The trouble with sharing weekly column duties (beside the obvious issues of ego) is that one can’t depend on one’s colleague not to hog all the good stories. What more can be said about the closing of the breach or the ferry that hasn’t already been written by Peter? Not much. And without those two topics, I’m left with what follows:

My column two weeks back was of course the annual April Fools’ Day edition. My friend Jed sent me an email claiming that he knew that I must have been making stuff up when he read that part about how we already had hosts signed up for the remaining four potlucks of the season.

Looking out at the sea, particularly at night, I get a distinct sense that there is something so much greater than I.

When people think outside the box, solutions to problems that at first appear to be unsolvable may come from the most unlikely source.

For those who can’t fathom a winter on Chappy, especially this winter, I say “you get used to it.” If this were a day in late September, temps hovering around freezing, I’d be bundled in layers of sweaters.

Spring is upon us. Lily Walter of Slip Away Farm tells me that they still have a few memberships available in their CSA program. To sign up, call the farmhouse at 508-627-7465 or visit slipawayfarm.com.

Each winter I try to cross a couple of items off my to-do list, while I have a bit more free time. This winter I put a sump pump in the basement and had a son.

Why would beings consisting of 65 per cent water live where water freezes? Every winter at about this time I start wondering about us.

You are in luck if you like snow! Our supply gets replenished every few days and is not threatened with melting anytime soon. The glittering of the frozen crystals in the sunlight is very pleasing to me.

I hope that my boy-to-be has the good sense to have grabbed some good Woodger procrastination DNA, and puts off his debut until the weather turns a bit. I'm not sure which is the more daunting thought: dragging my pregnant wife on a sled to the Chappy ferry or delivering the little fella myself.