News and Events for Nantucket Island
I recently received a phone call from Mark Bradley, one of my dearest college buddies. He was in Florida, enjoying the glorious sunshine, when he found himself trying to explain to his golfing friends about the importance of catching the first striped bass of the year on Nantucket. Needless to say, the subtle nuances of this event were lost on his fellow snowbirds. This led to Mark calling me to make sure that he had a working knowledge of this matter.
In winter, the island returns to Main Street. During the warmer months, we avoid Main Street: too much traffic, too much chaos, and too few reasons to be downtown. The Hub no longer saves the Sunday papers in their cubby holes, there’s no wing night at the long gone AC, and Hardy’s has disappeared and taken Bingo the parrot with it. Almost everything we could want, from glazed donuts to step ladders to Mom’s prescriptions could be found near empty parking places, away from the confusion, chaos, and cobblestones.
In his 1960 book Travels with Charley, John Steinbeck chronicled his attempt to connect with the many parts of these great United States that he didn’t know much about. In order to accomplish this monumental task, the renowned author retrofitted a truck with a camper to suit his needs. He named his truck Rocinante, after Don Quixote’s horse, and drove it about 10,000 miles in the course of his adventures. Charley, a standard poodle, played the role of Sancho Panza for the great Steinbeck on his quixotic journey. Steinbeck describes his doggie/squire as being a mind-reader, an apt evaluator of the humans they met on their travels. Steinbeck utilized the friendly canine to break down the barriers between himself and the strangers he encountered, with great success. Dogs certainly have this ability.
The first thing you need to know is that the Legos are staying. They are in plastic buckets and bins, assembled, half assembled, or dissipated into an accretion cloud of colorful plastic bricks and smiling mini-figure heads. But they are going to stay.
The rest could go.
They said that they were never coming back.
Again.
For thirty-eight years running.
They had their reasons. They weren’t rich. They told everyone that. They brought air mattresses for the kids, five frozen meals in a cooler, and a full tank of gas. The bikes were tied onto the car, the sleeping bags stored in roof carrier, and everything else packed around the kids. (Tim, your feet are going to be on the Hibachi).
So, we were stuck. Behind me, a jeep settled, with a driver and a beach chair. In front of me, a cable truck sighed and shuddered.
I had fallen into this place through inattention and habit. Normally, at this point in the summer, I would have taken a short cut that would have sped me to my end. I might have headed up an alley, snuck wrong way down a one-way street, and rolled across a yard on my business. But as the sun had just come out, Kiki Dee had returned to the radio after fifty years, and my attention had drifted from what was necessary and important, the afternoon slipped me onto Quaker Lane.
Are evil scientists born or made?
I cannot tell you the answer today to this age-old question, but seeing how I’m currently conducting a series of diabolical experiments, I have a feeling that I’m well on my way to finding out.
In the sweat of August, my Boon Companion and I retreat to the quiet places. For most of the year, he can run about unleashed in some of the most dog-friendly parks and play areas, but when the summer comes the existing rules are reposted, underlined, and enforced by the sad, angry, and afraid.
