SISTER RAIN NANTUCKET WEEK X2
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I have spent the last 20 years reading books about Nantucket, written by Elin Hilderbrand and Nancy Thayer, both residents of the island located 30 miles off the coast of Cape Cod. They write of fictional people in a non-fictional place, every street, beach, business and restaurant is real.
I can afford to buy the books but my husband and I are not the Nantucket demographic. Quite a few years of not traveling left us with unusual funds in the vacation budget, my absolute refusal to pay full price for anything, off-season rental rates plus a big wedding anniversary all converged to form the perfect storm that had nothing to do with the ferry ride but rather the forces that took us to Nantucket.
We drove from our home in Pennsylvania to Hyannis, spending the night there. (See the previously posted “The Kennedy Compound.“) The next morning, rainy, windy conditions had the realtor we used in our lodging search texting me to find out what time our boat was scheduled to leave Hyannis. Mister Rain had been keeping from me the amount of ferries being canceled due to the weather. The seas cooperated; we headed to the Steamship Authority ferry port, breathing a sigh of relief when we showed our ticket then were waved through. As we drove onto the enormous vessel, it brought to mind the mouth of a whale, swallowing us whole, the thought so appropriately Melvillesque for our locale. I felt myself relax, much in the same way I have always done once I am buckled in on the plane.
We left our car, climbing the steep stairs and finding a place to sit by a window for the 2 hour, 15 minute voyage. The ride was rough, the captain instructed everyone to stay seated, to not go outside on deck. Several people did venture out there, including my husband, to take photos. I, in turn, took one of him through the glass; he looked like he was on the TV show, “Deadliest Catch.”
As land, Nantucket, came into view, many of us went outside to watch our final approach, the water more calm now, coasting us to shore. This was the moment I had envisioned for two decades. I could not wait to see the Brant Point Lighthouse, a 26 foot tall sentry, greeting us. Mister Rain took panoramic pictures of the advancing island, the ashen, misty environment not what we had hoped for as we laid our eyes on Nantucket for the first time, but a true representation of “The Grey Lady,” as it is often called. I focused my attention on attempting to take a selfie of myself and the iconic lighthouse, not the easiest thing for a visually impaired person to do on a moving ferry. But I wanted to capture this moment I had experienced via countless characters in the pages of books.
The call went out over the loudspeaker for those of us with vehicles to return to them to prepare for disembarking. Our tires touched down on Nantucket soil at 2:48 pm. Like the women and men I had read about in over 50 novels, my Nantucket adventure was about to begin.
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