I have to admit right up front that this post would never have happened if I hadn’t snapped the photo below—in a hospital parking lot. The island to which the sign refers is a concrete one, built to corral cars: maybe 5 feet long, less than 2 feet wide, and only a few inches tall.
It probably wasn’t intended to remind me of my home for the past three decades. Known on charts and maps as “Conanicut” and locally referred to as “Jamestown,” our far more beautiful island is a mix of rocks and soil left behind by a receding glacier in the middle of Narragansett Bay: about nine miles long, a mile or so wide, and more than a hundred feet high at its tallest point.
And it surely wasn’t supposed to spark a belly laugh—but it did, because the words so closely mimic what I inevitably growl each summer. This season brings much joy: swimming, sailing, beachgoing. It also, of course, brings a huge swell in population. While I mostly manage to avoid the crowds, there’s always a particularly stupid-tourist moment that makes me growl, “Stay off the island.” Which is why this sign felt so unintentionally personal.
I’ve written about being a tourist myself, as well as the joys of getting away. I’ve even created an imaginary island that grapples with the push-pull of coastal living: simultaneously appreciating tourism’s boost to the economy, while encouraging the ice cream-lickers and water-view gawkers to move along.
Though some islanders spend all year awaiting summer, I enjoy each of our four distinct seasons. So, now that I’ve shared my classic local’s summer complaint, I’ll go back to savoring the many joys of July on our beautiful island—knowing that September will come along all too soon.
Got a sign that felt unexpectedly personal? Share it in the comments below. Thanks for reading, and see you next Thursday!