As summer nears, I yearn to return to an island off the coast of Florida that brought great joy to my late husband, Jef, and myself. Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings said everyone needs a “small place of enchantment” to escape to, and when we first visited Cedar Key in 1988, we knew we had found our place. We bought a little boat to mosey around the island, which provided plenty of adventures and a rich trove of memories.  

This island is a place where you sense God’s presence everywhere. Not that you’ll be jogging down the road and encounter a cluster of angels brandishing trumpets, but the sunrises and sunsets are so dazzling they are like prayers. And the island sounds are a well-orchestrated symphony that opens with the first cheep in the morning and closes with the frog chorus at night. 

There’s also the triumphant call of Mama Osprey returning to her famished babies with a fish clutched firmly in her talons. There’s the whir of tiny wings that announces a hummingbird’s shy approach, and the guffaws of clapper rails, which seemed especially exuberant as we crept by in our boat, the Sea Moose.  

We were pleased to discover there is no stoplight anywhere in town, a nice reminder that this truly is a place of solitude. But we were surprised that during low tide, expanses of oozing, inky black mud were revealed. This is mud that will almost pull you under if you step into a hole. Mud that can ruin a boat trip if your vessel runs aground in it, which we experienced on our first voyage.  

“Sacred writings are bound in two volumes,” wrote St. Thomas Aquinas. Of course there is Scripture, but also the volume on nature, which this island has fattened up considerably. You can glimpse the divine artist in the myriad faces of the island creatures, whether they are showy ibises or modest doves.  

And let me not forget the magnificent frigatebirds, also called “hurricane birds” because they are sometimes swept from their usual locale by the high winds preceding storms. They are black with huge wingspans and large forked tails. According to mythology, they are born in the air and never land, soaring forever above the sea.  

In “Thoughts in Solitude,” Thomas Merton wrote, “The sky is my prayer, the birds are my prayer, the wind in the trees is my prayer.” It takes plenty of prayers to live on Cedar Key, since the closest hospital is 30 miles away, so in an emergency you have to trust the helicopter will get you to the hospital in time. Storms present another tremendous threat with three major hurricanes having battered the island within a 13-month span. 

We certainly prayed our way through rocky waves on our voyages around the island. Still, we ventured out eagerly each day, never knowing what creatures we might encounter. We met sea hares that get their names from their perky ears, a family of frisky otters and two friendly manatees that peered into our boat, as we were having lunch. On other trips, our boat was surrounded by dolphins, so close we could hear their powerful breaths.  

I often imagine myself back on the island again, assuming my role as first mate with Captain Jef at the helm. We are both wearing big straw hats and long-sleeved shirts to fend off the sun. A picnic basket sits nearby, packed with a fine lunch for later. 

In fact, I have not returned to the island since my captain died, but I thank God for how grace-filled my life once was. And I am immensely grateful that I can visit this island again whenever I want, through the sparkling lens of memory.