My first winter on the Island, more winters ago than seem possible, my now-husband and I rented a small upside-down guest house in Katama. This was back when off-season rentals were easier to come by. Even so, it was a lucky find. Every day a little past 4 p.m. the sun set outside our windows over the fields of The FARM Institute. Beyond the back door, a wooded path led to a rocky harbor beach.

The home was owned by William (Marks) Waterway, a thoroughgoing hippie and environmental activist who, after crossing the country on horseback, washed ashore in 1978 and never left. In 1985, he founded this magazine.

I had come to the Vineyard after leaving my job as managing editor of the Boston Phoenix. And so that my Islander husband, who I had cajoled into city life, could enjoy one last Vineyard lag before we headed out in search of concrete pastures. Come May, when the lease ended, we intended to leave.

Over the next five months, I stared at golden fallow fields, walked empty beaches, and wondered what more I was seeking. Like so many others, I planted roots and never looked back. I accepted a job as news editor of the Vineyard Gazette. Two years later, I moved my belongings down the hall to join the staff of Martha’s Vineyard magazine, which the Gazette had purchased in 1990.

It’s one of those quirky Vineyard coincidences that I would one day become the editor of the publication that my former landlord founded. And yet I’ve come to realize that, on this Island, coincidence is often connection disguised. Eight individuals have occupied the role of editor before me, five of whom I have had the privilege to know. All have shaped this magazine and helped me in ways great and small.

Of those, one deserves particular recognition: my immediate predecessor, Paul Schneider, who occupied the position from 2013 until the May–June issue of this year.

I joined Paul as senior editor for his second issue and was lucky enough to work alongside him for the fifty-eight that followed. Under his tenure, this scrappy little magazine punched far above its weight class, delivering thoughtful stories of the Island’s past, its present joys and future threats, and its myriad quirks and characters. I am grateful beyond measure for his guidance and friendship, and for conferring on me a slate of well-conceived stories. I’m also happy to report that Paul won’t be going far. Though he’s stepped down from a full-time role, his fingerprints can be seen on this and future issues in his new role as contributing editor.

Dozens of others have a hand in producing this magazine, but additional thanks and credit belongs especially to art director Alley Moore, who has defined the look and tone of this beautiful publication for nearly twenty years, and Nicole Fullin, who first joined the staff as a college intern in 2012 and quickly made herself indispensable. This issue marks her first as managing editor.

It’s remarkable that the core members of this team have remained in place for the better part of a decade, and that they will continue to do so as we write this next chapter. That unlikely continuity is due in no small part to the leadership and resolute support of our publisher, Jane Seagrave.

It’s a rare privilege to get to do a job you love, telling the stories of the place you love, with people you admire. I am thankful for the opportunity. And I’m lucky that, by some twist of fate or connection or coincidence, those first-winter Katama sunsets were so good.     

This article appears in July 2022.

I have decided to replace myself with an algorithm. (If, that is, I haven’t already been replaced by one without my knowing about it my knowing about about it knowing.) There are still many details to be worked out. But, in the spirit of transparency that defines all of our decisions, and indeed defines the innumerable algorithms controlling your intake of information today, I thought I’d share some of our thinking here at Martha’s Vineyard. “At Martha’s Vineyard” you cry! “Who says ‘at Martha’s Vineyard’?” To which I need only refer you to the first three lines of code:

If (“Martha’s Vineyard” = Martha’s Vineyard Magazine) then preposition = “at”

Else if (“Martha’s Vineyard” = Island) then preposition = “on”

Else if (speaker = off-Islander) then preposition = “in”

To the makers of algorithms such as the one I am replacing myself with, this is known as – I kid you not – “the dangling else problem.” If you doubt me on that, look it up. But rest assured, that is the last you will ever hear or read from either me or my algorithmic replacement about any “dangling else,” whether such should appear under the cliffs of Aquinnah or among the boulders and dunes of Lucy Vincent Beach. Again, to the code:

