This is my friend Lesley and I’s motto. As in, “Would it be insane for us to take our kids on a boat ride on the open ocean to a small island for a self-guided walking tour?”
“Yes. But sounds like something we would/should do.”
“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”
And so began our boat trip to Star Island.
The boat ride was lovely, interrupted only by the constant cries of, “I’m hungry!” by our poor, starving waif children. Luckily, Lesley had a hiking backpack full of cereal bars to hold them over.
We only had one hour shore leave and the kids spotted a playground right away, so they were as singled-minded as sailors during fleet week, except substitute playground for floozies. We told the kids we’d spend the last 10 minutes at the playground, which left us just 50 minutes to test out this antique revolving door, desecrate this graveyard, interrupt this duet, and run in and out of four little cabins without breaking various antiques.
We also felt it was worth taking the time for Lesley to make this epic lay up on the Pelicans’ practice court.
At long last, we reached the Promised Land.
Raise your hands if you love Star Island!
On the way back, we were the last ones on the boat, just like we were on the way there. But unlike on the way there, it was socially acceptable to have a beer.
And also, something about our one-step-away-from-complete-anarchy charm won over the crew, because they let each of our small children steer the boat, even though they literally couldn’t see over the steering wheel.
Angling for Favorite People Ever, the crew guys then said yes to Hazy’s preposterous request that she get to work the cash register in the store, but sadly, no one bought anything for the rest of the trip.
Due to a slight snafu (cough, cough, Lesley telling me we were spending the day on the island), my car ended up blocked in by all the cars of the people on the all-day island plan. But when life hands us lemons, Lesley and I use those lemons to garnish our lobster rolls at the Beach Plum, voted the best lobster roll in New England. That’s right; we loaded up the car seats into Lesley’s car and took ourselves out for lobster rolls, mac & cheese, and ice cream.
We also killed some time at this killer beach. I’m very grateful to Lesley’s family friends, who have a beautiful home on this private beach, about two hundred yards away from the public beach, which was packed about 10 umbrellas deep. We had this one all to ourselves, and it was absolutely perfect.
You know when you get really tired and all you want to do is put on an avant-garde play and charge people for admission into an imaginary dance club? Yeah, me neither.
After much rosé was consumed,the imaginary nightclub got shut down due to zoning restrictions, and someone peed in the bathtub (I won’t name names), we finally got the kids to bed.
The next morning, I slept in while the kids (and Lesley) answered the siren call of Elena of Avalor.
Then we spent a little while enjoying the adorableness that is Newfields, NH. Lesley and her husband Paul live in a Charles Wysocki puzzle where Lesley brings her mug over to the General Store next door and fills it up with coffee, while her awesome dog Ollie goes behind the counter for a treat.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a visit to Newfields without seeing our old pal, Slowpoke. Slowy was as magical and slow as ever.
After dutifully jotting down the series of highways that Lesley told me made more sense than Waze’s directions, I promptly took one in the wrong direction and ended up following Waze the rest of the way. But first, we stopped for the kids’ 12th (!) ice cream of the summer, with make your own sundaes at Friendly’s.
Thank you for an action-packed day and night, Lesley. There’s no one with whom I’d rather be woefully unprepared for the worst that could happen.
Where should we go next? And relatedly, where’s the best ice cream in New England?