04.01.11

Deep in the heart of every yard saler is the fervent hope that they’ll stumble upon some real treasure – maybe the lost Ark of the Covenant. And deep in the basement of every yard saler are the treasures they actually came home with: used vacuums, waffle irons, bicycle tire pumps – the very items they need to have a yard sale of their own. It’s an eternal cycle. Here’s how to make the most of it.

By Geoff Currier

10.01.10

On Tuesday, after reeling in my first fish ever, I lifted up the big bluefish and turned around to see my friends Tom and Mike with their iPhone cameras perched over wide smiles. They were as exhilarated as I was. Perhaps this is what happens when you combine two guys who have a bunch of Derby pins and plaques with their pitiful friend who’s fished the Derby the last three years without a single catch.

By Nicki Miller

08.01.10

There comes a time at the end of a long Vineyard summer when the weather loses its sparkle, friends and cousins have all gone home, and kids grow restless. Parents have grown weary of making sandwiches, searching for dry towels, and making another trek to the beach in the fog. The children have been to the Flying Horses in Oak Bluffs and Gus Ben David’s World of Reptiles in Edgartown. They’ve read all the library books about Geronimo Stilton and Captain Underpants.

By Betsy Campbell

05.01.10

Armor. Battle. Punishment. Malicious attacks. These terms come up over and over again in the Martha’s Vineyard Magazine archives. They describe an open-ended war being fought on Vineyard soil, and this time the enemy is not Nantucket – there is far more at stake than a bronze cup. What we are fighting for is our home, and the enemy is Mother Nature – a worthy opponent.

By Linley Dolby

05.01.10

1985:- Bass were excluded from the Martha’s Vineyard Striped Bass and Bluefish Derby (continued for seven years).- Cable TV came to the Vineyard. 1986- Martha’s Vineyard Land Bank Commission was created. 1987- Wampanoag Tribe gained federal recognition.

09.01.09

I am one of the crying mothers. On the first day of school, I let loose. But my sentimentality is becoming increasingly problematic, as my daughter, Maddy, is now a sixth grader. I find myself crying alone. I recall last year we woke up extra early, even though her clothes had been laid out for days. I made pancakes, and we gave ourselves an additional five minutes of driving time.

By Kate Feiffer

09.01.09

Thanks to our friends the winter moths, there’s no shortage of dead trees on the Island – chances are you may even have a few on your property. Here are a few tips on how to take those trees down, trim off the branches, and leave your own limbs intact.

By Geoff Currier

08.01.09

Though we’ve settled on the Vineyard, many of us still feel like wash-ashores. As the daughter of a diplomat who moved around the world every year or two, feeling rooted is a challenge. Then, a few years ago in the Vineyard Gazette, I came across some lesser-known names of early settlers of the Vineyard and was surprised to see my husband Jeff’s surname: Wass.

By Deborah K. Sillimanwass

07.01.09

I recently had the opportunity to go to Washington, D.C., and not meet the Obamas. I was hoping to run into them, perhaps over dinner at the White House, but that didn’t work out.

By Kate Feiffer

11.01.08

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.

By Kate Feiffer

11.01.08

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.

By Kate Feiffer

10.01.08

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.

By Betsy Campbell

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