There’s a decided air of neglect about the Martha’s Vineyard Airport that has nothing to do with the Island’s casual vibe.
Good fences make good neighbors, the old adage goes, but surely flowers along fence lines are among the prettiest sights.
Two years ago I wrote a Gazette column about the boxes in my basement — or to be more precise (and pathetic), the boxes in our basements.
Every year I say the same thing to my husband, “I’d love to take a vacation . . . on Martha’s Vineyard.”
I’ve got last day blues. They are as blue as the waves crashing on Squibnocket when I flash my beach pass for the last time.
I was dreaming away on our back deck in Menemsha when the first drops arched over the railing.
As anyone knows, the population of skunks is a continuing noxious menace.
All the discussion about Tashmoo eelgrass, all the meetings and formation of an eelgrass committee, was a waste of time.
Is it perhaps time to modify the mission of the Martha’s Vineyard Land Bank?
From the May 12, 1967 edition of the Vineyard Gazette:
After all the excitement of the past several weeks with the Menemsha post office, here one minute and gone the next, and then back for the summer only, then possibly back for all year, it seemed advisable to take a trip to the other side of the Island to find out how the Menemsha postmaster, William C. Seward, was surviving.
