About four or five years ago, my son and I were leaving the neighborhood to turn on Orange Beach Boulevard in Orange Beach.

Scads of cars were streaming from Canal Road heading to the beach in the same direction we intended to go.

We had recently bought a home with the intent of retiring here one day and were on a weekend visit ourselves.

The son is easily frustrated and looked at the never-ending line of traffic and said:

“Why don’t all these people just go home,” he whined.

A more classic example of the old saying, “be careful what you wish for,” would be hard to find.

This island has been eerily quiet this summer and it is more than sad. It has been downright scary.

Luckily, this weekend brought out a glimmer of a hope with a crowded, sun-burned weekend full of visitors. I was quite tickled to see it.

Early Saturday was my first hint something good was afoot for the holiday. I needed sugar to finish making barbecue sauce for Saturday night football fare and the Winn Dixie on Perdido Beach Boulevard was jammed.

People were buying floats and swimming noodles and milk and hats and various and sundry items to enjoy a weekend at the beach. I had three items and was in line 15 minutes.

Just about any other time, that would bring on the pained look of impatience and lots of sighing. I’m not impatient, I just hate to wait. Saturday, I did it with a smile on my face.

Another pleasant site, one I hadn’t seen all summer, was a line of empty boat trailers still attached to vehicles and parked all alongside Orange Beach Boulevard near the big blue, Orange Beach water tower. Cotton Bayou is a popular launch sight when the water is open.

At Happy Harbor on Saturday night, not a parking space was to be found as customers flocked in to watch football and enjoy the heavy metal sounds of Fallen Amber.

Sunday, we had to search for a parking spot at our favorite beach access area at Cotton Bayou, a task I used to consider a nuisance. Again, I was happy to see all the cars.

On Sunday night, we had to go to four different restaurants before finding one with a wait we were willing to wait through. And we had to go a smidgen into Florida to find it.

And Monday, after spending a lot of the day in Foley at the newspaper office, I was really tickled to be heading lazily south on Alabama 59 instead sitting in the long lines inching north as I used to do when I was a visitor.

I’m sure it’s just a small drop in the bucket, but it sure felt good to have folks around again.

A crowded island is a happy island.