If (“dangling else” appears) then kill story idea

Else if (“dangling else” reappears) then consult publisher

It’s not all Boolean around here either. Another term of art that you may not be familiar with, but that our team of artificially intelligent programmers is working hard on, is “hash-based conditionals.” Back in the early 1970s, hash-based decision-making was far more popular on the Vineyard than it is today, or at least more out in the open. Nowhere more so than at Lucy Vincent Beach, which was then known as Jungle Beach. Part of the hash-based conditional code we are developing for descriptions of days there back then includes:

raw_input (“enter the mood you are in that you want to comment on:”)

known_moods = {

“mellow”: “oh, wow man, just listen to the surf,”

“really mellow”: “oh, wow man, just listen,”

“totally mellow”: “oh, wow,”

“seriously mellow”: “oh…oh…,”

Lucy Vincent, by the way, was voted the top beach in this year’s Best of the Vineyard contest. This despite the fact that neither I nor my algorithm is allowed to go there. Even if I keep my algorithm on a leash. This is the main reason why I am replacing myself with artificial intelligence, rather than crowd sourcing. My algorithmic replacement came very close, in fact, to cancelling the whole Best of the Vineyard contest. But not because more people voted for Lucy Vincent than the previous perennial winner, South Beach. No. It turned out a Russian hacker named Fancy Skunk had slipped a bit of code from the White House into our algorithm:

If (“any good thing was created by any predecessor”) then call terrible and undo.

The best of all possible islands

Let us now praise famous clams…naaaah.

It was the best of lobster rolls, it was the worst of lobster rolls…um, nope.

Four score and seven French fries ago…I’m already feeling nauseated.

In the beginning God created the Basics and the Green Room…sacrilege?

For some say, at the Net Result; and some, at the windy Lookout…too obscure?

Call me fudge…nice local vibe, but…ew, right?

First lines are treacherous paths, just as likely to lead a writer or other sorry
supplicant down some rabbit hole of strained cleverness, maudlin meanderings, or plain boredom as they are to open up into an exalted
revelation.

Until, that is, you hit the right one. So herewith:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all Vineyarders are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Lobster Rolls, Clam Chowder, and the pursuit of a plumber in August. – That to secure these rights, contests are instituted among readers, deriving their just powers from the social networks of the nominated, – That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

Fortunately, for now, the form of government on the Island seems to be fostering a stable supply of the necessities of summer living. In nearly sixty thousand ballots cast, for instance, readers nominated more than forty businesses for Best Bakery, more than forty venues for Best Bar/Pub. There are eighteen yoga studios. Add the twenty-nine nominated beaches, thirty-six charity events, a good book, and what more do you need to get you through to September? Besides, of course, someplace for all the people who do the baking and bartending and yoga-instructing to live without fear of being evicted for higher-paying, four-day Airbnb visitors.

Regular readers of this column probably knew that line or something like it was coming. Best broken record award goes to me, I know. (And I’m old enough to know what a broken record is record is record is.) After all, the best fried clam must be harvested, opened, fried, put in a cardboard box, and sold by the best team of clam friers. So the Best of the Vineyard awards, of course, really belong to the people who do the good work of making the Island such a great place to be.

Which brings me to the last line. But last lines are always easy.

The end.

It is a well-known fact that the best things in life are free. Except for a roof over your head and decent food on the table. And the table, unless you get really lucky at the Dumptique. You can probably find a free chair by the side of the road, so okay on that part, as long as you can get it home in your free pickup truck running on free gas.

Wait a minute, you say. You could walk that free chair to the best beach on the Vineyard, which is to say the best beach in the world, and sit there and soak up the free rays and think free deep thoughts all day long. And you would be right, as long as those thoughts haven’t been made deeper by the education you’re still paying off, or the one that Bernie promises to give you for no money. (To be on the safe side, maybe skip the deep thoughts and stick to the mindfulness practice you learned from a book you absolutely could find free at the Dumptique on any given day.)

But as far as the beach is concerned, you are absolutely correct. Once again the voters have spoken, and South Beach is the official Best of the Vineyard Best Beach, and it’s absolutely free. If you borrow your sunblock from someone else, that is. If you want to go to the official second best beach on Martha’s Vineyard, which is Lambert’s Cove, however, you better be – or be staying with – someone who has paid their West Tisbury real estate taxes and bought a $50 sticker.

