It was an offer Bob Tankard couldn’t refuse. With the Island bowling-deprived since the 1990s and the new Barn Bowl and Bistro set to open its doors in Oak Bluffs, pent up kegler energy was rising to potentially dangerous levels. Fortunately, one of the owners of the new bowling venue knew the job of channeling kingpin karma would be, dare we say, right up Tankard’s alley and he appointed him the first Bowling Commissioner of Martha’s Vineyard.

Geoff Currier

For years I’ve been going to the dump and dutifully separating my recyclables, and then every once in a while someone will say to me: You know, they just throw all that stuff into one big truck and haul it away – what’s the point?

Geoff Currier

If the Amish played more tennis, I feel quite certain that this is the way they would go about winterizing their courts.

Geoff Currier

Homeowners go solar on the Vineyard to save the planet and to save money. For Llewellyn Rogers, the priority was reducing his electric bill. In less than four months he saved more thna $1,000 on electricity costs.

Olivia Hull

I once had a friend who lived in an old farmhouse that had a five-foot blue racer snake living inside the walls. I asked him why he didn’t have it removed and he tersely replied: No mice.

Geoff Currier

Lately food trucks are all the rage but they’re hardly a new idea. Cowboys driving cattle in the 1800s had what were probably the first food trucks – they called them chuck wagons. In the 1890s lunch wagons did a good business catering to late-night workers. And of course mobile food trucks have been around for years, serving up food at construction sites.

Geoff Currier

Alex Friedman was getting antsy. Tuna season had opened the day before and he hadn’t gone out because it looked like there would be foul weather offshore. But now, as we sat in Oak Bluffs harbor onboard his thirty-five-foot H&H Downcast F/V, Dazed & Confused, the VHF radio was blurting out conversations between captains and aerial fish spotters who had gone out and apparently they were getting some action.

Geoff Currier

Three or four times a year, an excavator crawls out to the barrier beaches between some of our great ponds and the open ocean and makes incisions in the sand that open up floodgates. This is a diesel-powered version of a ritual that goes back to ancient times.

“We learned to breach ponds from the Native Americans,” explains Paul Bagnall, Edgartown shellfish constable. “Back in the old days they would do it by hand or they would use a sand scoop, which is sort of like a half of a bulldozer blade, pulled by an ox.”

Geoff Currier

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