It is possible, I have discovered, to live in one of the most beautiful places on Earth and forget to go outside.

Not intentionally, of course. Life gathers momentum. There is housework to finish. There are emails to answer. There is dinner to make, and a toddler who would very much prefer one more book before bed. The day folds itself neatly away, and somewhere along the way you realize another Island summer is unfolding without you.

Lately, I’ve been trying to interrupt that pattern. 

One recent evening, feeling guilty that our daughter had been penned in, we loaded up the stroller and set out for downtown Edgartown. We had nowhere to be except wherever we happened to end up. All around us, summer sprinted along. Cars searched for parking spaces. Families hustled toward dinner reservations. Ice cream lines lengthened. Everyone seemed to be trying to squeeze every last drop from a vacation that had somehow become too short before it was even over. We slowed down instead.

We headed to the harbor to look for minnows. We waved to the Chappy Ferry captain, who answered with an enthusiastic wave of his own. We came upon a surprise concert and bobbed our heads and tapped our feet because there seemed no good reason not to. We watched a duo of commercial fishermen unloading conch into the belly of their truck.

Children have a remarkable way of exploring a place. They don’t care whether something belongs in a guidebook or how much an experience costs. A minnow deserves as much attention as a lighthouse. A bucket of giant snails is every bit as fascinating as a sunset. They have not yet learned to hurry past the world. 

If we are wise, we will spend the rest of beautiful, boisterous August following their lead. Summer, after all, will move on soon enough.