07.01.08

Scully didn’t like to chase cars. He preferred to get out front and lead them like a dog-track hare, ears pinned back, jowls flapping, legs pumping like pistons in an old flathead Ford. He was a big dog but he could motor.

By Geoff Currier

07.01.08

I don’t remember my first time on a boat; it seems as if it’s been forever. I also don’t recall learning to sail; it seems so natural to roll with the waves. I never consciously think about boats being beautiful; I just know it.

By Louisa Gould

05.01.08

I do not ask for much in life (and friends of mine say that sometimes it shows), but this springtime I do ask why the Vineyard staged Jaws Fest, the all-Island hullabaloo over the thirtieth anniversary of the release of Jaws three summers ago, but – at press time anyway – shows no sign whatsoever that it’s going to hold a Jaws 2 Fest to honor the 1978 release of the first of the three sequels to follow it.

By Tom Dunlop

05.01.08

In early July 1967, in a little cottage across the street from the cemetery in Vineyard Haven, a still teenaged Janet Messineo and her then-husband Butch Lesko were looking through the latest issue of Time magazine. The cover story was “The Hippies: The Philosophy of a Subculture.” The article described the guidelines of the so-called hippie code: “Do your own thing, wherever you have to do it and whenever you want. Drop out. Leave society as you have known it. Leave it utterly. Blow the mind of every straight person you can reach.

By Richard C. Skidmore

05.01.08

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who has the greenest lawn of them all? The grass is greener in front of everyone else’s house. This isn’t some woe-is-me sentiment. It’s pretty much true. Our grass isn’t green. Well, it starts the season with a greenish hue, but the color generally bleeds out by mid-summer. The brittle, sun-stroked, dandelion-infused grass that poses as our front lawn might not look particularly green, but in fact, it’s actually the “greenest” of all. Or so I’ve convinced myself.

By Kate Feiffer

05.01.08

“I want to be an old Vineyard salt,” says the wisp of a woman whose drive is inversely proportional to her height. Her long curly hair, her broad smile, and her petite figure don’t fool those who know her. This woman is a dynamo. “Martha’s Vineyard is beautiful, stunning,” she says, “but I wouldn’t come here to wait on tables, no matter how beautiful it is. I need a mission.”

By Elaine Pace

05.01.08

One June day I arrived home to find a surprising message on my answering machine: “Hi, this is Luanne. I’m in Aquinnah and I have an orphan baby here. I’m looking for a sitter. It would mean giving him a bottle and loving him up. He’s pretty darn cute!” It was Luanne Johnson, Island skunk whisperer, who has been researching skunk habits and habitats since 2004.

By Margaret Knight

05.01.08

I do not ask for much in life (and friends of mine say that sometimes it shows), but this springtime I do ask why the Vineyard staged Jaws Fest, the all-Island hullabaloo over the thirtieth anniversary of the release of Jaws three summers ago, but – at press time anyway – shows no sign whatsoever that it’s going to hold a Jaws 2 Fest to honor the 1978 release of the first of the three sequels to follow it.

By Tom Dunlop

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