Linda Wilson
The notice in the Gazette Calendar said “Menu will be a surprise.”
In the late 1830s, agriculture commissioner Henry Coleman decided to offer a bounty for growing wheat to the farmers of the commonwealth.
The gray-shingled shack that sits in front of the
Edgartown Yacht Club in the harbor goes unnoticed by most visitors to the Vineyard, but during the Martha’s Vineyard Striped Bass and Bluefish Derby it comes to life for four short weeks when fishermen bring their fish in for the morning and evening weigh-ins. Twice each day they come to the derby headquarters and get their fish recorded in the official database.
Annie and I spent a lot of time at the beach through the years. I stayed at the tide line. She took off for the dune grass looking for small mammals. There were plenty. If she caught a scent of something underground, she would crouch, her big plume of a tail wagging furiously, and leap straight up into the air like an Arctic fox. She was a border collie mix, big at 55 pounds, and the thrill of the chase was what engaged her.
One day at the beach I saw her in the distance trotting toward me and there was something in her mouth.
It is now safe to speak openly about beach plums. Here on the Vineyard they are almost all gone, picked by the fanatics or eaten by the birds. Yet on a recent Sunday morning I managed to cadge a perfect six cups worth in a heretofore-unknown-to-me location. They have been cooked down and are currently dripping through the jelly bag (to ensure clear jelly I must not squeeze the bag).