August has long been my favorite month of the year. As a child and teen I had the incredible good fortune of spending the month summering with my father's extended family on a small island off the coast of Maine. An hour's ferry boat ride, Vinalhaven is a true gem in the rough. Supplying the world with over 75% of the Maine lobsters caught annually, it is the red headed step-child to sister island North Haven, home of both yacht and golf clubs, and quite a few of America's royal families.
It was these very characteristics that made it so charming. Weathered paint, pot-holed roads resulting from too many torturous winters, a single street downtown, miles of unpicked road-side blueberry, raspberry and blackberry galore, an old granite quarry turned swimming hole, hours in front of a wood fire stove reading old P. G. Wodehouse novels on foggy days, long, lazy afternoon sails to no where in particular and cocktails every evening at a different relatives home. There was no other way worth spending the final days of summer.
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