Which brings up an interesting conundrum. Last time we checked, a key to the beach at Quansoo was on the market for $295,000, which makes it a bargain of sorts compared to a key to the beach at Black Point, which was listed for $325,000. So…if the best beach on the Vineyard, and therefore the world, is free, and the second best beach is fifty bucks a year, exactly what kind of loser beach would cost $325,000? Pretty darn loser, don’t you think? Think all you want, but unless you have $325,000 sitting around, don’t try to find out in person. This is the only known example of that mythical commodity known to economists as a Giffen beach, if I remember correctly from my not-so-free education, which admittedly I probably don’t.

The views of the open moors along Moshup Trail in Aquinnah weren’t free, though you don’t have to pay to enjoy them. They’re the product of more than twenty years of legal wrangling paid for by, among others, the donors big and small, anonymous and public, to the Vineyard Conservation Society. You’re free to gaze at the Gay Head Light while you’re up there, but it wasn’t moved away from the cliffs last year for free. Feel free to take a walk at the newly expanded Cedar Tree Neck Sanctuary, or to enroll your darling junior in the “free” tennis lessons at Vineyard Youth Tennis, or the “free” sailing program at Sail Martha’s Vineyard. Enjoy the plastic-free beaches, courtesy of the volunteers who spent some time this spring picking up the trash.

No, the best things in life aren’t free. But they are generally freely given. Except this magazine. That’s $4.95, no ifs, ands, or buts.

On the Fourth of July seven years ago, my life changed. That’s when I was first contacted by the Vineyard Gazette about whether I might become the editor of this magazine. By that September, it was official. Now the fates have conspired to send me to San Diego.

What I’ll miss most about the Island is the people. Whether year-round or seasonal, everyone is fueled by different passions, and they love sharing them. Take Steve Maxner. Early this year, I saw a Facebook post for the West Tisbury Library about free guitar lessons he’d be teaching. As a new guitar owner, I immediately called the number listed.

After three months under his tutelage, I’m as charmed by the man as I am by my skills. Steve is a kind soul. He’s one of the many people who have come to the Vineyard to dial it back, and he and his wife, Joyce, have turned their West Tisbury home into a refuge – not only for themselves but for others. He’s a patient, committed teacher, and I will miss him greatly!

This issue of the magazine is full of people with passions, starting with the Best of the Vineyard (page 32), our annual reader survey of what you love most on-Island. We also tour the shops atop the Aquinnah cliffs (page 68), Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen’s gardens (page 80), and seven different mouth-watering burgers concocted by chef Tina Miller (page 86).

Thanks to everyone who has made my tenure here so enjoyable – especially our dedicated Art Director Alley Moore and Associate Editor Nancy Tutko. Thanks to you, dear reader, for your devotion to this community. The Vineyard is in my heart forever.

Whenever we have visitors, we go quahaugging. It’s become a family tradition. My husband and I are happy to take guests to the beach, for a bike ride, and to our favorite breakfast spots. But the featured event has become collecting quahaugs and creating a magnificent dinner of chowder, clams on the half shell, and our own version of clams casino. This feast and the prerequisite clamming excursion have been the highlight of many a visit.

Truth be told, we used to be nervous about how some friends would react. There are those who seem as if they might be a tad squeamish about digging around in the muck. They ask concerned questions beforehand, and the trepidation at the water’s edge can be acute. We counter the wariness with a calm and confident entry, and as soon as someone finds the first quahaug, spirits are buoyed. By the time we have enough quahaugs for the evening meal, it’s hard to get everyone to stop.

These clamming expeditions have weathered jelly fish infestations, rain, and chilly temperatures. For the first time, we start the season with clam rakes, procured last fall at a yard sale. Hopefully that won’t deter our guests from employing the “monkey toe.” Our friend Missy perfected this technique of digging with her foot and lifting a carefully balanced quahaug to the surface. Having seen a Southern belle like her take to clamming, we no longer worry about our other friends.

Venturing out to procure dinner from the wild, returning home to fix up a feast, and savoring the fruits of our efforts have always been quintessentially Vineyard. For your own inspiration, this magazine includes two comprehensive articles on shellfish: The first appreciates their lives (page 50) and the second their demise (page 60).