A generation ago, Angela Lansbury spent 264 television episodes as Jessica Fletcher, an Agatha Christie-style detective who solved murders for the most part right in her own backyard, the sleepy rural town of Cabot Cove, Me. Two observations occurred to me: why would anyone hang out with Jessica once you realize that wherever she is someone gets murdered? And what’s the matter with Cabot Cove, a little fishing village that has a violent crime wave commensurate with Chicago?

From the Vineyard Gazette editions of August, 1983:

West Tisbury salvager and treasure hunter Barry Clifford says he’s found proof, at least to his own satisfaction, that he’s discovered the pirate ship Whidah, sunk with its vast treasure, off the coast of Cape Cod in 1717.

This letter goes out to the wonderful people who were on the Great Rock Bight beach on August 13. My husband and I are extremely lucky to have had such brave and caring people around us on that day. Greg, Wendy, Hans, Isabella, the family who gave us the life vests, the young lady who swam them out to my husband (I’m sorry I never had a chance to thank you in person) and the men who pitched in to help my husband off the beach.

I am a seasonal resident of West Chop and a rest-of-the-year resident of Manhattan. Each day on Martha’s Vineyard I bike the 20-mile loop from West Chop through the state forest near the airport and back. Until a few years ago, there was always the welcome stop at Max and Emma’s Honor Lemonade stand shortly after the youth hostel. Max and Emma have gone on to brighter and bigger doings. They were replaced by the enticing Alex’s Umbrella Water stand.

Given the controversy over the Zoia property on Quitsa Pond, it was to be expected that Ken Iscol and others would write letters taking strong exception to architect David Handlin’s op-ed article of August 10. What was not to be expected were the sharp and wholly unsubstantiated attacks on Mr. Handlin that were made in most of the letters.

Leave your credit cards and your worries behind and hop a ferry over to Cuttyhunk, our little sister to the west. It’s an undiscovered island filled with 400 friendly summer people, beautiful wooded walks, welcoming beaches and a sense of peace and tranquility reminiscent of life in the 1950s. Or even earlier.