12.01.08

After winter walks in and constricts your style of living, simply existing inside of your own heartbeat can seem like the hardest task given to human beings. Winters on the Island can be heavy, a weight that summer life makes you forget – only for that surprisingly familiar chill to creep back in when fall comes.

By Ben Williams

12.01.08

A rush of cold January air blows into the dining room of a Vineyard Haven home, and the front door slams shut. Taylor Collins walks in, immediately peeling off layers of winter clothes as he sets his heavy, silver briefcase on the table. The people seated around the wooden table watch casually as Taylor flicks open the case and starts removing the contents: a set of pristinely kept cards and poker chips, the most impressive one being a large, round dealer chip.

By Heather Curtis

11.01.08

The first time I ever came to the Island of Martha’s Vineyard, I had never heard of it, and nobody I knew had ever heard of it. That was sixty-plus years ago, in 1946. Today, it is surprising to meet anyone in the world who has never heard of it.

By Shirley Mayhew

11.01.08

Agreeing to disagree

By Kate Feiffer

11.01.08

Sofa bed. The country-themed print with barely discernible stains has just enough wear and tear to give this sofa bed a comfortable, homey feel. The former owners supplemented the couch with a piece of plywood for extra support and are passing along the plywood for your convenience.

By Kate Feiffer

11.01.08

Legend has it that in 1816 Henry Hall of Barnstable County cleared the brush from around some native cranberry plants, and as a result, sand from a nearby dune blew onto the plot. Henry was surprised to find that instead of the cranberries being destroyed, they actually flourished and produced a wonderful crop. And so was born the modern cultivated cranberry bog.

By Geoff Currier

11.01.08

If you’ve gotten the call, you know how it feels. I had never gotten one before, so I didn’t know how I’d react. Actually, I had never even thought about how I’d respond. When the phone rang on a cold, dreary, winter morning, I wasn’t expecting the call to be from the Martha’s Vineyard Steamship Authority. I assumed it would be from the furnace guy who was supposed to have been in my basement cleaning my furnace forty-five minutes ago.

By Kate Feiffer

10.01.08

The young think they will never be old. Gradually, they realize that they will age and even die, but not yet. At fifty, you’re just hitting your stride. Sixty is still pretty young. I thought I would never be seventy, but now I feel lucky to have made it so far. Even so, I don’t feel like an old woman except for the moments when I see my mother in the mirror or when a person offers me a seat on the T (or when nobody gives me a seat and I wish someone would) or when I get the senior discount without asking for it.

By Betsy Campbell

Pages