Lately I’ve been watching a lot of All Creatures Great and Small. The PBS series, based on the beloved books by Dr. James Herriot, is in its fourth season and ranks high on my list of not-so-guilty pleasures. I tend to watch it horizontally, dog snoring on my chest, surrendering with a kind of idiotic gratitude to the spectacular landscapes, the kindly veterinarians, the furry friends and the good people with whom they abide. Herriot’s rural community is a place where no human is lonely for long, and no animal suffers from lack of thoughtful care. After the cold rain of the day’s news, All Creatures is a weighted blanket, a hot toddy and an Ambien all in one.

Now, in our own rural community, comes word that Animal Health Care Associates, one of the Vineyard’s primary veterinary practices, is in danger of losing its lease. Animal Health Care Associates’ founding doctor, Steven Atwood, has been operating his facility on property owned by the Martha’s Vineyard Airport for 40 years. In April, when his lease expires, the airport commission will conduct an open bidding process for the space, as mandated by law.

Over at the virtual pub that is Facebook’s Islanders Talk, news of the situation blew up fast:

“Dr. Atwood came to my house to put down my last dog… and the next day he sent a rose in her memory.”

“Best vet on the planet.”

“Are you so stupid to do this horrible thing to our Island?”

“…this just CANNOT HAPPEN!!!!”

My family, lucky to have Animal Health Care Associates in its corner, would agree. Dr. Atwood and his colleagues have, for decades, treated our pets for everything from coughs to cancer. And let’s not discount another crucial Dr. Atwood service: bestowing honorable mention ribbons on every weird mutt tethered to a child at the Ag Fair dog show. These are Herriot-style acts, and the doctors at Animal Health Care Associates perform them every day.

Recently, they’ve done so under tremendous stress. The shortage of vets is a nationwide crisis, caused by a variety of factors: a surge in pet adoptions during the pandemic, low wages, the lure of remote work, general burnout. Add to this stew the Vineyard’s unique housing woes, and you’ve got a particularly dire problem.

Dr. Kristen Sauter, owner of My Pet’s Vet, closed her doors last year. But she spent the previous eight looking, in vain, for another vet to take over her business. Last week, Dr. Constance Breese also announced her retirement. The Vineyard’s four remaining providers are now beyond overwhelmed; only two of them treat large livestock. Misty Meadows recently hosted a workshop on equine emergency first aid, so horse owners could take matters into their own hands. There is not a single Island veterinarian accepting new clients.

I think every animal owner will agree: the Vineyard cannot afford to lose another veterinary practice. But surely that’s stating the obvious. We also can’t afford to ignore a more systemic problem: the shifting ecosystem, and vanishing character, putting ever-increasing stress on the quality of all Islander’s lives. The agents of change are many. And, depending on your point of view, there’s plenty of blame to sling around. It’s too many cars, too much social media, too many wind turbines.

It’s not enough affordable housing, not enough septic regulations, not enough oversight of the short-term rental market. The Steamship Authority is a clown car. Obama sold us out with his 60th birthday party. And Beach Road Weekend was either the greatest gift to community since the Greeks invented the agora, or a four-year dumpster fire.

Still, beyond all this finger pointing lie some plain truths. The once proudly funky, fiercely low key, care-about-it-put-it-on-a-bumper-sticker Island is pretty much gone, extinct as the quirky heath hen. In its place is an internationally-famous tourist mecca boasting its own reality TV shows, luxe hotels and pondside mansions renting for as much as a million dollars a month.

Over the last couple decades, a staggering amount of wealth has washed up on our shores and, increasingly, it dictates to, as well as displaces, those who are not in possession of it. If I sound like an old lady shaking her cane from the porch, so be it. The Vineyard isn’t the Hamptons yet, but I’ll holler at anyone who passes that we might be heading that way.

Last summer, I sat down for a conversation with Geoff Freeman, the director of the Martha’s Vineyard Airport. I was on a kind of listening tour, trying to better understand some of the big picture issues facing the Island, to root out the causes and mull possible solutions. Polls by the Martha’s Vineyard Commission, and plenty of anecdotal evidence, indicate that most Island residents do not want more development or higher density. So, what to do about it? The global warming metaphor — frogs in boiling water — looped in my mind.

During my visit to his office, Mr. Freeman showed me some maps of the airport runways, explaining how their history and configuration limit air traffic. We discussed environmental impact, noise pollution and cars on the airport road. As for ridership — a historic 78,000 passengers in 2023 — Mr. Freeman avowed that the airport was “at capacity.” There was simply “no more desk space,” so no more flights. I didn’t circle back with him when, in October, American Airlines announced that it would soon be launching service to the Island.

But, for me, the most striking takeaway from our discussion was a mission-related one. In the portrait drawn by Mr. Freeman, the Martha’s Vineyard Airport is not run as a service for, or even particularly in the interest of, Island residents. It’s a public use airport, regulated by the FAA. And it’s a money-driven venture. Revenue is accrued through airline contracts, fuel sales and, most of all, business park leases. The seven airport commissioners who oversee the operation are appointed, not elected. And together with Mr. Freeman, they have broad authority over the 688-acre facility with a primary aim of making it not only solvent, but lucrative.

This is not an anti-corporate polemic. The airport plays a vital role in the Island’s economy, and that serves us all. But in the long shadow cast by mega-mansions, and freight trucks, and jet wings, I’m given to questions. What does the future of a community look like when the enterprises so intrinsic to its well-being are bent instead on the bottom line? How, in the absence of meaningful support, does the community compensate? And in the end, is there any amount of will, or reason, that can pull back the thrusters on an engine bound for change? I don’t know, but I think it’s worth a try.

In a recent episode of All Creatures Great and Small, one of the vets brings in a bookkeeper, hoping to tame the shop’s helter-skelter accounting practices. But when she banishes their pet rat, starts charging the locals a pre-treatment deposit and forbids James from performing free surgery on a poor man’s ferret, the clerk is sent packing.

“We put animals before profit,” James says, in his polite but firm farewell.

So, who wants to make the bumper sticker?

Alexandra Styron lives in Brooklyn and Vineyard Haven.