island bound

On an island the weather seems like a bigger deal than elsewhere. The days when the ferries don't run mean no mail and milk, no dentist visits or hospitalizations. You're very much on your own.
   The tides were high and the swells were swelling, but I made it across the sound and to the mainland, the last car to get on the boat of the hoards lining up. I left my tenants with trepidation, but apparently they are rugged sorts—their adult children made it over for the weekend on the last boat. I arrived, providentially, in Providence.
   Tomorrow I plan to head south, with a stop at South County Hospital, where a Block Island friend (Edie, for those who know her) is stuck until her missing gall bladder and the weather cooperate to allow her to get back home to the cottage her grandfather built well more than a century ago. Speaking of rugged.