Commentary
Children are everything to this island. It doesn’t matter if there are just one or two, or as many as eight or nine, a place is set at every table at every meal for every one of them, no matter who their parents are. There are always eyes swelling with love and protection, ready at any moment to jump in and become a real pain. The island kids think they are free spirits. True, they have no limits, no traffic, no extortion, no bullies and no boundaries except the sea and only two rules. The first is that no one goes onto a dock without a life jacket until they’ve learned to swim.
I appreciate the response from Camron Adibi. Yes, let’s all keep thinking and talking about this issue, so vital to our economy and our health. Together we need to truly examine and compare all the many options that are available for solving this horrendous problem. And for those with their own on-site Title 5 septic systems, it is high time to apply whichever of the various nitrogen-reducing methods we each prefer among those that already exist.
A year ago I was in Cuba. I have been reminded of my visit by a picture a fellow traveler has just sent showing me readying to puff a Cuban cigar. One puff was enough for me, but I defied U.S. Customs officials and buried another in the depths of my suitcase to bring into the country for a cigar-loving friend.
I sampled my cigar on a tobacco farm where the group I was traveling with stopped.
The following was submitted as testimony for the Martha’s Vineyard Commission public hearing on its development of regional impact checklist.
The Vineyard Conservation Society is an advocacy organization. Our focus is on environmental, land use, and growth and development issues on this Island. We have over 1,000 seasonal and year-round members, and we have been doing this work for nearly 50 years.
What I am here to advocate for this evening is some version of tightened plan review for high-impact residential development.
At dusk, one by one,
hundreds of gulls fall
out of the leaden sky
onto the lake, already
beginning to close
its lid for winter.
We call them
by their names,
recognize bill color,
molt, age, species —
see everything
but living beings —
finding their spots
for the night, calling out
to kin, to neighbors.
Afloat on freezing waves,
they turn together
into the north wind.
While, on shore, wrapped
in down coats, hats and gloves,
A few weeks ago I was making coffee when I heard what sounded like a stunned owl hoo-ing for help. Sounded as if he might be trapped behind a storm door or in a room on the other side of the house. As I got closer to a closed door, I realized the sound was emanating from my soulful wife, sitting in her office, chanting along with some psalm playing on her laptop, ear buds blocking out the world. Paula was practicing for the Island Community Chorus — her first time as a participant. Soon our house became a repository of the stuff that haunts the poems of Poe and the books of Oliver Sacks.