As opposed to a throwback to a bygone era – of neatly trimmed lawns with lines of clean, white sheets billowing in the wind like flags of the American dream, and of A Streetcar Named Desire separation of the classes with undershirts, bras, and tired nightgowns strung from urban balconies – perhaps if we renamed it a solar-drying device, the clothesline would seem more contemporary for today’s green movement. Either way, its time has come around again. The clothesline is back.

Linda Black

Brookside Farm is one of those Island spots at which the tour busses slow down so passengers can admire its rural charms. With its pair of oxen grazing in a lush field surrounded by stone walls, its blossoming fruit trees, and its hillsides sloping down to a serene pond along the Tiasquam River, it is the embodiment of up-Island Vineyard beauty.

Peggy Schwier

Tucked away near the Lobster Hatchery in Oak Bluffs is a home that was, sixty years ago, the only one for acres around. Kerry Alley’s grandfather owned it – a campsite with a basic house, a crude toilet, and a water pump. Kerry Alley and Pat Hurley graduated one year apart from the Oak Bluffs High School, he in 1955 and she in 1956, each in a class of about twenty students. Though the couple, now married for forty-seven years, weren’t sweethearts then.

Elaine Pace

At the end of a West Tisbury dirt lane, on the edge of a silver-gold pond, grows Nina’s Garden. It has been there nearly three decades now, designed by an artist whose three-dimensional work was never finished, because each day when she rose and looked at it, she would see a new shape or color that it needed. But to the hundreds of viewers who have traveled to the end of the road to admire it, Nina’s Garden is a complete masterwork. It soothes. It inspires.

Phyllis Meras

A hand-painted wood box with the words “Holly Lane” serves as an invitation not only to the road off Old County Road in West Tisbury, but to learn the story of Janice Haynes and Jeremiah Brown, who live in the house on that corner. The creative couple fashioned the street sign using recycled materials, which is emblematic of the inventive style that marks their home and yard.

Elaine Pace

When I first saw the Chappaquiddick land that would become my home one day, it was covered with low brush and scrub oak. Along one side of the acre and a half was an overgrown peat bog. Up a rise from the bog was a small clearing with a few white and red oaks growing around its perimeter. Beyond the clearing, down a hill, was a grassy valley with four gnarled apple trees. I thought: I’ll put my house there in the clearing on the rise facing the bog, with the oaks on three sides and the apple trees behind.

Margaret Knight

Michael Faraca is New England born and bred, but his work life is all Olde England.

On this rainy mid-winter day, as he sits sipping hot sweet tea, looking proprietarily across a manicured garden of the North Water Street home that he has tended through three owners, he muses on his past twenty-five years of employment.

“In the classic old English tradition,” he says, “the gardener comes with the house.”

Mike Seccombe

I bought my house in February some years back, and as I drove away with the real estate agent after the first visit, I noted what looked like sticks growing out of the ground – bare branches of small trees planted in no particular order in the middle of the lawn. The acre of land that was to be mine, surrounded by winter and woods, looked hapless against the blustery, gray sky.

HJ Bernstein

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