The thing about fantasies is that they leave out a few of the details.
If you have, for example, ever dreamed of escaping to life on a remote island, much of what you imagine will be true. It will often be quiet, you will live surrounded by nature, and you can grow your own food.
But there are other practical realities, too: a big hardware store may be a boat trip away, winter is long, and a medical center nowhere to be found. This is the case on Isle au Haut, one of 15 unbridged islands off the coast of Maine, from where the island launched a digital campaign this spring to recruit new residents to join its tiny population.
“Though it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, it’s ours,” reads the island’s website.
The campaign, which included social media ads and a landing page, touts the island’s virtues, but with caution: It seeks residents excited for island life, but who also appreciate its challenges. In a way, it poses a question: Who might be an ideal islander?
“People that are interested in a more off the grid, back to nature experience, who value living in a small and self-sufficient community, and knowing their neighbors really, really well,” answered Molly Siegel, a volunteer with the Isle au Haut Community Development Corporation. The ICDC — which owns four homes that it rents out to year-round tenants, according to its website — coordinates the public campaign, which remains an ongoing effort. The spring’s push filled two of the affordable rental housing opportunities and generated around 80 inquiries and 12 complete applications.
According to islanders, there are just short of 60 truly full-time residents, expanding to a few hundred in the summer. The 2020 US Census reported a population of 92. Half of the island is managed by the federal government as part of Acadia National Park.
The far-flung island appears in the spooky tales of John Bellairs, who set his Edward Gorey-illustrated story “The Spell of the Sorcerer’s Skull” in the island fog. And rooted in a real-life happening, its mythology includes the Royal Tar, a shipwrecked circus ship that set its doomed animal cargo afloat in the island’s waters in 1836. Rumors of shipwrecked giant snakes surviving ashore exist in local record. There are no giant snakes, said Kendra Chubbock, who owns a shop on the island, but she said there are eels in the mile-long pond that sometimes hosts a triathlon. The island is home to artists and writers who find the setting uniquely imaginative, but islanders say they love the adventure of everyday life, too.
Siegel, a former islander, said that residents would need to feel comfortable visiting a neighbor for a cup of sugar, spending evenings at potlucks and school events, and pitching in on community boards and committees.
“Our life is by the mail boat, if you don’t have your own boat,” said Chubbock, a fifth-generation islander who operates Shore Shop Gifts on Isle au Haut’s tiny main drag, near the church, school, and town office. A food truck sometimes serves rotating fare, but there is no restaurant.
Being organized matters for both island life and planning off-island provision missions, aided by a do-it-yourself spirit.
“People that maybe like to grow their own food or rely on the resources available in their immediate surroundings tend to do quite well,” said Siegel. “You really get to know the other 55 people that live there extremely well. They are your neighbors, your best friends, the people you spend time working with.”
It’s a better fit for those who can make their own entertainment.
“If you need to eat out at a restaurant every week, if you need to have constant access to go to the movies or go shopping and see concerts, yeah, you will be disappointed if that’s something that you need in order to feel happy and fulfilled,” said Siegel.
That doesn’t mean there’s nothing to do.
“A lot of people say to me, ‘What do we do out there? You must be bored. What’s that all about?’” said Chubbock. “I mean, we are so busy out here, it’s insane.”
The tiny population presents unusual opportunities for those seeking leadership positions, and doing so can make a big impact.
“Even if you don’t know anything about being a fire chief, if you’re willing to step up and learn and participate, then that’s really important to Isle au Haut,” said Abigail Hiltz, a resident and island selectperson.
Winter marks a significant transition for islanders, when car traffic quiets, and summer visitors depart.
“It’s kind of like hibernating,” said Siegel.
Small island life presents a paradoxical experience: as potentially isolated as it is hypersocial, as interdependence drives cooperation. And in winter, that relationship becomes magnified.
“It really is the time to just have longer conversation,” said Alex Zipparo, a Community Development Officer at the Island Institute, an organization that supports island communities in Maine. “It’s getting back to the idea that islands are remote, but they’re also intensely connected and social.”
Earning a living takes on a unique complexity while surrounded by water in all directions, and islanders describe wearing many hats, piecing together multiple jobs.
Island work calls for gardening, landscaping, housecleaning, and summer home preparation, carpentry, painting, and other aspects of maintaining housing, said Chubbock. “We’re looking for people who can do just about any kind of odd job.”
The island has recruited new residents for years, although the digital component is new this year as the population has dwindled.
Dakota Waters is an Isle au Haut newcomer who was selected for residence in one of the ICDC’s homes, where he has lived since April with his wife and two young children.
“As of Friday, I start on a lobster boat,” said Waters, previously of Northborough. “I’ve never lobstered, fished, or been on a boat a day in my life.”
Waters said that he posted news of his family’s move on Facebook, and when he arrived at the ferry terminal, met a group of strangers equipped with a truck to help them move in. For the first two weeks on the island, neighbors helped transport his child to school. So far, the family says they’re thriving.
“You’re going out to go tromp through the woods, go see if you can get some sea glass and some seashells off a beach,” said Waters. “It’s everything that a child would grow up and see as a wonderland.”
The true nature of island life is revealed after a winter on the island attending book clubs and beach bonfires, said Siegel.
“Maybe you don’t notice it as it’s happening, but by the time you emerge on the other side of your first winter, you look back at the time that you spent with people,” she said.
“Those are those essential, foundational experiences that make you a part of the community,” she said.
Lindsay Crudele can be reached at lcrudele@gmail.com.