Each warm morning I walk down the hill at Owen Park in Vineyard Haven, being tugged by Floyd, my yellow lab who seems hellbent to get into the sea before someone pulls the plug. The other day as we turned the Main street corner into the park, we saw the women of the exercise boot camp slowly and eerily trudging backwards down the hill. They looked like a scene from Night of the Living Dead in rewind. Floyd was momentarily spooked. He then made a beeline for the safety of the water.

From time to time, whenever inspiration aligns with respiration, I will be contributing a column to this paper. It will cover some aspect of moving to and living on this Island, trekking toward retirement while reducing stress and making mole hills out of former mountains. Welcome to the Washashore Chronicles.

You need a lot of money to sell a house. And you need a little more than that if you’re selling two. That’s because it’s a privilege to live in Massachusetts, and you have to pay for that privilege.

From time to time, whenever inspiration aligns with respiration, I will be contributing a column to this paper. It will cover some aspect of moving to and living on this Island, trekking toward retirement while reducing stress and making mole hills out of former mountains. Welcome to the Washashore Chronicles.