Prologue

The Island

                I didn’t grow up here, but when people ask about my life I usually share with them my memories from the Island. When the few who remember the tale ask, I will start with my actual roots, as I shall do for you. Though as years past, less and less people stop by to ask about what happened. Maybe three or four kids a summer pass by my rocker and sit down and listen to the sound of the bay crashing into the bulk head. They can’t imagine the history of the very ground beneath their hands as they lean back on their palms, captivated by the adventure that went on here on this little rock.

The few who have remembered over the years come back, sometimes alone, sometimes with their kids― and every time I welcome them. I’d sit on my wind worn chair as they take a seat on the pebbles, sometimes a blanket or towel sprawled out beneath them, sometimes not. I’d fix them a coffee or tea and as they drank I talked. Sun shine, rain, clouds, anytime someone was willing to listen, I shared. No matter the circumstances, it was always the same story― the same story of adventure, mystery, family, friends, youth, and love.