, and a gunshot would soon follow, I thought. The only sound here now was that of my skis swishing over and through the powder and an occasional scrape on a rock. I was soon deep in Acadia National Park, which makes up nearly half of the island’s acreage. Of course the park was officially closed this time of year. The two rangers were unemployed until spring. The campground was empty, the trails were all untraveled as evident from the unbroken blanket of snow at each sign marking entrances, and the float and ramp in Duck Harbor had been removed from the dock and towed to Stonington, where they were stored in the otherwise empty parking area of the Isle au Haut Boat Company.
    It was easy to fall into a daydream of having the entire island to myself and imagining all kinds of grand adventures I might have if I were to be snowbound here for weeks . . . Whether at sea or ashore, I always have daydreams that include foraging for food and having to really fend for survival. Even as a kid, building forts or rafts and using slingshots or makeshift harpoons, I imagined myself as a castaway or a lone stranded survivor of some disaster. It’s a quirky but fun tomboyish exercise I have never outgrown. Today’s mind flex involved an avalanche. I’d have to build a snow cave, I figured. It would be easy to break branches from spruce trees for shelter, too. As I passed Duck Harbor, I thought about mussels and clams and how I might start a fire without matches or a lighter. I could eat the clams raw. I could easily spear a deer if my survival depended on it. The island is overrun with white-tailed deer, some so tame they’ll eat right out of your hand. By the time I had reached Head Harbor, I had grown bored with the Robinson Crusoe game, and was feeling slightly weary from the exercise.
    I was just over halfway around the island when I came to the snowbank in the middle of the road where the plow had stopped and turned to go back toward town. So the truck had started this morning, I thought. Too bad for me, as that meant I couldn’t continue my circumnavigation. The only two options now were to continue around on foot, carrying my skis, or turn and go back the way from which I had come. Cross-country skiing gear was not the subject of Nancy Sinatra’s song “These Boots Were Made for Walking.” I turned and started back toward home—the long way. Now the day wasn’t as beautiful. I started feeling guilty about the time I was spending not working. By the time I had made it back to Moore’s Harbor, I was upset with myself for embarking on the circumnavigation I was unable to complete. I really needed to get on a schedule to meet a writing deadline. And that schedule would not allow for this amount of time playing. I was huffing and puffing as I ascended the last hill before my driveway. I looked up to see Kate Shaffer, my closest neighbor (only in proximity) headed toward me.
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