The Off Season

We knew this going in, and certainly it is not our goal to have an entire year of holiday making, but the visual reality of the Off Season leaves me surprisingly unsettled.  Beachside restaurant chairs are overturned, stacked on tables.  Most of the reed roof of the beach gazebo has blown off and lies on the pebbles.  The stonework fruit and vegetable shop is shuttered.  All five of the restaurants in town are closed, and the small grocery is only open from 7a-10a and then again from 5p-7p.

The ferry is parked.

In many ways, I prefer the Off Season.  The introvert in me loves the quiet, the absence of crowds, the elbow room, the stillness — not needing to compete for space or for a little peace and quiet. I am not comfortable with the frenzy of High Season.

But a certain degree of sadness also lingers.

It feels like these places are talents being wasted, not being used for what they were created and intended. Abilities not being given a chance to produce or contribute. Like a pool being winterized, being drained of its livelihood — did anyone ever ask how the pool felt about that?

Or is the Off Season the required period of dormancy before new life comes in the Spring?  A critical time for rebuilding? A much-needed nap, a rest, a Sabbath?

Today, if seems like just a good reminder of our impermanence.  And there’s a whole row of empty benches with a gorgeous view for me to sit and ponder that for a while.