Day three on my island, Sunny Mayne Bakery


Another sunny morning on my island. Christian, my dad and I, walk down to the bakery for breakfast. On any given morning there will be an eclectic mix of people gathered here. A mixed group of thirty something’s talk about the organic produce available and what is freezes well and what does not. A mother and her young son come out of the bakery with an ice cream cone though it is only nine in the morning. His huge smile lights up the whole porch eating area, and no one who sees him can help but smile.

The one group you can always count on is the group of old men sitting around shooting the breeze. These codgers have been meeting for as long as the bakery has been open. The numbers and the players change but from what I can tell the conversation rarely does. The weather, a few jokes, a comment about the coffee. A complaint about the ferry schedule and “eh?” between each comment.

I think sometimes I am in the movie “Groundhog’s Day” where every day repeats itself. There is a comfort in the repetitive style of the island, a reassuring sense that the world though moving very quickly, stays, in some places, at a pace that is manageable. Drink coffee, breathe, have ice cream for breakfast, repeat.





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