Mark got in from Houston sometime late last night, and we're off to the Fire Island house in a while to pick up some things to take back to the storage unit. Some time ago I mentioned that that house is up for sale, and we're just waiting on the closing date for a new summer place, an hour east.
We've spent so little time on Fire Island since the end of summer--odd considering how much I've loved the house, the woods, the birds, the beach. The deer wandering around like household pets, curious, eager to be spoken to, fed. The sound of breaking waves, from a block away, inside the living room. No cars. But at a certain point the hardcore summer weekend party culture killed it for us. What do you do when your two next door neighbors turn the outdoor speakers up at 2 PM, and keep it going till midnight, even when you've asked them politely, kindly, to turn it down over and over? And we thought we could work around it, past it.
So I've come to think of that house as the rebound relationship after our 15-year marriage to Provincetown. Fire Island is the boyfriend who's almost too handsome to look at straight on, but likely to simmer and sock you in the arm when you least expect it. I had a boyfriend like that once, but that's another story.
Anyway, a few pictures of the house taken by our good friend Luis Caicedo. These were done for Shelter magazine at some point early last year, though they never ran the piece. Rest assured, we don't live like this all the time.