Patience paid off

In a few hours, I am leaving for Toronto. I'll be back in the Vineyard in a week and a half, but only briefly. I'll gather up my stuff, pack the Prius one more time and head onto the ferry to start back to Michigan. My time here is winding down. I am one of many people departing the island at the end of the season: "Help Wanted" signs, which were almost impossible to find two months ago, are now popping up in store windows.

I've been asked, "Was it everything you thought it would be?" It's difficult to answer. In some ways, yes, it was. I thought it would be a beautiful place, and it certainly is. I thought I would meet fascinating people, and I did. And yet it was also not at all what I was expecting. I came out here to do a job that turned out to be considerably less interesting than it sounded. My initial disappointment colored my perception of the island for the first month or so, and I had serious doubts about my decision. I was certain I'd find a great part-time job immediately; that was sheer fantasy. The recession has taken a toll on the Vineyard, too. Almost half of the summer had gone by before I landed the Playhouse job, and by that time I was having some bitter thoughts about staying here until September. There were times when I contemplated turning around and going home early, simply because things were not working out the way I wanted them to.

How foolish that would have been. I would have missed out on so many of the events and people that showed me what this island is really all about. I was already in the right place; I only had to wait for the right time to roll around and when it did, everything fell into place.

I spent the last weekend revisiting South Beach -- where the water is still remarkably warm -- and seeing more of Chappaquiddick. This morning, I had a magnificent hour-long massage that left me completely at peace. This evening, I finally fulfilled a little fantasy by visiting Le Grenier, the renowned French restaurant in Vineyard Haven. Kate, my stage manager at the Playhouse, had heard me daydreaming aloud about going there and gave me a gift certificate as an opening-night gift. (I could never have afforded it otherwise!) The food was incredible: clams casino, dripping with garlic butter and topped with tiny curls of crispy bacon; a robust onion soup coated with melted cheese; tender veal scallopini in a velvety cream sauce; fluffy whipped carrots that tasted almost like a dessert; a frozen key lime souffle, surrounded by a shallow pool of raspberry and pineapple sauces. It was a dream of a meal.

Then I came back to the house to pack up most of my stuff. I have to laugh at how much clothing I brought along (much of which was never worn), but at the same time I admit back in May, when I was deciding what to pack, I had no idea what I would be wearing here. I didn't know I wouldn't be wearing all those dress shirts or white pants or gaudy Hawaiian shirts (most of which never left the dresser drawer). And yet, although I ridiculed myself for cramming so many bathing suits into my luggage, I did in fact wear every one of them multiple times during my many trips to the Mansion House pool -- so I was right about something!

The last of the lobster rolls

On Friday, I stood in line for lobster rolls at Grace Church for what will probably be the last time. It's been something of a weekly tradition. And not just for me: The church sells anywhere between 1000 and 1500 rolls every Friday evening.

The secret of their success is simple: They have great food at bargain prices, which is not all that common on the island. A single roll costs $13, which sounds extravagant until you see how much lobster the cooks pack into a humble hot dog bun. A drink (lemonade, iced tea or an Arnold Palmer combination of the two) is included, as well as a bag of potato chips. If you want a generous slice of pie to go with that, it's an extra $3 -- and it's worth it. The meal is definitely filling, and I have learned to eat very lightly on Fridays to save room for the Grace Church goodies.

I overheard one of the workers say Grace Church receives its shipment of frozen lobster on Wednesday. The seafood thaws out overnight and on Thursday, the cooks run the lobster through a stainless-steel press to squeeze out as much of the remaining water as possible. After the lobster dries off, it's ready to be combined with the mayonnaise and turned into the luscious lobster rolls.

In addition, Grace Church is dedicated to recycling. The cups they use are made not of plastic, but of a material derived from corn that's biodegradable; the same is true of the bags they use to package large orders. The to-go containers are lightweight cardboard, which could easily be recycled. The church (which is Episcopalian) uses the money raised from lobster roll sales to fund its many programs and charities. The sales are only held for a few months each year, so they will conclude at the end of September.

I have taken many friends to Lobster Roll Friday and no one has been disappointed yet. But I suspect I will be disappointed many Fridays in the future when I am far away, reminiscing about the wonderful dinners I have had there. Of course, I could make lobster rolls at home, but of course it wouldn't be quite the same.

Happy September

"Has anyone wished you 'Happy September' yet?" my friend Milo asked the other day. It sounds cheerful and innocuous enough, but the greeting is actually two-pronged.

On one hand, it's an expression of relief that the tourists are finally leaving the island. Tourists -- or "washed-ashores," as the locals call them -- are both a blessing and a burden. Yes, they oftentimes do show up with bulging wallets and a desire to splurge on food, clothing, luxury rentals, etc., which is great news for the merchants. The glitch is so many of them arrive in July and August that the island's narrow roads are quickly overwhelmed, parking spaces become an endangered species and the towns and beaches are overrun by outsiders (not all of whom are particularly well-mannered or respectful). The year-round population of the Vineyard is estimated at around 15,000; in the summer that number swells to 100,000-plus, so you can imagine the strain and get an idea of how happy residents are when the "washed-ashores" finally board the ferries and planes for home.

