The ferry crossing takes about 45 seconds. Mary Walsh clutches her husband Brian’s hand, the Thermos® with Jordan’s ashes cradled in her elbow. Seven-year-old Kaitlin has an oversized swirl pop in her mouth and a withdrawn melancholy in her eyes, the result of two years of pediatrics ward visits and extended stays with neighbors. All that’s over now.

It’s a Wednesday in March; a school day; the morning's first boat. That was the plan. Only a handful of passengers have made the crossing on the Becky Thatcher. Kids scamper from the dock to check out the island; their parents waddle after. Mary pauses midway across the pontoon bridge and gazes out across the River of America.

“Jordan was totally psyched about coming here in July with the Make a Wish people,” she tells me, dabbing a tear with her thumb. “He just couldn’t hold on that long. ...Now he can stay as long as he wants.”

By July the island will have reopened, refashioned as a pirate lair - another part of the park – of our childhoods – sacrificed to the godhead of ancillary rights. But it was the low-tech, way-old-school charm of this island that made it one of Jordan’s favorites. Indeed, Mary tells me that on angelstoosoon.net, it ranks as one of the most popular attractions. The site has bulletin boards, chat rooms and helpful tips, including the post-9/11 logistics of using innocuous looking food containers to get by park security.

But, really, what better place for this somber errand? The natural, if contrived, environment actually incorporates dirt. And, sure, through the years, ashes have been scattered onto the faux Congo, poured into Orange County’s Caribbean or even jettisoned into the vastness of space, but here amid the caves and tree houses and hideouts, the escape isn’t geographic, it’s temporal. This Island is where time stops, where boys will be boys... forever.

A curious home-schooler pops his head in as the Walshes huddle in a corner of the cave. They pause in their private, improvised ritual and look up from their tiny mound, claiming this land, at least for the moment, in the name of their grief. The boy backs out again. The family crouches in silence for a few more moments, then Mary refastens the screw top of the Thermos® and the Walshes rise and head back to the boat landing.

Kaitlin wants to ride the teacups and the carousel. But Jordan’s staying behind. They can shlock the island up with movie tie-ins, but for generations of boys who explored here, pretended here, it will always be pure. And from this day on, Jordan Walsh will be a part of the timeless spirit... a part of the adventure... a part of the magic.