And I am learning to wave. When someone passes you in the car they give a little wave (as in hi neighbour). This is especially apparent on the smaller, less travelled roads. And I'm enjoying the good natured chit chat that goes on everywhere, at the grocery store, at the lumber yard. And more than one island car sports a bumper sticker that says, "Relax, it's not the mainland."
We have even picked up hitch hikers several times, once a young couple heading up the road in the direction of our house and then a young woman heading towards town. It's been a long time since we picked up hitch hikers but here on the island it seems part of what happens. On a quiet stretch of road with spotty public transport it seems almost unkind to pass by perfectly harmless looking folks when your back seat is empty.
And then of course there are the things that are simply rural, not necessarily island things; the birds and the deer, the veg from the garden and the glorious clothesline you see pictured here. My island experiences made me think of a post over at 108 Zen books about the help of sentient and insentient beings, those seen and unseen. This is sinking in as I observe and participate in island life. It is easier to see our connections when you pick up the young couple who lives down the road, when you partake of some spring nettles or when strangers wave at you as if they were old friends.
I am reading a book called "Zen Architecture - The Building Process As Practice" by Paul Discoe. In the foreword Reb Anderson says "... although it may appear that you and I and Paul Discoe can produce something on our own, that is just a deeply entrenched delusion.... Although it may not be apparent, all great artists have coworkers, living and nonliving.... everything that exists does so interdependently."
So maybe I needed to come to an island to learn "that no man is an island." Is that you waving over there?