Endings are interesting things. Your mind has accepted (or refused to accept) that you are trading one state of mind and place for another, and is preparing to separate and move on. Thoughts like “falling asleep in my own bed is going to be amazing!” start unabashedly taking up residence. You may feel guilty about such thoughts- shouldn’t you be soaking in and enjoying these final hours where you are at? C’mon, man, be in the moment! Shame on you!

Banishing those thoughts are mental whack-a-mole.

So perhaps I can be forgiven when I say that the increasingly real fact that the boat might not make it to pick us up caused a bit of anxiety on my part. The wind was not the worst, but not the best, either. It was coming out of the West off the ocean and the rocks formed a bit of a buffer, but if it shifted at all South it would be driving directly into the landing spot and the boat wouldn’t be able to approach the rocks without being rammed into them. If the waves got any worse, same result. The captain and owner of the boat had previously made noises indicating he wasn’t excited about bringing the boat anywhere near the rocks- our odds improved since his young partner was piloting the boat to come get us, but still… the chances of being left on shore were significantly greater than zero. I was ready to see my wife and youngest, the puppy, the cats… and fall asleep in my own bed. Rowan’s facial expression and body language communicated that he obviously felt the same way.

A recap: the final two days at the lighthouse are all about preparing it for a winter of empty isolation. The lighthouse had taken on an element of personification in my mind: cleaning out her cupboards of any and all perishables and open food containers. Fastening the chimney cap over her chimney. Cleaning her galley, dismantling her sleeping quarters, cleaning and storing tools in her saw room and workshop.

The Image of Cape D Lighthouse standing empty, damp, and cold for 11 long months, lashed by wind and waves I can only imagine, lent a sense of urgency to the process. Urgency mixed with a bit of melancholy. I had only really known Cape D. for a short time, just seven days. I had heard about her for years, but only just met her. She was fascinating and beautiful in a solidly built, no frills kind of way. She was created to a purpose and had continuously performed it for decades. Some peeling paint, some rotting timbers here and there (far fewer after this week’s work1), a bit of mold and some persistent leakage downstairs: signs of here age, the scars of her resiliency.

I now understand why she has such a devoted following, willing to work so hard in to return for a handful of weeks every summer. It is a task of devotion and love that makes sense, having had the chance to live with her for a week myself.

There is a feeling of ritual to the final couple of days- tasks to be taken care of the day before departure, and those that have to wait until the day of. Closing jobs are listed and assigned on the whiteboard, wiped off as completed, more are added as needed. The list for the penultimate day slowly shrinks until only one last series remains: a box labeled “banquet night”, with a list of events enclosed in its borders.

The specifics of banquet night are not to be shared, but experienced. Suffice to say, there was a lot of celebration, a rite of passage for the newbies on the crew, good food, perhaps some entertainment, and maybe some special effects. I promise: whatever you are picturing given those skimpy details, I guarantee it was way cooler that that. Of course there was a lot of laughter throughout the entire night, and a deep enjoyment of each others company.

I am going to fondly remember the Week Three Crew, and our induction into the Cape Decision Lighthouse family for a long time. I believe Rowan shall, too.

For all of that, and I still stood on the rocks beneath the pier, our gear and equipment bound for Petersburg piled near the pick up point, anxiously glancing at the spot on the waves where the boat picking us up would appear. I felt guilty, and not just a little bit, at how much I wanted to see the shape of the boat rounding the corner. It would not have been the end of the world to have to move back in to the lighthouse for an additional night, but still… the picture of a real bed was firmly stuck in my mind. Once you allow your imagination to plant a picture like that, it roots to the spot and won’t let go.

The boat arrived and suddenly it was an intense three or four minutes quickly loading all the bags, bins, and people on board. The boat slowly nudging its way towards the rocks, “where the hell are Karo and Sasha?!?! We have to go NOW!!”, the bow rising out of reach with each wave, then down again and a flurry of passing gear across the gap, the engines revving and falling as the boat struggled to hold position, “oh shit, that’s heavy!”, and a ruling surge as the engines pulling us away from the rocks. Watching Dan hold the boat’s position, keeping the bow less than a hand span from the rocks, while gusts of wind and waves shoved against it- as I told him later, I love watching someone good at their job get into that hyper-focused state of mind. His yell of “Fuck yeah, I can can drive this boat!” as we pulled away from the rocks confirmed that it had been an intense situation. Not the worst it had ever been, I was told, but still… exciting enough for everyone’s adrenaline to kick in pretty solidly.

And then Petersburg, eating at Kito’s Kave and sharing a beer or two with Dan and his wife Robin. A long and deep sleep, a lazy day in Petersburg, and a flight home. Beyond happy to be with family.

And already missing Cape D.