Anyone who’s ever written a book knows that it requires solitary, anonymous toil, and that every part of the process takes longer than you think it’s going to. You can write a blog post and upload it to social media the next day. It can be just as quickly forgotten. But a book is an artifact. It must remain relevant from conception to composition, through publication and shelf life, over a span of years and occasionally generations.

The Summer Solstice is upon us, the longest day of the year. There’s nothing like a June morning with the Sun blazing into the bathroom window at five o’clock. Who can stay in bed on a day like that? Rita the dog agrees. She knows the drill: coffee, breakfast (hers), then out to patrol the neighborhood before six. Sometimes we encounter homeless people in the park, and on occasion we run into friends, both canine and human. There aren’t many cars on the streets at that hour,

“Be the change” is often cited as an admonishment to do good work in the world. Though my motivations aren’t entirely unselfish, I like to think there’s a little bit of Gandhi in my life without a car. I want to see fewer cars on the road. Therefore, I don’t own one. It may seem like a small thing, subtracting one car from the vast American traffic picture, but small increments can add up to long-term change.

On Easter weekend, I rented a car for the first time in 2026. For three days, I rejoined the American Car Culture. As usual, it was fun while it lasted, and I was glad when it was over.

At the very end of the peninsula is Deer Isle, which is really several islands, connected by low causeways that periodically flood during storm tides. Deer Isle’s only road connection to the mainland is a suspension-cable bridge built in 1939. I’ve been crossing (and sailing under) this bridge my whole life. It was built with an 85-foot clearance that accommodates the windjammer schooners and most larger sailboats.