Block Island has for the vacationer what doesn't seem possible anymore - utter, complete, kicked-back relaxation. Those who cross the twelve miles from what islanders call "America," shed more than their neckties and high heels; they shed schedules and agendas. They find a place where they can drift through the days without pressure, without pretense - a place where getting dressed -up means getting out of a swimsuit and into shorts, where going to the post office is a big event.
Block Island is, first and most, about long, indolent days splashing, sunning and snoozing while toddlers build sand castles, children ride their boogie boards, and people of all ages brave the surf.
But Block Island is much more than its beaches. It is a conglomeration of rocks and soil stripped by a glacier from what is now southern New England and pushed out into the sea, a varied terrain of hills and freshwater ponds seven miles long and three miles wide, lashed by savage winter storms and cooled by gentle summer breezes.
This micro-climate has given it a unique community of flora and fauna, some flourishing, some rare, all precious. And Block Island is even more; it is a place where men and women have wrested a living from soil and sea for centuries. Originally occupied by the Manisses Indians, it was named after Dutch navigator Adrian Block, who stumbled across it in 1614, then settled by a party of English from the mainland in 1661. Their struggle to subsist is reflected in the community today - in the ancient stone walls, in the old cottages, farmsteads and mansard-roofed resorts, in the make-do traditions, the dependency on one another, the warm welcome to the visitor.