Ghost Town
October 22, 2026
To: Lindsay Denman, Atlanta, GA
From: Stephen Brown, Comfort Island
Dear Lindsay,
Yesterday I woke up to an early frost and a fog on the river. And I knew it was time to go. The thing about having a house this far north is that you must leave before you have to. You don’t wait for the bays to freeze over. You don’t want to wait until you’re in bed worrying if the pipes might freeze and burst overnight. Duke knows it. He’s been moping and eyeing me suspiciously for the last few days.
Keewaydin Marina is practically empty…and so is the river, except for the ships with their sad foghorns sounding through the night. A few intrepid fishermen remain, and contractors are buzzing around, roughing in exteriors before the end of the season so they can work inside all winter.
Even last night at our annual goodbye dinner in Clayton at DiPrinzio’s with Regan, Paul and Chelsea, there was no one there. During the season, it’s almost impossible to get a reservation.
For the last two weeks, Conor and I have been prepping the house for its hibernation. Bringing in the paint, gathering all of the liquids, zipping up the silver, putting up the tarps on the tower and coal house. And covering all of the furniture in white sheets.
My sister Regan thinks it’s foolish to do that, but I think there is something symbolic and old school about shrouding the furniture in white…waiting again for the spring. My sister also thinks I might be reading too much into the “fancy house” ritual.
The big new boat will be pulled in a day or two and Paul and his men will hang the Buzz and the small Lyman.
The lower porch will be wrapped in canvas to protect it and the furniture from the weather. It also blocks the intense winter wind, blowing down from the north, past Boldt Castle and up the rise to Comfort.
I generally keep the house at 50 degrees. And this year I’ve invested in a generator, in the event an ice or snowstorm knocks out the electricity.
And so, this morning, Conor and I are doing the last chores and then crossing the river to Keewaydin for the last time this season. The last load of laundry, the last piece of furniture covered, the last ride in the boat.
My niece Evan cried for three days before she had to close the family cottage. When she visited this past weekend, everything made her tear up. I get it. It’s always sad…especially on a beautiful day like today. But winter is coming.
I’ll be back in Atlanta in two days. Can’t wait to see you and catch up. You’re the perfect person to get me out of my funk.
S