So is Vineyard Haven now the Taos of the East? I knew two years ago there was something very special about what lured us to permanent living in Vineyard Haven, but who knew it would be nationally noted?
Our Chamber of Commerce announced on April 3 that Vineyard Haven was named one of America’s best small town art places for 2013. In fact, it’s in the top 12.
More than a year ago when the Gazette asked me to write a column, I jumped at the opportunity. After all, this is a writer’s paper and I am what’s known as an ink-stained wretch. Back in the day, I worked for another paper that promoted and showcased good writing. It was the Boston Phoenix, which ceased publication on March 15 after 47 years of operation.
Somewhere in the first hour of every morning I burst into sobs. How long has it been now? A month? He was a presence. He was with us for 11 and a half years. Then he wasn’t. Our beloved yellow Lab has died. Our dear sweet Floyd is gone. Great pain took hold of him for at least 24 hours. Now it won’t let us go.
A few weeks ago I was making coffee when I heard what sounded like a stunned owl hoo-ing for help. Sounded as if he might be trapped behind a storm door or in a room on the other side of the house. As I got closer to a closed door, I realized the sound was emanating from my soulful wife, sitting in her office, chanting along with some psalm playing on her laptop, ear buds blocking out the world. Paula was practicing for the Island Community Chorus — her first time as a participant. Soon our house became a repository of the stuff that haunts the poems of Poe and the books of Oliver Sacks.
They came from all over the mainland and descended on us. What made this a first was that the Island was the setting. Over 30 years of Thanksgivings, including 25 with a house we had in Menemsha, family members had never joined us to celebrate here. This time, 10 of them decided to come — because we now live here. It was a day of easy access — our Vineyard Haven home is walking distance from the ferry terminal.
You’d think with all the technology taking over our lives we would understand more about our surroundings and stumble over them less. But since we are all looking down at some device most of the time, with earbuds keeping out all distracting sounds of humanity, it’s little wonder we don’t crash a tea party or fall down a rabbit hole every so often. I suppose an even bigger distraction now are cyber security threats that could compromise our way of living, zap the national electrical grid and empty our bank accounts.
The other morning I ambled down Main street into the town center of Vineyard Haven with my noble yellow lab Floyd. We stopped at his usual oasis, the generously filled water bowl outside The Green Room, and the lapping commenced. He usually doesn’t stop drinking until his bladder assumes the proportion of water associated with that of the Earth’s surface.
Martha’s Vineyard is a perfect place to start a life. Especially in the fall. A time for renewal. A time to re-tool. The next best thing to moving here is marrying here. The perfect place to start a life — together.
A generation ago, Angela Lansbury spent 264 television episodes as Jessica Fletcher, an Agatha Christie-style detective who solved murders for the most part right in her own backyard, the sleepy rural town of Cabot Cove, Me. Two observations occurred to me: why would anyone hang out with Jessica once you realize that wherever she is someone gets murdered? And what’s the matter with Cabot Cove, a little fishing village that has a violent crime wave commensurate with Chicago?
"Nature abhors a vacuum." Aristotle said that or something like that in the original ancient Greek, observing that nature requires every space to be filled with something, even if that something is colorless, odorless air or house guests.
The flip side of this observation is that empty spaces are unnatural as they go against the laws of nature and physics. So kindly fill your chairs, sofas and beds with people whose company is compatible. You don’t want the science police knocking on your door and inquiring about unfilled spaces.
