The lamb had been tethered in our yard for days in advance of Candice’s visit, peacefully keeping our grass down. A southerly breeze carried the fragrance of lanolin across the yard that drove my brother’s dog mad. Candice was a new friend about to graduate from college in Brooklyn, and the lamb would play an important role in her graduate thesis.
Chris Fischer
2013
2012
December 20, 2012
In his essay, Movable Feast, Henry Beetle Hough writes: “People talk of the good old days on the Vineyard — the nineties, when croquet and bicycles were fun . . . Someone was young then, and for him who was young it was the golden age.” Mr. Hough, the late editor of the Gazette, is speaking of the 1890s, and though the 1990s were a time when I was young and bike riding was fun, croquet has never been fun no matter how hard I try to give it a chance.
December 13, 2012
I realized something after it was decided I would write about parsnips this week. I began my usual writing process which includes going to the library and taking out three books that have nothing to do with my subject. Lately they have been books about New England spanning the time from when the New World explorers began to land here, around 1600, to books critiquing private schools written in 1910. I had forgotten how many times people failed to settle here before they succeeded.
November 29, 2012
Mom and Dad:
It has been a long time since I swam over to the Island, leaving you guys in the past. I meant to write to you sooner, but I’m a deer, so it’s been tough for me to find the time or the means to get a message to you. I met a Canada goose last fall who promised to pass along this message in his travels, but I never saw him again and am not sure he ever found you. I hope you are all right. I know food was getting scarce on the mainland and those coyotes were making themselves very comfortable in your parts. I hope you have remained strong and healthy.
November 15, 2012
When pulling carrots out of the ground these days, I am overwhelmed by their smell. I grab as many green tops as I can and yank them out of the ground, revealing many brilliant, orange magic-marker sized carrots caked with dark brown soil. The handling of the tops gives me the first tease of freshness, while the disturbance of the roots once out of the ground lures me in further, making a clean and muddy combination of aromas. Carrots pulled late in the season are masculine and tender.
November 1, 2012
During the summer I sell produce grown at Beetlebung Farm every Saturday morning at the West Tisbury Farmers’ Market. I don’t find it necessary to have any signage identifying our farm other than an old chalkboard with our name across the top that leans toward the front of our produce display. We use the chalkboard to advertise what we think is best that day, push products that are selling slower than others, or to express ourselves with a rotation of messages both clever and useful.
