Fifty years ago, Anne Hale helped found the Felix Neck Wildlife Sanctuary on the shores of Sengekontacket Pond in Edgartown. Twenty-six years ago she published Moraine to Marsh, a slender, spiral-bound volume that became a treasured go-to guide to the flora and fauna of the Vineyard.
Lungs tight from kicking up sawdust on a newly cleared trail, I searched my backpack for my inhaler. Weariness was written on my friends’ faces too. A dusty, panting dog lay in front of us, his head turning slowly to drink from a bowl of water. We had been hiking for sixteen miles – a journey that began halfway across the Island at Katama Point Preserve.
By Alison L. Mead
On the davits of the venerable Charles W. Morgan is a brand-new killing machine that was handmade at Gannon and Benjamin in Vineyard Haven.
By Tom Dunlop
Captain William A. Martin of Edgartown was that rarest of things, an African American Whaling Captain.
By Skip Finley
The sailor shirt. Breton stripes. La marinière. By any name, this French-inspired classic has – forgive me – earned its stripes, quickly climbing the ranks from standard-issue naval wear to worldwide wardrobe staple.
By Alexandra Bullen Coutts
When I walked the Caroline Tuthill Preserve earlier this year, what I noticed first was the aroma of the pitch pine forest, a smell that brought me back to my childhood when I used to visit my aunt and uncle who had a home very close to this sanctuary in Edgartown. The trails are narrow with soft sand, and are mostly covered by a blanket of pine needles,all of which makes for a pleasant floor to walk on.
By Albert O. Fischer
Last summer, signs on Vineyard beaches warned swimmers about Portuguese man-of-wars, the brightly colored siphonophores that deliver a painful sting. And anyone who has spent much time in the water in the summer is probably familiar with the big, pink jellyfish and the small harmless moon jellies of August. But there is a new gelatinous menace lurking in Vineyard ponds, largely unknown and barely visible.
By Sara Brown
When I took up saltwater fly-fishing in the late 1970s, I was blessed to have some wonderful mentors on the Vineyard. Legends such as Nelson Bryant, Arthur Sylvia, and Bruce Pratt were my teachers and encouraged me to learn all that I could about this newfound passion. Thus I jumped at an opportunity to travel to Florida in 1978 to attend a fly-fishing clinic run by Lefty Kreh.
By Kib Bramhall
Captain: Lynne Fraker Home Port: Lake Tashmoo The Name: Ena.“She’s named after my grandmother.” The Boat: Thirty-four-foot Malabar Senior made of mahogany over oak, built by theAlden Design Office in 1957.
By Ivy Ashe
I’ve just finished reading a book about what birds think. About migrating, mating, nesting, eating, and feeding. Even learning to fly.
By Wes Craven
This year, we vow in tones devout,We’ll pull all weeds the day they sprout!We’ll till, and all those other tasks!(“You wanna bet?” the garden asks.)
By D.A.W.
