Ian woke on the morning of day three to a near pitch dark room. The only light that could be seen was an overcast sky through the hole in the ceiling for the ladder to the upper deck. Yet he felt absolutely terrific after a full night of uninterrupted sleep. He rolled over to stretch his whole body, then stacked his hands behind his head to think about what he was going to do for the day, and then it hit him. Thoughts of his very pathetic “piggy bank” balance made him groan. He couldn’t believe that after everything that had happened to him in the past year, all he had to show for it was one simoleon to his name. He took a big breath and went in search of a bowl of cereal to calm his nauseous tummy, then headed up to the deck to catch some fish.
After several hours of fishing with very little result, he sat down on the deck allowing his feet to dangle over the edge and his toes to dip in the water. Thoughts drifting this way and that, (he is on a boat after all), a light bulb went off over his head. Pulling out his backpack, he reached in to find his SE camera. This has surely got to get me a pretty penny, he thought. So he sold it on the spot without another thought. Six hundred and seventy simoleons later and Ian was a very happy fellow, especially since it meant he wasn’t going to have to spend another day fishing in the heat.
Putting away his fishing pole for the day, Ian spied a few deer and one lone raccoon resting on the island. He had no idea where they came from everyday, but as soon as the sun rose from the water, there they would always be. Carefully and cautiously, he approached the animals, in hopes that he could pet one. The deer had different ideas, but didn’t hurry away, taking the time to sniff him, before shaking their head in what could only be the gesture of rejection. Ian didn’t care but laughed. He knew that someday it would happen and they would eventually be the best of friends.
Ian laid under the birch tree and watched the grey light through the leaves of the tree as they blew in the wind. Memories came flooding back to him causing his heart to ache for everything that once was. Having the animals on the island was a great comfort to him, as it reminded him of days at home on the farm. Early in the morning, the deer would come out of the forest to the watering trough, to drink in their fill. If he stood very quietly by the back gate, the deer would watch him cautiously, but not run away, taking their time till they all had their turn. Then they would all turn and take off in a synchronised group, back into the shelter of the dark forest at the back of the field. Once Ian had discovered the deer one morning, he had started the routine of filling the trough before heading to bed,to make sure there would always be enough water for the
The raccoons around the farm were as raccoons tend to be. A nuisance and a lot of extra work to keep them under control. They were particularly fond of his mothers vegetable garden and she was forever down in the dirt muttering under her breath, as she tried to repair the damage of the visit from the night before.
Shaking his head at the memory, and realising how hot he was, Ian made his way to his cool and dark refuge for a shower and a bit of a late supper. Sitting in the quiet room, his newspaper already read for the day, Ian felt a bit discouraged. I have to be doing this all wrong, he thought. I’m a farmer and a fisherman, I should be doing better than this. And then it came to him. He was doing it all wrong!
“I’m fishing during the hottest part of the day when I should be sleeping!” he said to the air and threw his hands up in disgust. He gave himself a little mental slap for being so foolish. All those years of fishing with his father and they always started while the day was still night. How could I have forgotten such a basic lesson my father taught me, he thought. He looked at the time on his phone and tried to determine what time he should be waking and then sleeping in order to try a new routine. He decided that going to bed just after supper and waking around three in the morning would give him enough time to accomplish all he wanted to do in a day.
‘So if I get up and fish till first morning light, scavenge and scuba dive till noon, I can paint or write in the hottest part of the day till supper. It’s a perfect plan.’
So feeling a little sleepy anyway, he tucked himself into bed and slept till one in the morning when he was woken by a very nasty thunder and lightning story. Great start to a new plan, he thought. But not wanting to waste any precious time, Ian began painting a picture in hopes that the storm would end and we would still be able to fish. He also had high hopes that the waves would wash in great things to scavenge for that would be worth some money. By the time he finished the painting, the storm still raged on. He sent the painting to the shipping box and began painting another, grumbling the whole time at mother nature and her prerogative for destroying best laid plans.