Nantucket Essays

yellow truck | Nantucket, MA
Nantucket Essays

So Much Depends on a Yellow Pickup

by Robert P. Barsanti Sunday broke into a red sky at morning. At five in the morning, the sun poked through a hole in the fog over Monomoy and lit up the Pacific Bank on Main Street. I thought I was alone on Main Street for this singular sight, but […]

Beach Money | Nantucket, MA
Nantucket Essays


by Robert P. Barsanti I found a one hundred dollar bill. The fates pushed it up through the sand at Nobadeer at seven o’clock in the morning while my Boon Companion was out chasing a water bottle and the seagulls were waiting for me to leave an open bag of […]

Lines | Nantucket, MA
Nantucket Essays

The Lines of July

by Robert P. Barsanti Lily Pulitzer came in the front door, skipped ahead of both the order and the pick up line, and demanded her sandwiches. She explained. “I have an Uber.” “And she knows how to use it.” A plumber explained. There was laughter (for most) and confusion (for […]

five corners | Nantucket, MA
Nantucket Essays


by Robert P. Barsanti Summer came like a hangover. One night in June, the ocean hung over us in drops and drips. Then, in the morning, the sun shouted in through the drapes, the tiles got wet, and everything smelled stale. Outside, the growing world leapt at the light. Black-eyed […]

Foggy Flag | Nantucket, MA
Nantucket Essays

America Is Hard to See

by Robert P. Barsanti The Fourth of July slips onto Nantucket under cover of fog and in a long series of jammed ferry boats. Then, on a someday around noon, we find ourselves stuck in traffic by the high school in front of New Jersey and behind Connecticut. The Fourth […]

Well Kept Hedge | Nantucket, MA
Nantucket Essays

Well-Kept Hedge

by Robert P. Barsanti Close friends of mine are lucky enough to live at one of the right addresses. As a result, nine months out of the year they have no neighbors within a well struck two iron. In the summer, the street is a hive of activity. They tell […]

Aqua Wall Phone | Nantucket, MA
Nantucket Essays

Wall Phones

by Robert P. Barsanti I stood in a kitchen in Tom Nevers and watched a phone ring. My life had skipped back twenty years while an aqua wall-phone was going through its famous paces. For a half second too long for my own comfort I wondered if someone’s pocket held […]