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“I do love the fact that the sun doesn’t set till after ten in the summer though,” Carol Ann says. “People are actually out and about instead of in their beds after supper. We’ll be having a bonfire tomorrow.”
Fiona says, “Even though we get nineteen hours of daylight in summer, its nothing like what you’re used to in LA. It doesn’t get much above thirteen degrees Celsius?—”
Carol Ann says, “Or fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit to you.”
“I’ve been converting Fahrenheit to Celsius in my mind?—”
Fiona offers a lighthearted tease. “And out loud?”
“Yes.” I laugh again. “And out loud. To myself. As well as studying the metric system, out loud.”
Fiona says, “Hope you packed warm. Last summer the fella that came from the States only had shorts and tee shirts in his suitcase. We had to borrow my brother’s old clothes from my mam’s attic.”
I think of the hours spent at the end of my junior year, locked up in my dorm room, ordering food delivery and investigating the islands, avoiding everyone while looking at pictures, planning for this internship. My roommate, newly renamed Raquel, partied with her sorority while I stayed in and watched bad reality television.
“Surely he would have looked up the weather before he came to the island?” I say. “I mean, being a research assistant and all.”
“No.” Fiona shakes her head, the end of her braid swishing over her back. “He was shocked by how cold and cloudy it was all the time. And the wind. Drove him crazy. We were surprised he lasted the whole summer.”
“I couldn’t wait to come,” I say. “And I’ve come prepared. My mom took me shopping. She spoiled me. I’ve got a suitcase full of waterproof and wind-resistant clothing.” We splurged on this jacket as well as the Barbour boots I wear, both well-made with fashionable details.
The leather over the boot-heel is quilted, the chunky ankle straps finished with a metal buckle and a plaid pull-on loop at the top for easy wear. My mother fell in love with the boots the instant I showed them to her, insisting I needed a piece of rugged English fashion in my wardrobe.
“We’ll be bundled up for most of the day,” Carol Ann says. Especially when we’re working on the shore. The wind is worst down by the water where we’ll be. Bet you’ll miss your bikinis and tank tops,” she laughs.
“No. I prefer being covered up,” I say. “I love sweaters, thick woolen socks, knitted blankets. I love being cozy, and you can’t be cozy in cut-off jean shorts and flip-flops.”
“Winters are so long here, we’re big on cozy. I mean, what would we do with all those sheep if we didn’t cover ourselves in wool.” Fiona smiles at me, her easy grin lighting up her face. “You’re going to fit right in.”
“I hope so.”
We fall into an easy silence. The pictures on the screen of my pink MacBook, even the terrain out the window of the airplane, are nothing like the sights seen while driving the winding one-lane roads in person.
The view of the island encompasses massive, stretching expanses of blue sea, green earth and gray sky, paintbrush strokes of clouds filling the never-ending horizon.
“Where are the trees?” I stare out the window, wondering how I missed this detail in all my hours of internet scouring.
“We don’t have any tall ones. Mostly shrubs and lower lying trees. Some say it’s the harsh wind, but we interns know better. Years of deforestation and sheep farming,” Carol Ann says.
“The center is working with a tree trust nursery in one of the cities to replant,” Fiona offers. “We’ve gotten a pretty hefty grant. The professor is going to be passing on more responsibilities with the fishing to us soon when he takes on the tree project. A fresh start for our forests.”
“A fresh start. Sounds nice.” I need this fresh start. This is going to be good for me. I can feel it. Codfish are my new friends. Just like Carol Ann said. And I’m glad for it.
My old friends almost got me killed.
I fall asleep in the back seat on the way to the lodge.
Fiona wakes me as we’re pulling up to a low building with an arched roof, its walls made of white stucco. They give me a quick tour. There are several dormitory-style bedrooms, and a small, private one for the professor, though they say he often sleeps on a cot out at the research center. There’s a large rec room they’ve named the big room, housing a television and Ping-Pong table as well as several worn-looking couches dotting the floor. Off the big room is a small commercial kitchen where we will cook our meals together.
Fiona, Carol Ann, and I will share one of the larger dorm rooms. There are four small dressers and two bunk beds, the furniture all well-made from light oak, sturdy looking. The walls have been painted a fresh white, sunlight reflecting off them from the wide windows that look out over the sea.
The view is enchanting, green hills rolling down to white sandy shores kissed by low waves of bright teal water. I take a moment to stare at the sight, already feeling the healing energy of this place.
Carol Ann rolls my suitcase over to the dresser that must be mine. “We’ll go put the kettle on and leave you to get settled. No work today, so you can rest, jet lag and all that. Though you got yourself a wee nap on the ride up, hopefully that’ll help.”
“We’ll be watching TV in the hangout room if you need us.” Fiona gives me another warm smile. She teases, “Real Housewives of Orange County, of course.”
“Of course,” I say.
