There’s a ferry that runs out of Point Judith on the Rhode Island coast. Ride it an hour southeast on a clear morning, salt air coming off the bow, and you’ll arrive at a place that seems to have quietly opted out of the twenty-first century — not ungraciously, but meaningfully.
Block Island, officially the town of New Shoreham, sits twelve miles offshore in the Atlantic. It winters down to roughly a thousand souls and swells every summer into something considerably livelier. Shaped loosely like a pork chop, it runs about three miles wide and seven miles long, and nearly every inch of it earns your attention.
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