The recent news that the Nobel Prize-winning writer Mario Vargas Llosa had died immediately transported me back through space and time to Vineyard Haven.

When I still called the Island my home, I did a simple calculation to confirm my suspicions.

I stepped off the ferry in Vineyard Haven one fine morning in 1985 ready to embark on a new chapter that would eventually carry me along for more than three decades.

I have a special place in my heart for small world stories, especially the ones that include me.

I had long forgotten the tingling feeling of cool, wet grass between my toes in summer.