Category Archives: Nantucket Island



I have a trio of sources of Hope. Daffodils give hope in a

book by Lisa Genova, called “Love Anthony.” The main character,

Olivia, lives on Nantucket Island, where we know New England’s

winters are a ‘bear!’

Even while the winter is long, the daffodils break through

the frigid ground. There is a scene or time when Olivia is

watching the delicate flowers,

“Shivering in the wind, impossibly bright and fragile and

brave against the cold grayness.”

There is a plot that includes deep grief, almost overwhelming

Olivia. She finds hope in the beautiful yellow flowers. They

are, to her, a poignant sign that summer will come again,

“and life will return to her as well.”

When we have faith, there is always hope in something that

will shine into our darkest days. It will give us signs, like

the purple crocuses, the bright and gay daffodils, and the

multiple colored tulips, all whose blooms have managed to

survive the coldest of winters.

Another message, from a man named Reverend Louis E. Campbell,

who wrote in 1982,

“One robin does not make a Spring.”

He goes on to tell us of the hopeful messengers

or ‘Harbingers’ of Spring:

“One (robin) can make the spirit sing!

The tardy snowflakes yet may drift,

But cannot cancel out the gift.

Brave prophecies can lift the heart,

And spur the soul’s ascents to start,

The crowing cock foretells the dawn,

Before the glooms of night are gone.”

I have a funny or silly, but hopeful little story

about my weekend visit with my two grandsons. We

like to walk over to and alongside the little creek

by the side of my apartment building.

There are three bridges that we can go across,

one we must go one at a time, holding Nana’s


When we get in the middle of the two ‘safer’

bridges, the boys (and my little M & M girls

on a different occasion) like to toss pieces

of whole grain bread to the ducks.

I have mentioned, off and on, to them and maybe

to you, that the ducks wake me before the ‘dawn’s

early light.’ They are sending up a cacophony of

quacks to the skies lately!

I usually look at my bedside alarm clock, tuck

my head deeper into my feather pillow, and sigh,

trying to get my last moments of sleep.

Well, guess what my oldest grandson exclaimed,

upon seeing that there were a total of eight

ducks, six male mallards and only two females?

It is almost risqué but he would not really at

the age of nine, mean it in that way, but he said,

quite excitedly,

“Those girl ducks are ‘lucky ducks!'”

I studied his face for a moment, to see his intent

and serious countenance. He was not meaning to be

disrespectful or improper. So, I asked him,

“Skyler, why do you think the girls are so lucky?”

His answer made sense. It gave me hope, too, in little

quiet soap bubbles floating in my ‘bathtub of life.’

“Nana, they are lucky because they have lots of

boy ducks to protect and fight for them. Oh, and

they can choose which ones to ‘date!'”

He is on the ‘cusp’ of knowing about sexual behavior

but not really thinking of the mating calls and the

ducks with their needs and urges to propagate.

Innocence prevails, that gives me Hope!