But "Happy September" is also a bit of gallows humor, too. When the tourists take off, of course, so does the money. I have heard estimates as much as 75 percent of the revenue brought in by local merchants is made in June, July and August. Sure, the locals eat at restaurants and do some shopping, but they don't do it often enough to make up for those missing money-bearers. September spells the end of the island's annual financial windfall.

You can already see the changes in the streets. There are noticeably fewer cars on the roads and in the parking lots. While the sidewalks are still busy, they are not congested in the same way they were a few weeks ago. And then there's the most telling sign of all: Store after store hosting a "50-75% off sale" or advertising "summer clearance" prices.

So, if you're hoping to find bargains on the Vineyard, this is a perfect time to drop in. But don't wait too long -- after the "everything must go" sales, many of these businesses will in fact be shutting down for the rest of the year (or, in some cases, permanently), as the island prepares for its semi-hibernation.

Birds of a feather

I have written before about the surplus of skunks around the Vineyard. There are also many flocks of wild turkeys on the island. They pop up in unexpected places and generally behave as if they own the place. Just before I snapped this picture, this particular group nonchalantly strutted across a busy Vineyard Haven street -- and traffic came to a complete halt as they crossed. They are certainly not pretty birds by any stretch of the imagination. But they walk as proudly as supermodels on a Paris runway.

So many goodbyes

The last few days have been decidedly bittersweet. On the positive side, Hurricane Danny turned out to be a spectacular non-event: It rained much of the day Saturday, but the fierce winds never materialized and, aside from a little extra oomph in the waves, you would never have known a tropical storm was passing through. "Memory House" continues to play to very appreciative audiences, and Kathy and Natalia continue to give vivid, compelling performances. Although it can be difficult to keep a show fresh when you're performing it five or six times a week, they have managed to do exactly that.
On the other hand, summer is quickly drawing to a close. This Week has closed up shop and everyone is heading off in their own directions. My co-workers Scott, Anna and Danielle are already gone and Zach will be leaving tomorrow. Jessica, who was the first This Weeker I met, takes off for home Wednesday and will be returning to the island, but by the time she gets back I will be gone. I'm excited to see them moving on to new opportunities, but of course I can't help but feel a bit sad, too.
I also learned yesterday that my friend and former co-worker Thea Lapham had lost her third battle with cancer. The news was not entirely unexpected, yet that didn't make it any less hard to take. I wrote about Thea in this July entry. Uterine cancer is notoriously merciless, and apparently her body simply couldn't take one more battle.
Not that Thea was ever the type to shy away from anything. Vivacious and strong of spirit, she was one of those people who saw every challenge as an opportunity and always made sure she finished the job. When I was training to be a DJ back in college, I was told to try to speak with "a smile in your voice." At first, I didn't know what that meant; eventually, I figured out to do it without sounding phony or overly sweet. I was reminded of that advice every time I talked to Thea on the phone, as I often did when I was at the Gazette. She constantly had that smile in her voice, even when she was struggling with health problems or having trouble getting the information she needed for her story. Nothing got her down. As sorry as I am to lose her, I can take comfort in the inspiration she provided to everyone around her, both as a gifted writer and as a caring, compassionate person who routinely seized the opportunity to brighten up the world a little bit. Certainly she deserved a much longer life, but the happiness and kindness she shared with all of us will be remembered for a long, long time to come.

Aquinnah up close and personal

I will write more about Aquinnah in the next few days (probably when I'm being pounded by Hurricane Danny, which is reportedly on its way), but I wanted to share a photo I took when I was there Wednesday. I had mistakenly believed you could only see the clay cliffs from a distance, that the beach itself was private. A kind police officer told me the real story: If you are willing to pay a rather steep parking fee ($15 for the day -- ouch) and take a fairly lengthy walk, you can leave your car and stroll down to the coast. If you keep walking down the beach, you will be directly in front of the cliffs, which, in my opinion, are the prettiest sight the island has to offer. They absolutely mesmerize me.
I had photographed them from afar and I was thrilled to have the chance to actually stand beside them; I was reminded of the Painted Desert. Although they look quite solid, they are definitely a combination of colorful clay and rock; you can break pieces off and mash them up in your hand. It is not a good idea to do this too flagrantly, however, since the cliffs are the property of the Wampanoag tribe and they are protected under law.
While speaking to a long-time Aquinnah resident, I learned the cliffs -- impressive as they are -- are but a shadow of what they once were. Erosion, the tides and tourists have taken their toll. As far as I'm concerned, however, they are still pretty spectacular. More pictures will follow to show what I mean.
Back in the 1960s and early 1970s, I am told, the cliffs were a prime hangout for hippies and the "living off the land" types, who would rub the clay all over their bodies and then bathe in the unruly surf. Rubbing the clay on your skin makes you look like something out of "Quest for Fire" since it dries fairly quickly and leaves you brilliantly colored. Please do not ask how I came upon this information. I do not want to tangle with tribal authorities.

To market, to market...

Fine, fine, but are those free-range Baptists we're talking about? Because the others have way too many growth hormones injected into them. I mean, did you read "Omnivore's Dilemma"? Not on my table!