Enveloped in a cacophony of A2 traffic in my twenties, I long for the peace of my younger years, surrounded by plush green trees and clean blue water. Thirty-two miles off the coast of Charlevoix in Lake Michigan, Beaver Island has been home to six generations of my Irish heritage. Born and raised in a community of 600 that found meaning through the simple life, I crave just that. The trickling of the Huron River through Nichols Arboretum gave birth to my soundwalk. Memories of the Emerald Isle, waves crashing on my two-hour ferry ride home, roll in.
Eyes closed, I imagine the aerial view of the 20-minute flight. By boat or small aircraft, I return to a semi-wild landscape, full of freedoms found nowhere else. They allow my childlike spirit to dance and play. Where Do the Children Play?, a documentary, offers a mini-visual of my childhood: jumping on my bike to meet friends, to swim, to catch the sunset. You don’t have to follow all the mainland rules on Beaver Island. My soundscape is about remembering and allowing oneself to find home. It recreates sounds that evoke that special fervor important to childhood, and frankly, adulthood as well.