Ryan Hogge pulls his uncle Gary Hogge up a Connecticut River bank to a campsite that they visit regularly in the summer. Gary's dog Teddy Bear follows.
Islands in the Stream
Story by Peter Jamison — photographs by Channing Johnson
Chapter Three
Windsor — The days are growing longer and hotter. By night the maple leaves behind Armory Square Apartments blow in and out of the shadows. The water of Mill Brook rushes by at all hours, a murmuring undertone of summer. It is, a few Block tenants have decided, a perfect time to leave.
Not for good. Just for a few days. Gary Hogge, his 19-year-old nephew, Ryan Hogge, and their neighbor John Skevnick — all of whom live at Armory Square Apartments, the Windsor low-income housing complex better known as the Block — and a few friends are going to set up camp on Chase Island.
The island sits in the Connecticut River south of Windsor, under an old rail trellis that links Vermont and New Hampshire. It's easy enough to get there, but these men have to bring lots of supplies — tents, water, coolers filled with food. Gary and John are hoping to stay camped out on the island for weeks, fishing for trout and bass.
Ryan stands shirtless below Gary's apartment, beckoning impatiently to Teddy Bear, his uncle's Pekinese-Poodle mix (or Peekapoo).
"Come on," he says to the dog. "Come on! What are you waiting for?"
"You've got to carry him down the steps," Gary says. "He won't go down the steps. He'll only go down the ramp."
Gary is looking forward to a summer spent on the water. His 19-year-old daughter recently left the Block for an extended trip to Indiana with her infant child. He is now free to spend as much time as he wants on the island, and he plans to stay there as long as possible, away from the Block, with its small rooms and big drama, out by a campfire beneath the stars.
John pulls his motorboat, the Sea Nymph, up at the junction of Mill Brook and the Connecticut River. Ryan has pushed his uncle through the tall grass below Tewksbury's Organic Garden, and Gary now sits, Teddy Bear on a leash at his side, looking out over the jungle-like far bank of the Connecticut River. The world is impossibly green. The water is veined with sunlight. Gary is ordinarily gruff and to the point. Now he wears something close to a contented smile.
"Is that some good grass?" He asks the dog, who is lying in the shade of his wheelchair.
With some grunting, John and Ryan lift Gary into the bow of the boat. His wheelchair is hauled in behind him.The Sea Nymph rumbles downriver, all passengers aboard. Gary speaks in awed tones of an uninhabited and overgrown island where horses run wild. "It's better than any campground I've ever seen," he says.