People say Bermudaful here, as if it’s a real word. “Have a Bermudaful day,” someone will say, although in all fairness it’s most often the radio deejay or a hotel concierge. I haven’t started saying it yet, but I’d sure have good reason to use the term. Bermuda is one of the prettiest little islands I’ve ever had the pleasure to call home. Undoubtedly during any island travel—and certainly any throughout the lower Caribbean—you’re bound to find pockets of poverty, buildings that need a paint job, potholes. But there’s none of that here. It’s all so, Bermudaful. Take a walk through town and you’ll be wished a pleasant good morning at every turn. Storefronts and homes all have candy-colored coats of paint and just-paved roads are lined with verdant trees, bushes, and plants of all kinds. There are 188 islands here, all surrounded by Bermuda’s famed pink sand beaches. I’m shocked that even in the heat of early June, so many of them go empty. Our home is a five-minute walk from idyllic Church Bay, a crescent sliver of sand with craggy rock formations and some of the best snorkeling on the south shore. I’d have it all to myself if I went right now. It’s what makes this place so intriguing, so different, so Bermudaful. We listen to tree frogs at night and songbirds in the morning. From my new home office, I see palm trees through my windows and the Great South Bay from my desk. Hibiscus plants fill our garden and gentle coastal breezes fill our house. The sailors who shipwrecked on the Sea Venture in 1609 never wanted to leave and I’m quickly understanding why: It’s a nice place to call home.
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