We’ve made them our home, our vacation destinations, and our preferred biking trails. AirStream campgrounds? I wish. No, islands! Throughout our 50 years together, islands have played a disproportionate role in our life, and for some reason, we generally love islands and spending time on them. They seem to have both physical and metaphorical appeal–surrounded by water and sand, distinct and separate from the rest of life. Perhaps John Donne is right that “no man is an island,” but this man certainly seems to want to spend much of his life on one and like one. 

I wrote earlier about living on Martha’s Vineyard (our favorite island ever!), but we have extremely fond memories of so many others. A work friend once made available to us her family cottage on Little Cranberry Island, with a view towards Acadia National Park–an idyllic spot and so perfect for our family! My inlaws owned a timeshare on Hilton Head Island and we spent so much time with them there–we, our kids, and even our grandkids loved spotting alligators, riding bikes on the beach, and walking in the surf–also, it’s the best running beach ever! Dianne and I bicycled and ferried our way through the San Juan Islands–such a beautiful place! And last year we traveled to New Zealand and spent a couple of weeks on both the North and the South Islands–a true bucket-list adventure for me. But these barely scratch the surface of our island-hopping over the years.

In our first years of married life, I spent weeks and weeks working on my graduate planning thesis–crafting a development strategy and operating plan for Assateague Island National Seashore. Designated such in 1965, the island was able to be protected in its relatively natural state only because a major storm in 1962 thwarted significant commercial development that was planned. But with millions of people on the East Coast living within three hours of the island, popularity and overuse could easily destroy the very beauty that so many would seek. How would, and should, the goal of resource protection be balanced with public ownership and access? I’m not sure whether the National Park Service followed any of my recommendations, but at least I graduated.

Our recent trip through the deep South provided yet more (what else?) island experiences, which together say a lot about how America views and treats its islands, and perhaps even more about our attraction to them.

In St. Augustine, we decided to venture out to Anastasia Island, which was quite visible from the town and its fort and just across a very short bridge. It may have been a short bridge, but the other side was like a different country. Missing was the quaintness of St. Augustine, replaced by a commercial strip that stretched for several miles. There were roads off the main drag, and probably some wonderful homes and homesites, but from the highway there was little to see, no ocean views, and little that would indicate that you were actually on an island. We were on our way to the beach, which people had told us was well worth seeing; unfortunately, by the time we arrived at the beach, the fog was so thick that we could barely find the beach, and the wind so strong that we gave up after a 5-minute walk. We were very disappointed to be there on such a dreary day. We drove back to St. Augustine, wondering how the island grew as it did.

On our way from St. Augustine to Savannah, we stopped and explored Jekyll Island, one of the Golden Isles of Georgia. It was easy to get to Jekyll, as a new bridge and causeway had been constructed through the marshland, but it cost $10 just to drive onto the island, with the funds being used to preserve the character of the island. Privately owned for many years by wealthy businessmen who built beautiful “cottages” all in a row along one side of the island, the island has a historic core, a small commercial area, a few restaurants, and a delightful bike path–all very low-key, appropriate for an island. Of course we headed straight for the bike rental shop, located just a few yards from the path and the beach, and took off. It was a wonderful ride, along the sand dunes, through a pine forest, out to a fishing pier, past the “cottages” and their wharf, and then through the historic area. Several hours later we returned our bikes and left, feeling refreshed by the island and the weather and tired from the exercise. A perfect island day.

After an inspiring visit to Savannah, we had an opportunity to experience true island wilderness on St. Phillips Island. We drove across one island to get to another, then we boarded a small open boat with 12 others for an hour’s ride through the marsh into a small creek into a larger river and ultimately across a bay to St. Phillips Island. The boat ride was delightful, though for the first half-hour we were shrouded in fog–not sure how our guide could even see where we were heading, and he did sound a fog horn a couple of times, just in case. But the fog finally cleared and we were met by a group of eight river dolphins, including two relatively young babies. They were all quite playful, not at all bothered by the boat, and they swam around us, under us, behind us and in front of us, just so we all could get close-up photos. When we finally restarted the boat to continue to our actual destination, two of the dolphins actually swam in our wake, perfectly matching our speed and seemingly having a delightful time. All this made the trip totally worthwhile, but our real adventure was still ahead. 

We docked on St. Phillips Island and immediately boarded an open-seating trailer pulled by an old pick-up. The island was privately owned for nearly a century, is accessible only by boat, and there is one road from the dock to a housing site at the other end (Ted Turner owned the island for many years and built an appropriate-sized house on the water, but it’s hardly visible from the road). The island today exists almost the way it has for centuries, with very little human interference through the years. It is beautiful, with all native plants, a variety of landscapes, abundant wildlife, and virtually no noise. Now a state park, the goal is to maintain and encourage island wilderness, experienced and touched only lightly by about fifteen people a day. I may never have heard the sound of silence like I did on St. Phillips Island.

In contrast to the wilderness of St. Phillips, we traveled later that day to Folly Beach, an island just southeast of Charleston, to visit with our nephew and his wife who live there almost full-time. Their house is just a block from the beach, and we ate delicious local seafood on their beautiful screened porch while listening to the waves–the perfect background sound. Folly Beach has two distinct areas, though: in addition to the quiet beach scene, there is a twenty-somethings’ happening at the foot of the bridge onto the island, with numerous restaurants serving outdoor seating along with wine, beer, and local crabs. It took us about a half-hour to get across the bridge onto the island; then we witnessed party-goers parking nearly a mile away and walking back to the hub of the activity. There is only one road and one bridge onto the island, so to get to the quiet, more natural part of the beach you have to drive through the congestion at the bridge. It was well worth it for us to visit our relatives, but I might feel differently if I faced that situation every morning and evening. Must congestion always be a necessary consequence of local appeal and popularity?

So, is there anything we can say about islands, from both our perspective and that of America, after these experiences? How about these observations:

1. Bridges, while helpful in bringing people together and expanding economic and personal opportunities, can be the death knell for islands. They usually lead to development, and frequently over-development, a loss of natural beauty and character, and destruction of wildlife habitat and marine environment. Bridges often destroy islands.
2. We love islands, but evidently so do many others, and too much love can diminish the enjoyment of the resource. Capitalism pushes for more, and it’s hard to push back against profits, tax revenue, and jobs.
3. Protection of our islands is expensive. Sometimes wealthy individuals foot the bill, but then the benefits are also private. When states or the federal government step in, they invariably face the challenge of balancing protection and public access, with no easy answers. 
4. There are long-term consequences to our treatment of islands. I suspect that even now we don’t fully understand or value the biodiversity, the climate change mitigation, and the hydrologic benefits that come from the presence of islands along our shores. Sometimes the consequences don’t appear until it’s too late to change course.

Islands are constantly changing, shaped by the water and currents that surround them and the people who traverse them. Perhaps that’s part of the appeal–they are never the same, there’s beauty and hope and mystery and opportunity. We can cherish them, thrive on them, be shaped and comforted by them, or we can seek to control them, structure them to fit our needs and desires, and over-develop them. Islands truly are a metaphor.

“Island I see you in the moonlight, Silhouettes of ships in the night, Just make me long that much more.”

–Jimmy Buffet, Island