In my car aboard the freight deck of the Governor, headed over choppy waves to Woods Hole one fall morning, I couldn’t help but notice the large windshield sticker on the car in front of me: VINEYARDERS. While I considered whether or not a true Islander would ever own such a sticker, the reality of my own Island status hit and humbled me.

Barbara Leham Smith


Oh, we loved those baby trees. Scraggly little things: bare-root tulip trees. One hundred and fifty of them. Let me repeat: One hundred and fifty of them. Only eighteen inches tall, they would eventually soar to eighty feet, with trunks too thick to close your arms around. And there were (did I mention this?) one hundred and fifty of them.

Nicole Galland


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.

Shirley Mayhew


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.

Kate Feiffer


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.

Kate Feiffer


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.

Betsy Campbell


On the Wednesday morning after Labor Day last year, I was in no hurry as I pedaled down Chappaquiddick’s main road toward the ferry. The piercing rays of the September sun dappled the pavement with patches of light and dark shadows that made it hard to see where I was going. The long stretches of shade were so dense that I felt I was disappearing when I rode into them. Up ahead in the sunlight, I saw a couple on bicycles coming my way. The woman called out to me: “Where does this road go?”

Margaret Knight


August 23, 0800 hours

Motored out to sailboat Morningstar in Tashmoo. Port-side amidships covered with cormorant crap. Spent fifteen minutes scrubbing deck and dodger. Never had trouble with cormorants here before. Hope this isn’t going to be a recurring problem.

August 26, 1700 hours

Geoff Currier