Yesterday afternoon we headed up to Green Island (not to be confused with the town of Green Island), the new home of pal Paul.
Yes, that's right: we know someone who owns an island. How cool is that?
Well, as you can tell from the pictures Gene took, pretty cool indeed. Paul retrieved us from the Schaghticoke side of the river, ferrying us across to the island where his folks and his sister and brother-in-law were already enjoying the island life. The cottage there was built by a guy with a lumber business, so it's gorgeous wood, well-built. Having grown up with a more rustic cabin, it looked amazingly shiny inside and out. We scouted around the island observing the flora and fauna (ooh, even a skeleton of something dog-sized, or perhaps beaver? Paul had seen some beavers at work in the river) while the gulls, geese, ducks and cormorants cried. We even saw a heron fly by. There was an amazing variety of mosses in the woods, varying from springy and soft to brittle and dry. Such a variety of conditions on one small land mass, and what fun to explore. We sat on the porch with a cool drink and drank in the peace of island life. Paul told us about some of the challenges of setting up life on an island -- like getting an address. His island's in the river, a border between two counties. The landing site is in one town, the island itself technically in another. It's between two locks of the Champlain Canal of the Hudson.
It's far simpler to have a friend with an island -- especially when he asks if you'd be willing to hold onto a spare set of keys. You bet we will.