Idyll Chatter
From Gazette editions of December, 1935:
Agitation for the changing of the name of Lake Anthony to Oak Bluffs harbor has taken the form of a petition which is being circulated in that town. Arguments for the change are based on the fact that the government charts designate the town harbor by the name of “lake,” and that strangers consulting the charts may be misled. Extensive improvements to the harbor, including the addition of large docking facilities and dredging, will make this harbor one of the finest of its size on the coast.
At the present time, the charts carry the name of Lake Anthony, as it has been since the lake was named for members of the Anthony family of New Bedford, summer residents in the early Cottage City days. But the charts also show the entrance from the sea, the jetties and the lights, and also give the depth of water inside and out so that yachtsmen seeking a harbor could hardly go wrong because of the name.
Although the day of the sailing ship has passed, and few sailors go down to the sea in ships from the Vineyard, nevertheless the supply of strange tales from the deep continues, and the latest is the one of amphibious rabbits. Do rabbits swim? And will they take to the water in large numbers? The bold, sea-tanned fishermen who frequent Noman’s Land and the waters adjacent, reply, “You’re darn tootin’ they can, do and have done so!”
According to the testimony of no less than seven boats’ crews, the chinchilla rabbits inhabiting the island of Noman’s Land have taken to the sea, swimming into the channel in the direction of Squibnocket, hundreds strong. Capt. George Fisher of the ship Driftwood, outward bound in search of yellowtails and blackbacks, was steaming through the channel just off the Old Man Ledge, when he observed boats ahead circling curiously. Arriving at the scene he was greeted with a volley of questions as to what had happened to the rabbits, and who was supposed to be nursemaid to a flock of frenzied, lop-eared critters.
Capt. Fisher beheld the decks of the fishermen aswarm with rabbits, busily engaged in combing out their wet and bedraggled fur and performing other duties essential to the toilet of the fastidious chinchilla bunny. As he lay hove-to, first one and then another fisherman swung a dip-net, picking up one to four more rabbits at a scoop and dumping them on the deck to swell the assembly. The irate fishermen called down curses on the rabbits and then headed for some place to liberate them. “We won’t put into Noman’s. The critters want to get away from there.”
No one knows where the sea-faring bunnies found sanctuary at last. Likewise no one knows what started their stampede into the sea or to the Vineyard if that is where they were headed, as seemed to be the case. They are large, husky and healthy and have lived for years in apparent comfort and contentedness on Noman’s, hunted but little and preyed upon by few.
But it is being noised about Oak Bluffs that Al Leonard’s plans for a rabbit hunt had leaked out. “The rabbits are not foolish,” townsfolk say, “and if word reached them of Al’s plan, of course they would stampede!” And Capt. George Fisher agrees that this is probably true, for he says that all the rabbits he saw continually glanced fearsomely in the direction of Oak Bluffs.
Projects for starfish control are due to start in all Island towns except West Tisbury according to the state biologist of marine fisheries. Federal funds to be spent on the Vineyard would be $10,309.50 and state and town aid would add $3,128 more. The work will employ 104 men and 36 boats for about two and a half months. Information is also to be collected with reference to the movement of fish and the amount of catch as compared with other years. The peculiar movement of the lobsters which struck on the coast unusually late in the season was noted.
No one ever wants a hard winter, and when weather signals are set for snow it is only the children who are happy in expectation. But when the snow falls, there is something about its universal white diligence which both challenges and invites; for snow will always be close to the heart of New England winter, and New England winter is a brave thing.
Yesterday the snow came sifting down, quite without fury, and the changes it accomplished in a brief time were amazing. Most Islanders arose when the ground was still as it had been a day earlier; then the snowflakes appeared, a few significant handfuls in the air, and then the whole atmosphere was suffused with gently slanting snow. A brief hour more, and snow was everywhere supreme, covering walks and streets, sweeping in powdery gusts from roofs, and taking charge of cars parked by the curb.
In cities it is different, but in the country every falling snow has a period during which it is an idyll.
Compiled by Cynthia Meisner
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