Islands have roles. They are listeners, watchers, waiters, and hiders. One particular island, one without a name, lies somewhere in the Canadian Archipelago. This island keeps time. The history of the whole world is stored there in a special garden of stones. Now I won’t tell you where this island abides, as this island hasn’t chosen you. But I will tell you a story of a family who happened to stumble upon it themselves. Maybe it happened by accident or maybe it was fate. I wouldn’t know; I’m not an island . . .
Scraping of pebbles against wood startled the island awake. Nothing disturbed it this deep into winter, and curiosity quaked. It watched and waited, with owl eyes through the trees, and saw what had made the racket; a boat. It was small, rotting, and had a single green cabin in the center. A lone sail stood in the back, flapping feebly in what little wind there was. A large man emerged from the cabin and deboarded. He hauled the boat further onto the shore with arms the size of foxes and tied it off to a lumpy stump. Following the first, a second, skinnier man heaved a bundle of luggage off the boat and out onto the beach.
Peeping eyes opened wide when they saw a third head peek over the gunnel. It was wearing a yellow hood, and looked quite sleepy. When the little black eyes sparked with the recognition of land, the island leaned in for a better look. It was a girl, a small girl not yet three. She eagerly clambered down the wooden step ladder and jumped onto the island with a smile of a thousand stars. Children were always so innocent, so pure, and the island was quick to accept this odd arrangement of humans.
As soon as the girl’s feet had touched the smooth black pebbles, and her fathers had turned to help with the rest of the gear, she saw something. A little deer had mustered up the courage to poke his head out from behind a tree stump and could not look away. He had never seen a little girl before and was thoroughly enthralled.
The girl waddled fearlessly up to the deer and stuck her finger straight at his eye without warning. The deer was startled and in an attempt to retreat, fell flat on his chin. Half excited, half terrified of his new friend, he scampered down a path leading into the forest.
Clapping her hands and giggling excitedly, the girl made to pursue, but got not four steps in before her papa picked her up with one big arm and placed her on his shoulders. The girl loved this and within seconds the deer had completely vanished.
For the rest of the evening, the two men worked together to set up a large canvas tent. As they did so, the little girl in the yellow raincoat happily frolicked about collecting mushrooms and decorating the camp with different brightly colored bouquets.
As the sun began to set, the smaller man rifled around in the luggage and pulled out two candlesticks. He set them out on a small wood bench over a tablecloth embroidered with blue leaves. He reached in a different bag, and revealed two small candles. Placing them in the candlesticks, he beckoned his family over. The large man kneeled down next to where his husband sat, and the little girl jumped up excitedly on his knee.
The crack of a match echoed throughout the fjord, and the girl reached out to take it from her dad. She lit the candles slowly, and when the fire got too close to her stubby fingers, she gasped and dropped it. The match was extinguished immediately on the damp, dark stones. In unison, the three of them brought in the light of the fire three times and covered her eyes. Softly, barely even a whisper, the girl opened her mouth and spoke in a small voice: Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav vitzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat.
There was a beat, a breath, and one by one, the family members opened their eyes. They smiled and kissed each other on their foreheads. The island was smiling too. It felt at peace, at rest, and let out a long sigh, gently lifting the girl's copper braids.
After watching the stone-still flames for a while, the little family began to get ready for bed. The girl's dad pulled out a small rectangular box and placed it on his knee. He removed an orange harmonica and began to play a slow silky waltz. Humming to the music, the Papa unrolled three large cots with elkskin blankets and arranged them so their heads all faced inwards together. Then the three of them climbed beneath the folds, and gazed at the soft white stars before their souls departed for the night's adventures.
Feeling a soft breeze on her cheek, and a small weight in her arms, the girl opened her eyes. A pair of curious black orbs was gazing back at her; it was the fawn. He had placed a small mossy gray stone in the crook of her arm, and the beings of the island stood still to watch.
Scraping of pebbles against wood startled the island awake. Nothing disturbed it this deep into winter, and curiosity quaked. It watched and waited, with owl eyes through the trees, and saw what had made the racket; a boat. It was small, rotting, and had a single green cabin in the center. A lone sail stood in the back, flapping feebly in what little wind there was. A large man emerged from the cabin and deboarded. He hauled the boat further onto the shore with arms the size of foxes and tied it off to a lumpy stump. Following the first, a second, skinnier man heaved a bundle of luggage off the boat and out onto the beach.
Peeping eyes opened wide when they saw a third head peek over the gunnel. It was wearing a yellow hood, and looked quite sleepy. When the little black eyes sparked with the recognition of land, the island leaned in for a better look. It was a girl, a small girl not yet three. She eagerly clambered down the wooden step ladder and jumped onto the island with a smile of a thousand stars. Children were always so innocent, so pure, and the island was quick to accept this odd arrangement of humans.
As soon as the girl’s feet had touched the smooth black pebbles, and her fathers had turned to help with the rest of the gear, she saw something. A little deer had mustered up the courage to poke his head out from behind a tree stump and could not look away. He had never seen a little girl before and was thoroughly enthralled.
The girl waddled fearlessly up to the deer and stuck her finger straight at his eye without warning. The deer was startled and in an attempt to retreat, fell flat on his chin. Half excited, half terrified of his new friend, he scampered down a path leading into the forest.
Clapping her hands and giggling excitedly, the girl made to pursue, but got not four steps in before her papa picked her up with one big arm and placed her on his shoulders. The girl loved this and within seconds the deer had completely vanished.
For the rest of the evening, the two men worked together to set up a large canvas tent. As they did so, the little girl in the yellow raincoat happily frolicked about collecting mushrooms and decorating the camp with different brightly colored bouquets.
As the sun began to set, the smaller man rifled around in the luggage and pulled out two candlesticks. He set them out on a small wood bench over a tablecloth embroidered with blue leaves. He reached in a different bag, and revealed two small candles. Placing them in the candlesticks, he beckoned his family over. The large man kneeled down next to where his husband sat, and the little girl jumped up excitedly on his knee.
The crack of a match echoed throughout the fjord, and the girl reached out to take it from her dad. She lit the candles slowly, and when the fire got too close to her stubby fingers, she gasped and dropped it. The match was extinguished immediately on the damp, dark stones. In unison, the three of them brought in the light of the fire three times and covered her eyes. Softly, barely even a whisper, the girl opened her mouth and spoke in a small voice: Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav vitzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat.
There was a beat, a breath, and one by one, the family members opened their eyes. They smiled and kissed each other on their foreheads. The island was smiling too. It felt at peace, at rest, and let out a long sigh, gently lifting the girl's copper braids.
After watching the stone-still flames for a while, the little family began to get ready for bed. The girl's dad pulled out a small rectangular box and placed it on his knee. He removed an orange harmonica and began to play a slow silky waltz. Humming to the music, the Papa unrolled three large cots with elkskin blankets and arranged them so their heads all faced inwards together. Then the three of them climbed beneath the folds, and gazed at the soft white stars before their souls departed for the night's adventures.
Feeling a soft breeze on her cheek, and a small weight in her arms, the girl opened her eyes. A pair of curious black orbs was gazing back at her; it was the fawn. He had placed a small mossy gray stone in the crook of her arm, and the beings of the island stood still to watch.