Finally.

I caught the last boat to Washington Island on Tuesday night. I’m renting a house for the summer from the woman who runs the (surprisingly excellent) bookstore, Islandtime Books, but before I left Chicago she shot me a message saying she was going off island for a few days and to just stop by the store and talk to her assistant whenever I got here. But, of course, by the time I landed the bookstore (and everything else around) was closed. No assistant in sight. It was getting dark. And it was raining.

I sat in the car for a few minutes. Thinking. Think think think.

And then, on a hunch, I started driving over to the north side of the island, to XXXX Road, where this mystery house was. I couldn’t find the lease with the address on it (it was buried somewhere under all the duffel bags and groceries) but I knew the house was on the market. How many houses could there be on XXXX Road with North Star Realty signs out front? More than you’d think, actually, as there’s a fair amount of land for sale up here, but, still–I found it in a snap, pulled into the driveway, coasted down a little hill, and parked.

Sure enough, it was unlocked. 

I spent the first night staring out at the rainy yard and hoping I was in the right place, especially as I had taken a leap of faith and gone ahead and unpacked the car. Some critters scrambled up on the deck as I was brushing my teeth and scared the shiite out of me. But they were just … raccoons? Squirrels? Deer? … and not an aggrieved islander wondering who this tired-ass lady was squatting in their house.