Green Island

"Green Island" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a vivid portrayal of life on a small island off the coast of Maine. Through the lens of its protagonist, the novel explores themes of nature, community, and the complexities of human relationships. The story captures the beauty and challenges of island life, reflecting on the interconnectedness of its inhabitants with both each other and the environment. Jewett's lyrical prose brings to life the landscapes and the intimate dynamics of the characters, making the book a cherished exploration of rural Americana.

• Short story

								
One morning, very early, I heard Mrs. Todd in the garden outside my
window. By the unusual loudness of her remarks to a passer-by, and the
notes of a familiar hymn which she sang as she worked among the herbs,
and which came as if directed purposely to the sleepy ears of my
consciousness, I knew that she wished I would wake up and come and speak
to her.

In a few minutes she responded to a morning voice from behind the
blinds. “I expect you’re goin’ up to your schoolhouse to pass all this
pleasant day; yes, I expect you’re goin’ to be dreadful busy,” she said
despairingly.

“Perhaps not,” said I. “Why, what’s going to be the matter with you,
Mrs. Todd?” For I supposed that she was tempted by the fine weather to
take one of her favorite expeditions along the shore pastures to gather
herbs and simples, and would like to have me keep the house.

“No, I don’t want to go nowhere by land,” she answered gayly,—“no, not
by land; but I don’t know’s we shall have a better day all the rest of
the summer to go out to Green Island an’ see mother. I waked up early
thinkin’ of her. The wind’s light northeast,—’twill take us right
straight out; an’ this time o’ year it’s liable to change round
southwest an’ fetch us home pretty, ’long late in the afternoon. Yes,
it’s goin’ to be a good day.”

“Speak to the captain and the Bowden boy, if you see anybody going by
toward the landing,” said I. “We’ll take the big boat.”

“Oh, my sakes! now you let me do things my way,” said Mrs. Todd
scornfully. “No, dear, we won’t take no big bo’t. I’ll just git a handy
dory, an’ Johnny Bowden an’ me, we’ll man her ourselves. I don’t want no
abler bo’t than a good dory, an’ a nice light breeze ain’t goin’ to make
no sea; an’ Johnny’s my cousin’s son,—mother’ll like to have him come;
an’ he’ll be down to the herrin’ weirs all the time we’re there, anyway;
we don’t want to carry no men folks havin’ to be considered every minute
an’ takin’ up all our time. No, you let me do; we’ll just slip out an’
see mother by ourselves. I guess what breakfast you’ll want’s about
ready now.”

I had become well acquainted with Mrs. Todd as landlady, herb-gatherer,
and rustic philosopher; we had been discreet fellow-passengers once or
twice when I had sailed up the coast to a larger town than Dunnet
Landing to do some shopping; but I was yet to become acquainted with her
as a mariner. An hour later we pushed off from the landing in the
desired dory. The tide was just on the turn, beginning to fall, and
several friends and acquaintances stood along the side of the
dilapidated wharf and cheered us by their words and evident interest.
Johnny Bowden and I were both rowing in haste to get out where we could
catch the breeze and put up the small sail which lay clumsily furled
along the gunwale. Mrs. Todd sat aft, a stern and unbending lawgiver.

“You better let her drift; we’ll get there ’bout as quick; the tide’ll
take her right out from under these old buildin’s; there’s plenty wind
outside.”

“Your bo’t ain’t trimmed proper, Mis’ Todd!” exclaimed a voice from
shore. “You’re lo’ded so the bo’t’ll drag; you can’t git her before the
wind, ma’am. You set ‘midships, Mis’ Todd, an’ let the boy hold the
sheet ’n’ steer after he gits the sail up; you won’t never git out to
Green Island that way. She’s lo’ded bad, your bo’t is,—she’s heavy
behind’s she is now!”

Mrs. Todd turned with some difficulty and regarded the anxious adviser,
my right oar flew out of water, and we seemed about to capsize. “That
you, Asa? Good-mornin’,” she said politely. “I al’ays liked the starn
seat best. When’d you git back from up country?”

This allusion to Asa’s origin was not lost upon the rest of the company.
We were some little distance from shore, but we could hear a chuckle of
laughter, and Asa, a person who was too ready with his criticism and
advice on every possible subject, turned and walked indignantly away.

When we caught the wind we were soon on our seaward course, and only
stopped to underrun a trawl, for the floats of which Mrs. Todd looked
earnestly, explaining that her mother might not be prepared for three
extra to dinner; it was her brother’s trawl, and she meant to just run
her eye along for the right sort of a little haddock. I leaned over the
boat’s side with great interest and excitement, while she skillfully
handled the long line of hooks, and made scornful remarks upon
worthless, bait-consuming creatures of the sea as she reviewed them and
left them on the trawl or shook them off into the waves. At last we came
to what she pronounced a proper haddock, and having taken him on board
and ended his life resolutely, we went our way.

As we sailed along I listened to an increasingly delightful commentary
upon the islands, some of them barren rocks, or at best giving sparse
pasturage for sheep in the early summer. On one of these an eager little
flock ran to the water’s edge and bleated at us so affectingly that I
would willingly have stopped; but Mrs. Todd steered away from the rocks,
and scolded at the sheep’s mean owner, an acquaintance of hers, who
grudged the little salt and still less care which the patient creatures
needed. The hot midsummer sun makes prisons of these small islands that
are a paradise in early June, with their cool springs and short
thick-growing grass. On a larger island, farther out to sea, my
entertaining companion showed me with glee the small houses of two
farmers who shared the island between them, and declared that for three
generations the people had not spoken to each other even in times of
sickness or death or birth. “When the news come that the war was over,
one of ’em knew it a week, and never stepped across his wall to tell the
others,” she said. “There, they enjoy it: they’ve got to have somethin’
to interest ’em in such a place; ’tis a good deal more tryin’ to be tied
to folks you don’t like than ’tis to be alone. Each of ’em tells the
neighbors their wrongs; plenty likes to hear and tell again; them as
fetch a bone’ll carry one, an’ so they keep the fight a-goin’. I must
say I like variety myself; some folks washes Monday an’ irons Tuesday
the whole year round, even if the circus is goin’ by!”

A long time before we landed at Green Island we could see the small
white house, standing high like a beacon, where Mrs. Todd was born and
where her mother lived, on a green slope above the water, with dark
spruce woods still higher. There were crops in the fields, which we
presently distinguished from one another. Mrs. Todd examined them while
we were still far at sea. “Mother’s late potatoes looks backward; ain’t
had rain enough so far,” she pronounced her opinion. “They look weedier
than what they call Front Street down to Cowper Centre. I expect brother
William is so occupied with his herrin’ weirs an’ servin’ out bait to
the schooners that he don’t think once a day of the land.”

“What’s the flag for, up above the spruces there behind the house?” I
inquired, with eagerness.

“Oh, that’s the sign for herrin’,” she explained kindly, while Johnny

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