News and Events for Nantucket Island
• by Robert P. Barsanti • In late June, Nantucket sets us apart. For the rest of the country, and the state, the first burns of summer arise. The air builds a curtain of water, the heat pins everyone and everything down, and the clouds ascend into towers of thunder. […]
• by Robert P. Barsanti • Thirty-five weddings went off this weekend. Thirty-five brides in big white dresses, thirty-five nervous grooms. Thirty-five wedding parties heading off to town, then to the Box, and then finally to a boat. All of those friends and family, along with their Greek brothers and […]
• by Robert P. Barsanti • On this Sunday morning, the coffee is percolating, the coffee cake has been cut and tasted, and the newspaper is spread out over the table. Its various sections are weighed down by books. The house remains quiet. This is a house of bookcases. They […]
• by Robert P. Barsanti • At the Downyflake last weekend, I noticed that I took my coffee in the same way that my father did, regular with too much cream. He drank his coffee every morning with the same slobbers of sugar and milk building up on the table […]
• by Robert P. Barsanti • The good news finally arrived this weekend. It came over with a wedding party on a rocking ferry in a thick, thirty-degree fog on Friday. We had prepared for more bad news this weekend; we lined up polar fleece, long pants, sweaters, and a […]
• by Robert P. Barsanti • Spring landed triumphantly last weekend. The oaks and elms blazed kelly green against a deep blue sky. The wetlands and swamps glowed green and white as the year made the turn into spring and carried us forward into another summer. The Juice Bar has […]
• by Robert P. Barsanti • I have just been invited to a fiftieth anniversary party for the Jordans. The invitation arrived in a huge cream envelope with my name and address in script across the front. It also arrived with a bachelorette party of bills from the car company, […]
• by Robert P. Barsanti • Things are getting ready to happen out of sight. The world is sodden in April: the snow melts, the rain drips, the fog beads along the wires. Blind white roots push out and break the frozen ground. The daffodils have pushed through the dead […]
• by Robert P. Barsanti • After the storm, we sat outside at the brewery. Cribbage was being played, the dogs were scampering and the sky had more rain in it. Heavy waves ground up the south shore and the overcast skittered. “He doesn’t talk to me.” “Why is that?” […]
