The moment I told my friend Ed that I was soon to take a job at the helm of Martha’s Vineyard Magazine, he launched into one of his characteristic reveries, this time about the sentences Iwould write in my new position as what he called “a country editor.”

“When the last leaves of autumn slip from the maples on North Summer Street, and the sticks are bare against a gray sky, I am always reminded that the flavor of golden hot waffles is better with a dash of last summer’s beach plum jelly,” he said without a moment’s hesitation, as if he had somehow composed the sentence in advance of my announcement. Barely pausing to take a breath he continued: “On still March mornings when the sound of the bell buoy off of Menemsha tolls with every glassy swell, my dog and I like to wander the wrack line at Lobsterville looking for signs of spring.”

I stopped him there, because nothing else would. Ed has a particular gift with words, which spill out of his mouth almost miraculously, and with dogs, which pay no attention to his verbiage. “You’ll need to replace your dog, you know,” he informed me, referring to good old Thunder, our lab-golden mix who had recently passed away after a long happy life in West Tisbury.  

“I mean, every country editor has a dog, right?”

That may be, and I may yet take Ed’s advice. For now, though, there is change enough in my life and here at the magazine to keep me busy without adding wet newspapers and gnawed table legs into the mix. This new job completes a circle of sorts for me; I began my publishing career checking facts and getting coffee at magazines more than a quarter century ago. And I might have stayed in New York had extraordinary luck, in the form of love and marriage, not drawn me away to the Vineyard. Luck also, this time in the form of an inspiring editor at Henry Holt, drew me steadily away from magazines to book writing.

Through it all, though, the potential power of short and smart non-fiction reliably delivered in a beautiful format remained close to my heart. When the chance to lead such a magazine right here on the Island came my way, I pondered it about as long and hard as a bluefish presented with a pencil-popper. Unlike the fish, however, I am more released by the privilege of taking over such a fine publication than I am reeled in by it. So thanks to publisher Jane Seagrave for the opportunity. And to the rest of the crew here, including the various worthy office mutts, for the friendly welcome.

Thanks also to Nancy Tutko, my immediate predecessor as editor here, who bequeathed to me a healthy inventory of well-conceived stories. Most of this current issue, in fact, is comprised of works developed at least partially under her watch. And especially, thanks and farewell to associate editor Simone McCarthy. Without her talent, hard work, and good humor under pressure, this issue would never have made it into your hands. Simone is leaving the Vineyard to seek her fortune in Shanghai, China, and though we all wish she were staying here, we also wish her the best over there.

So, having now taken care of some of the unique aspects of a first editor’s letter – introductions, gratitudes, farewells – I will close this first missive with one simple observation: When the last leaves of autumn slip from the maples on North Summer Street, and the sticks are bare against a gray sky, I am always reminded that the flavor of golden hot waffles is better with a dash of last summer’s beach plum jelly.