Hayleigh Butcher
Mrs. Thomasen
English 12
September 17th 2019
Hardy Island

Hardy Island. Located 49.7383 degrees North and 124.2043 degrees West, Sunshine Coast. The only way to get there is a ferry from Horseshoe Bay to Langdale terminal; a drive along the Sunshine Coast highway to Earls Cove; another ferry to Saltry Bay; a 2 minute drive to Humming Bird Cove and a pick up from my Grandpa in his boat. Traveling the way up there has always been a favourite of mine. The early morning ferry, the long drive with the music blasting and a quick stop at Starbucks for a pick-me-up coffee. But when at last I see the cabin hidden in the bay, a wave of peace and comfort washes over me.
This feeling started off with a vision inside my grandpa’s head, leading to the purchase of 11 acres of land in the middle of nowhere. The only proof that anyone was actually there was the tent pad my dad and uncle built, the portable toilet my grandpa brought up, and the trail we made; marching back and forth, singing songs to keep the bears away. We used to camp on the right side of the bay but after a couple years we realized it was too hard to climb up the hill and not enough space for the ten of us. So one summer all the boys took the tent pad apart board by board and swam it over to the left side of the bay. “Someday there will be a cabin here.” I was excited for the day when that would become a reality but for now I would have to suffice sleeping in a tent. Our time was spent swimming and exploring, looking at the crabs and fish, and playing cards on the boat. The talk of building a cabin became more and more frequent and all I really wanted was to just say “poof” and have it appear.
My mom started coming up with design ideas. I piped up and told her to add those window seats that double as a bed. Something that I always dreamed of having, ever since I read Harry Potter. Construction started and we moved our tents to the dock. It was cramped, and I felt stranded. “Someday there will be a bridge here.” The summers came and ended and the cabin began making it’s mark on the island. Columns were built towards the sky, the walls lifted up and the roof set like a cherry on top. Finally, finally it was time. The cabin stood in all it’s glory acting as a shelter from the outside world. A second home. The new place where we held Thanksgiving dinner, where friends would come and go, where I could read a book on those window seats that doubled as a bed.
The cabin was complete and so was I. The deck was finished, the bridge was finally set (after a long process due to a certain neighbour) and a grass volleyball court was put in place. It was the home with the olympic-size salt water swimming pool at fingers touch, the home where the sun set’s colours melted into the water, the home that was only temporary. “Someday we will stay for longer.” But that’s the problem because promises are broken. Because all good things have to come to end, goodbyes must be said, and reality comes hurling back. School, stress and seriousness aren’t in my vocabulary at Hardy. But somehow they all come swarming back as soon as I reach back home in Port Coquitlam. My home where I can’t see the ocean, my home where I can’t lay on the dock soaking up sun rays, my home where I don’t have that sense of calm. My real home. Business takes over, my schedule filled with school and volleyball all the while trying to squish friends and down-time into the mix. But at Hardy the only schedule is determined by the tide. Low tide means its time for exploring the island and high tide is the time for exploring the sea. I miss the comfort it brings and the memories it made. From the time the tarps collapsed sending a pool of water onto my sister below, to the time we saw a herd of dolphins swimming in the distance. I hate having to leave it after every summer vacay and every long weekend. I hate having to leave it because I hate the feeling I get when I‘m not there. But then again it makes that feeling ever more special when I see the cabin hidden in the bay. When that wave of peace and comfort washes over me. When the smell of salt water flows through my veins. Then I know, that I am home.

Examples:
1) When the smell of salt water flows through my veins. – Imagery
2) … the cabin began making its mark on the island. – Personification
3) The new place where we held Thanksgiving dinner, where friends would come and go, where I could read a book on those window seats that doubled as a bed. – Rule of 3
4) … the olympic-size salt water swimming pool at fingers touch, – Alliteration