Margaret Knight

508 627-8894

(margaret02539@yahoo.com)

Last Friday’s storm ate away another popular Chappaquiddick destination. The Wasque Point stairs at Fishermen’s Landing have become Fishermen’s Leap, as my brother calls it. That end of Wasque has been washing away rapidly in the past couple of months, and the stairs leading to the beach collapsed with the storm. The Trustees roped off the whole area, as the bank is undercut by waves in many places. The top of the bluff may look the same as ever, with trees and bushes growing to the edge, but looking underneath, you see the roots hanging in midair and the beach covered with fallen trees.

The power of nature can be terrifying and awe-inspiring, especially when it changes the very land we live on. I think this aspect of nature’s authority is part of what draws us to live on islands – it makes us realize that we are not the ones in charge. Maybe that implies that something greater than us is in charge, which is comforting when you consider how badly we’ve screwed things up. If the uncertainty of island living is too much, then you probably don’t live here for long. I must say, it’s not something I always appreciate in the moment.

Last Friday, when the wind and water were eating away at Wasque, Sidney and I had planned to go off-Island to a conference that began early Saturday morning. We were going to spend the night in Falmouth, where we could use the handy Islander rate at one of the motels. However, the Steamship stopped running at around 2:30, due to the high winds. On his way home at the end of the day (because the Chappy ferry almost never stops due to the wind), Sidney signed up with the captain for a 6 a.m. ferry for Saturday morning, figuring we would try to get on a 7 a.m. Steamship ferry. In talking about it, we realized that since it was the first day of a three-day weekend, there would probably be lots of people on standby. So Sidney decided to spend the night on the Edgartown side, and get in the standby line really early. Elliot offered to drive me to the big ferry to meet Sidney at 6:00 a.m. – and thus Plan B was put into effect.

Plan B nearly fell apart on Saturday morning. When Elliot and I got to the Point at 5:54, the ferry was on the other side, with no lights on. I figured it would come over soon, and it did come over in a few minutes. Brad, who was driving, walked off the boat and came toward us with a quizzical look on his face. It seemed strange, but he looked as if he was trying to peer inside the car. And that’s actually what he was doing.

It turns out that when Sidney went across at 9:45 on Friday evening and didn’t come back, the captain figured he didn’t want his early Saturday trip and told Brad that. Sidney didn’t think to say we still wanted the trip, and that’s why Brad was trying to figure out who was in the car. Luckily, someone else had signed up for an early trip, and luckily, Brad, who had already taken the person across and was getting into his car to go home, decided to come over and investigate. So we made it to Vineyard Haven, where the situation was just about as confusing. That morning the SSA had canceled the 6 a.m. boat because the ferry was on the wrong side of the Sound – something you’d think they would know ahead of time. There were long standby lines, and we finally got off the Island at 9:30, and got to the conference at noon, which turned out to be just fine.

The freezing cold weather last weekend didn’t stop progress on Tom Osborn’s new house. About two dozen people warmed up fast at Tom’s timber frame raising party. He’d previously cut the joints, and then invited folks over to help lift the timbers into place. Peter Wells said some of the guys were telling Tom the frame was too heavy, and that he should get the Tashmoo crane. Tom thought they could do it – and they did. At the end, when they all posed for a picture, Tom thanked Sidney. When people wondered what for, since he wasn’t even there, Tom said, “for the inspiration to do it.” Nice way to get credit! Sidney and I had had a couple of frame-raising parties in the course of adding onto our house, plus we helped out at the new Ag Hall when it was built, so we did know it could be done. Tom is proceeding with raising more beams, and then he’ll be ready for the rafters.

I haven’t yet received any knowledgeable guesses in response to Peter’s question of how many places have culverts under town-owned roads, and in which direction the water flows through them. Actually, no guesses at all.

On Wednesday morning before sunrise, I heard what sounded like the first spring bird call of the season. It was a two-note repetition that went on for some time, enhancing the predawn soundscape, which mainly consisted of our goat bleating from across the yard. Surprisingly to us, the goats are still coming into heat, and there are few sounds more mournful than a goat in heat.

The bird feeder continues to give pleasure at this time of year, however. Ours is just a couple of short boards on a post off the front porch. One day recently I looked up from working at the kitchen counter and was surprised to see a giant feathery bottom on the bird feeder facing me. It was Isabelle, one of our chickens, gobbling the seeds as fast as she could. The chickadees were a little taken aback, but Isabelle didn’t seem bothered by the small cloud of them dive-bombing her. One finally got brave enough to grab a seed from the very corner of the platform. I guess she thought she was just one of the birds.