Growing up on an island is an adventure. Summers are filled with swimming, boating and lobstering. Floating the tides on a piece of wood found in the warm afternoon sun. Summer residents and tourists would arrive in early June; making our sleepy little island explode with activity. The bay full of people having picnics on the beach. A warm evening with a heavy full moon reflecting on the water witnessed occasional street dancing. Lobster boats shared the waters around Casco Bay with assorted pleasure craft. As soon as school closed for the summer, the walk down the hill, past the bright pink roses of the beach, found the local children at the bay celebrating the end of another long school year. The older girls lie on large smooth ledges. They occasionally dive into the cold water to attract sunlight and help them tan. Most of the older boys were out fishing with their father and grandfather, learning the best places to set traps. While others could be found jumping off the docks to swim. Younger children could be found scouring the shore for treasure, digging into bits of sand. There were always treasures left behind by the last tide, sea crystals, starfish, shells and sometimes sand dollars. Occasionally a lost trap or buoy would find its way to shore. The old bottles were washed. We wondered if they had ever contained a message, how long they had been at sea or how far they had travelled. We made up stories about what happened to them on their journey to our island. Lunch time sent everyone home. Sometimes lunch at Gram might just mean another trip down the hill past the beach roses. The best mussels are found under the seaweed at the tip of Barley Field Point. Steamed mussels and......middle of paper......ch roses to lighten up the cove. It was time to take out all the pots that had spent the winter on the docks and in the fishmongers where they were being repaired. With the new maneuvers they were ready to be fixed, on the first of the good days. Few fishermen at that time had boats capable of dealing with winter seas, so most put up their traps for the winter months. The fishermen, who had been caretakers for the summer families, began preparing the homes for their return before the fishing began. Before too many weeks have passed, it all starts again, the fishing boats leave their moorings at the first light of dawn. The scent of salt water, warm breezes and rays of sunlight coming through the bedroom window take the place of the alarm clock. School was finally out and we were once again walking down the hill past the beach roses to the Cove, for another sum