Opinion
The Vineyard is too beautiful for its own good, at least when it comes to climate change. It’s hard to look past the shimmering goldenrod and deep autumn ocean to see growing cracks in the Island’s foundation.
The soil, trees and plants — the powerful roots of wispy beach grass — keep this Island afloat. The land and sea provide food and shelter. Clean air and water sustain our human health. The beaches and parks, forests and farms, vast water views and bold hydrangeas are the fuel that fire the local economy. This is our foundation.
From an “Interesting Vineyarders” column:
Capt. Edward A. Perry of Oak Bluffs, a descendant of Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry, is one of the survivors of the era of wooden ships
Edgartown
Like each sea captain’s home must be surrounded
by the white picket fence of a whale’s jaw full of teeth
over which morning glory vines grow like scrimshaw.
Like the White Cliffs of Dover must be rebuilt to welcome ships,
where houses stand like blocks of marble on Main Street,
and the glass fan window is a pale British Sunrise of sorts.
Public Art for Public Education
In her classic essay, Street Haunting, Virginia Woolf searches the streets of London for the perfect lead pencil. It is dusk, the season approaching winter, and the lead pencil merely a pretext. She wants to be out and about discovering the charms, both high and low, of not just her city but also her uncharted self. Anything, really, could serve as a magnet to draw her forth from the humdrum metronome of her own familiarity.
The Commission’s Second Chance
Public opinion is humming again over the roundabout following the surprise announcement last week by longtime Martha’s Vineyard Commission member Leonard Jason Jr. that he will ask the commission to rescind its vote on the controversial project.
With apologies to Ratty of Wind in the Willows, for many Islanders, autumn is the best season to mess about in boats. September and October, and even November bring excellent sailing weather.
On top of that, the harbors are not congested. In autumn, the busy, noisy harbors of summer turn into quiet fields of floating buoys, drifting seagulls and an occasional fish breaking the surface.