~ by John Chagnon
The Island That Kept Calling Me Back
The first time Star Island entered my life, it wasn’t through a glossy brochure or a travel blog—it was a simple bulletin board notice at a Unitarian Universalist church in Nashua, New Hampshire. My sister‑in‑law Louise saw a flyer for the Star Arts Conference, grabbed a couple of friends, and decided to give it a try. She came home glowing, and that one spontaneous decision quietly set off a chain reaction that would shape my entire family’s summers for decades.
What began as “just another conference” quickly became a beloved ritual, a spiritual home, and the backdrop for some of our most unforgettable family stories.
How One Trip Became a Family Tradition
Louise’s enthusiasm was contagious, and my brother Bo wanted his own Star Island adventure, so he chose the Natural History Conference the following year. That summer, they worked out a clever rhythm: Louise attended Star Arts, Bo went to the Natural History Conference, and alternating weeks meant someone was always home with the kids.
- Eventually they decided to try bringing the whole family to the All‑Star Family Conference, a week that quickly became legendary in our family lore.
- Getting in wasn’t always easy—some years the All‑Star Conference was over capacity—but one last‑minute cancellation opened the door that first year and changed everything.
That first All‑Star week had a core group of people who loved to laugh, perform, and play, and it set the tone for many summers to come.
The Talent Show, The Skit, and the Suitcase of Underwear
Bo did not arrive on Star Island intending to become part of the entertainment, but the All‑Star Conference had other plans. He was recruited for a talent show skit as an old man making flirtatious overtures to a woman on a bench, only to be walloped with a book at the punchline and fall over, to the delight of the audience.
The skit was a hit, and the conferees loved it, which only deepened our family’s connection to the conference and the community. Years later, one of Bo’s favorite memories was unpacking his son’s suitcase after a week on Star and discovering every single pair of underwear still neatly folded.
- His son had been so busy having fun that he never once thought to change them—and somehow, on Star Island, that felt perfectly understandable.
- It was a small, hilarious detail that perfectly captured just how absorbed kids become in the magic of the place.
From Conferee to Caretaker: A Conference Becomes a Calling
Bo didn’t just attend the Natural History Conference—he poured himself into it. Year after year, he took on new roles: overseeing Wednesday chapel services, coordinating evening and daytime activities, and eventually serving as conference chair.
- The Natural History Conference drew him in with its engaging science topics and a theme speaker who shared deep knowledge about the natural world.
- Over time, it became not just a vacation, but a meaningful way to contribute to a community he loved.
That same pull extended to the next generation. Bo and Louise’s daughter, Tryst, grew up coming to Star Island and ultimately became a “pelican,” the nickname for the young workers who keep the island running each summer.
- As a pelican, usually between ages 16 and 23, she worked long days and lived in close community, forging friendships that have lasted well beyond her summers on the island.
- She has continued returning as a conferee, attending conferences like International Affairs and Religious Educators, deepening her own lifelong relationship with the island.
The Moment I Knew: “This Place Is Part of Me Now”
For years, Bo regaled me with stories of Star Island, the Natural History Conference, and this almost mythical community out on the water. Eventually, he pestered me enough that I finally signed up for the Natural History Conference one summer, just to see what the fuss was about.
By the end of the second day, I knew: this wasn’t just a nice getaway. This was a place I needed in my life forever.
- The people were incredibly welcoming, and conversations flowed easily with folks I might never have met in my everyday life.
- Being on an island with no shopping, no cars, no television, and no constant phone distractions meant that conversations—and connections—could actually breathe.
Porch rocking chairs became a kind of informal gathering space, perfect for doing absolutely nothing and somehow feeling that was exactly what was needed. Evening chapels, lit by candlelight, wrapped the day in soulful words and quiet reflection, while social hour before dinner offered a chance to recap the day’s adventures over a drink.
For years, starting in 1987, I kept coming back to the Natural History Conference, until family responsibilities pulled me away for a while. Now that my children are older, I’ve returned, and the feeling is the same: the island is my spirit’s home, made sacred by the people who gather there.
When the Island Shapes the Future
Star Island’s influence didn’t stop at my generation. Like Bo’s daughter, my own daughter attended an All‑Star Conference or two and loved it enough to become a pelican when she was old enough. She spent five summers working on the island, surrounded 24/7 by natural beauty and a tight‑knit crew of fellow workers.
- The shared experience of living, working, and playing in such an intense, immersive environment forged some of her closest adult relationships.
- Today, she is partnered with someone she met as a fellow pelican—a relationship that traces directly back to that decision to work on Star Island.
All of it—the conferences, the friendships, the family traditions, even my daughter’s relationship—can be traced back to Louise spotting that church bulletin and Bo relentlessly nudging me to come.
So here is the honest truth: Star Island has been timeless for my family. It is not just a destination on a map, but a place where stories, relationships, and lives quietly bend in new directions. Thank you, Bo. And thank you, Star Island, for refusing to be just another summer.
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