TUESDAY, AUGUST 27
The only way to get through a last day in paradise is to exist in denial…and keep yourself busy. That’s what we did. I cleaned windows and the car. Chloe cooked a complicated and incredible tortilla soup. We finished loads of washing, made the beds, finished and weighed our luggage and of course walked Saffi.
All day, Saffi was a nervous wreck; she knew we were leaving.
I breathed deeply on that last walk to the causeway and back with Saffi. The tide was out. Birds picked at the mud for crabs and insects. Everything felt frozen in time, so quiet without the lapping water only the sound of birds and the buzz of bees in thick bushes along the way. Saffi padded along in front of me. I watched her swishing golden tail, her wiggling bum, the swing in her gait. When we reached the causeway, I stopped to consciously breath in the freshest air in the world, to look over the glistening water and forever green hills. I know the people who live in the houses near the causeway, I know the people who pass in the cars. This part of the world has become familiar, and will be deeply missed. I told myself as I walked back to Fiona’s house, looking up at the artist’s house on the hill, that we would return. But I also realize that we may not. That this place, like so many others, may become only a memory.
Back to busy until we walked again…our last time around the loop, last time throwing rocks for Saffi on Squince Beach, last time talking to a fisherman who was tying up his boat, last time greeting the fluffy tan and black dog who comes to the beach on her own and we call Squince dog, last time passing the farms along the road. Each turn, each curve, each slope, all of the way, is carved into our minds, when Saffi goes free from the lead, when she returns to it. When we must worry about another dog, or cars.
Strangely we found a new trail…on our last day. I think it was called three island trail. It split off the loop at the topmost part and curved down the side to the water. What a nice treat.
We talked only about how surreal everything felt. Neither one of us could believe it was coming to an end. I have had momentary surges of extreme happiness, much to my surprise, when I feel so proud of us, so proud that we have pulled off what we set out to do. And I think, if we can do this, we can create other adventures, different than this one, but as good.
Fiona arrived to a very clean house, a very confused Saffi, and the most beautiful soup at 8:30pm. We were starving by the time she got home, and exhausted, having not sat all day. She was a bit cold and off putting, predatory with Saffi. Not her usual self. We felt we had to tiptoe about. Her first act upon entering the house was to commented on how many bugs were inside (and there were more flies than on any other day!). She spotted a butterfly on the wall. She said, “What’s that?” I said, “A butterfly.” She said, “We can’t have that in here,” found a glass, and removed it. We tried to make her arrival nice. Even bought her favorite wine, which she drank every ounce of.
She told us all about her travels, talking non-stop for the next three hours until we couldn’t hold our heads up anymore, and tried to politely extricate ourselves. Whenever she moved anywhere she called Saffi, whenever we tried to touch Saffi she called her away from us. Over and over again, she knelt down and put her head into Saffi’s body.
We didn’t feel welcome or appreciated. We took such good care of Saffi; we love her so much, and we are sad to leave her. I hope it was only jetlag that affected Fiona and nothing more.
