The sounds of a storm captivated our attention as we watched the bouts of fog, clouds, wind, and rain pass by. The town and fjord were deserted Saturday and Sunday as the waves swelled until they could no longer hold themselves and tipped over, frothing on the surface with white caps. Seabirds pushed the local seagulls off their usual perch, forcing them up near our house, all facing forward, into the escalating wind, waiting for this storm to pass. Everyone in town stayed inside. In the house, we embraced the downtime; school work, scones, and reading filled our days. By afternoon, we ventured out for runs and berry picking and the girls played games of survival near the local lighthouse.
Looking around at this harsh landscape, reminds me of the importance of community, and our little town is like a miniature version of every city. It has a school, a church, a store, a bar, a park, and a cafe (on the porch of someone's house). There is a local run on the town's mile-long road. They have their quirks; one quarter mile section of the road changes names halfway through.
We all have our paths, dreams, and aspirations, but when the wind blows, our community keeps us protected.
When you first come onto the island, the signs for the school and chapel come first.
The local bar.
The school teaching the kids that while they may live on a small island, they live in a big world.
This fish processing plant dominates one side of the island. We have gotten to know these boats by name as they come in and out bringing the bounty of the sea with them.
If you only have a few roads, maybe this one can have two names. It just changes half way through and is well marked.
Part of the past. The community looks to have stared on the mainland, but when the bridge went in and the fishing took off, the isaland became the heart of this community.
Little one, way underdressed, runs out to "bring tea" as I pick blueberries in the building storm.
Looking out as the fog roles over the mountains.