For a long time, which was actually only a few days given the warped timeline of this pandemic, my sister and I questioned whether or not to go home to the Vineyard to shelter. There were obvious positives but it was hard to ignore the desperate pleas of locals asking seasonal residents not to come to the Island. We saw the pictures online of notes declaring “You shouldn’t be here!” shoved onto the windshields of out-of-state cars.

Did these messages apply even to those of us who grew up here? Were we part of the problem?

Still unsure if our decision was the right one, we came home. On a gray March day, we drove onto the ferry. We didn’t receive a ticket at the booth and were asked to stay inside our car during the trip. It was unnerving to be so cautious while going through such a familiar ritual. When we finally docked I felt relieved.

It has been strange adjusting to life back on the Island. I’m doing my best not to regress to my teenage methods of communication as my mother, sister and I learn to co-habitate as adults. This is not the Vineyard as I know it. It is bizarre that I can’t walk into Mocha Mott’s or meet up with my friends for a drink at the Lookout. We have all had to change our comfortable routines.

I’ve been waiting for the chance to spend another summer at home since 2015, but this isn’t how I pictured it. There will be no staging of informal high school reunions at the Island bars. There will be no hugging former teachers and friends’ parents when I run into them in the grocery store aisles. Will I even recognize them underneath their masks?

There will be no day spent collecting dust on my sandals as I walk through the fairgrounds. I think it’s okay to be sad about all of this. The lost magic of a Vineyard summer deserves to be mourned.

One Saturday, my sister and I spent hours sifting through the old memories of our lives on the Vineyard we’d stashed in my mom’s attic. I saved scraps of birthday messages and report cards from elementary school, embarrassing photo snaps from middle school, and the newspapers from the weeks of our high school graduations.

I was overwhelmed by my love for this place and the life I was able to live here. The Island community has seen me through all of it. These are the people who crammed my sister and I into their backseats, driving us home from school so my mom could work late. These are the people who cheered for me at games and sat in my section every weekend I worked at Linda Jean’s. They are the same people who organized fish fry fundraisers when my dad got sick and pressed scholarship checks into my hands as I headed off to college. These are my people.

And these are the people I want to ride out this pandemic with. When I called my Dad the other day asking for his grocery list, he told me his neighbor had already dropped off a bag of necessities. Vineyarders filled their online shopping carts when Bunch of Grapes asked for support, called up seniors to check in, and spent afternoons diligently sewing masks to distribute to other Islanders.

These are the people who will get us through this.

There’s no question summer will be different this year. I can’t bear to think about the livelihoods that will be shattered by the muted tourist season, and there is an immense amount of anxiety about what comes next. I am trying to be grateful for the small things.

This morning, my sister and I dragged out our faded lawn chairs to the backyard. We let the late morning pass us by, content to be surrounded by the fresh air. We listened to our neighbors calling for their dogs and the buzz of cars driving on State Road. I felt my cheeks redden from that first inevitable sunburn of the season.

In this time of unprecedented confusion, one thing is clear to me — I’m so glad to be home.

Like so many other kids my age who have returned to the Island and their families during this crisis, I feel so fortunate to be part of this community. We might tell ourselves we’ve outgrown the Vineyard or swear we’d never live here again, but we’re pulled back by the incredible force of this place. During school breaks, in between jobs, or when I just need a weekend to gather my thoughts, the Vineyard was there for me.

This summer will be different. I hope it gives me the perspective to better appreciate this exceptional community I took for granted when I was younger. How lucky am I to be here at home, right now, with my people.

Mary Ollen lives in Boston and works for state Rep. Dylan Fernandes. She grew up in Vineyard Haven and graduated from MVRHS in 2014.