On the Thursday before New Year’s Eve giant sword maker Michael Craughwell spoke at the West Tisbury Library before an audience of more than 40 peo

If you look up libraries on Wikipedia, you’ll learn that a golden age arose from 1600 to 1700 when cities all over the world had to erect a big, baroque building for books. If there’s ever been a new claim for a golden age, it’s right here, right now, involving our Island libraries, all of them, where circulation is up as never before (25 per cent at the Edgartown library alone), and community participation is off the charts.

Many Vineyarders have been treated to the sight: You’re driving north along Old County Road and up ahead you spot a shiny yellow, banana-shaped metal pod — looks a bit like a small rocket ship that failed to achieve liftoff — trundling along at 35 miles an hour. A head clad in a bicycle helmet pokes out of the top. Will you pass him? Well, he’s doing the posted speed limit and, what’s that up ahead? It’s another yellow bomber! At the straightaway past Old Stage Road the encapsulated riders zoom ahead.

The authorship of all of William Shakespeare’s plays has been attributed elsewhere, to Christopher Marlowe, to the Earl of Oxford, to Queen Elizabeth’s favorite lady-in-waiting (well, that one’s a bit of a stretch). Yet even the Bard himself might have preferred his name stricken from Pericles, Prince of Tyre. In fact, modern editors maintain he wrote only the second half — or less — of the drama, the first portion almost certainly penned by second-rate dramatist and tavern buddy George Wilkins.

In the nearly two decades since I’ve been writing about Island ghosts there are a few I’ve kept mum about. I did this for two reasons. The accounts were so scary they seemed implausible, and I also didn’t want to implicate people and properties. Even if I used pseudonyms and pseudo directions, these ghosts guaranteed that their hosts could never sell their homes or even invite anyone over for coffee.