07.01.08

On an Island full of coincidences and interesting interplay, brothers Wesley and Garrett Brown are a prime example of both. Raised in a Methodist clergy family, the preacher’s kids have each traveled separate circuitous routes to end up doing what may seem like the same thing: playing the organ at either end of Kennebec Avenue in Oak Bluffs each summer.

By Mary-Jean Miner

07.01.08

We’ve had house guests leave everything from a bottle of wine to a box of designer chocolates to a card as a thank-you. I’ve been fine with all of these.

By Kate Feiffer

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

The hippie invasion on the Vineyard in the sixties and seventies not only affected the culture of that day, but continues to influence the Island.

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

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