The People on the Other Side of the Island
When I was a kid, fifteen as I recall — and that was long enough ago that I don't care to dwell on it — my dad, my mom, my cousin and I lived for three years on a small island off the northern coast of Maine. My dad was a botanist who worked for the state and he'd been assigned to catalogue as much of the flora of the islands as he could. Three years was all that had been funded for. So we moved to this little island for no other reason than it had an available house on state-owned property...