I watched my mother and her husband load the pickup for a five month exodus to a cabin in interior Alaska. The preparations had taken longer than they thought and they were both stressed, worried they would forget something, and anxious to get away. Jerry calculated how many tools he could take – they would spend the spring and summer renovating the cabin – and my mother planned carefully the art supplies she would need to keep her occupied. The most time consuming task, though, was gathering all the drugs to keep two American 75 year olds going for almost half a year. For days my mother stood vigil by the telephone, waiting for calls from nurses, and making frequent off Island dashes to pharmacies.

Two weeks earlier I was on a different, larger island. I handed over the keys of my home in a rural Oxfordshire village to an out of work musician and the keys of my narrowboat to One R Piere. I worked my last day at Oxford University, and the next morning my ex husband drove me and Fluffy (who was flying too) to the airport. All the way we talked about partings and change. He parked in the cargo area where pets had to be dropped off, but said he wouldn’t come in because it would make him too sad. Holding Fluffy he said tearfully, “I might see you again sometime.”

I was tearful too. I said, “Of course you’ll see me. I have a ticket to come back in September”

“I was talking to the dog,” he said.

On the small Island the pick up was packed and all was finally ready. I waved good bye, then walked as fast as I could after the truck towards the ferry dock, but it had already pulled away when I arrived. Five minutes later the ferry was docking on the other side and, from across the water, I watched the fifteen or so cars unload. Then Fluffy and I turned and went back to the house.