It's quiet.
Even serene.
There are not many people across the small island. Mostly two-lane roads that wind between farms and past quaint houses and darling churches.
Roads that wander through fields of harvested hay and calm inland lakes and little harbors with their lobster boats to little towns so small it's a wonder they have a name.
Roads that lead pastures with horses and paddocks with sheep to sandy beaches and red cliffs and lighthouses.
Charming.
Tranquil.
Even the people:
The little man at the lobster bar and cafe who told us with delight about the bottle buildings and seaweed pie on the west side of the island and singing sands on the east.
The older gentleman who stopped to ask us where we were from and tell us how he loves living on the quiet island.
The girl with the darling lilt in her voice -- almost Scottish -- who brought us warm bread pudding and chocolate zucchini cake drowned in brown-sugar sauce.
The tired waitress who offered us a discount when we couldn't finish our seafood fettucini.
The woman in the national park concession who wanted to know where we were from and tell about the people who came yesterday.
The men on the dock who were scooping mackerel for their lobster traps and offered us some of their catch.
The lady at the lighthouse who told us about when the strait would freeze over.
There is beauty in the land and in its people.
It inspired L.M. Montgomery. It inspired us.
Prince Edward Island.
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