Come full circle . . .

The fifth of May will mark one full year since I moved to Chilmark.  Though I've enjoyed many happy summers as well as scattered holidays and weekends here on Martha's Vineyard, this was my first full cycle living only on-island.  And while spring and summer here are truly gorgeous and glorious, I've found that it was the fall and winter that taught me the most about this place, and the people who call her home.   

For example, did you know that despite all of the fabulous farms and local co-op farming operations, there is no place on the Vineyard where you can go to pick-your-own apples in the fall?  Or that absolutely every place to buy groceries, excepting milk and eggs at Cumby's, is closed on Easter Sunday?  Or that, and I'm pretty sure this is a scientific rule, one begins to crave french fries and tacos after approximately three months out of range from a fast food joint.  It's things like that: those little inconveniences that make this place so quaint, and give its authentic, small town charm.   And upon lamenting these small, everyday woes to a friend, I received this priceless piece of advice: "It's winter!  Take a break and go off-island.  Even a day trip to Hyannis will do."  

Upon taking that advice and planning the excursion, I found myself suddenly swept up in the swirling chaos that begets life on the mainland.  After puttering around our bucolic Chilmark roads at 40 mph, even the slow lane on the freeway seemed like an insane race course, a la the German Audobon.  People were in such a rush that not only were my off-island compatriots brusque and tense, but sometimes downright rude!  Upon driving down a narrow lane to get to one of my destinations, I passed a car going in the opposite direction and instinctively waved to the driver, who only stared back with a bewildered look that seemed to say, "Do I *know* you!?"  Then it all made perfect sense.  

While the super-wide aisles and discount prices of Wal-Mart might be missing from the Vineyard, we have what so many other places lack: a sense of community pride.  Islanders can always recognize one another in a crowd because they tend to be more relaxed and laid back than the rest.  Not fussed about paint-spattered jeans or torn up Birkenstocks, they make their way through the aisle of Cronig's, easily parting for a passing cart and oftentimes pausing to converse with a friend or neighbor.  They slow down or halt completely for a flock of guinea hens or a small family of ducks crossing the road, and smile as they pass by.  I mean, where else in the nation could you find a group of people who don't lock up their cars or houses because they implicitly trust their neighbors, and say, "No thanks, a roundabout isn't necessary, and really a traffic light is overkill.  Just give us a four-way stop and we're good to go!"  

And aside from the lovely community here, we are, of course, stewards of one of the most beautiful places on Earth.  Summer crowds wouldn't recognize her in winter, but for almost half the year, the island takes on a sort of stark beauty.  As the summer crowds leave, so do the leaves and wildlife until only the sturdiest and most stubborn native species remain.  By April, I was beginning to forget what the trees looked like with all their leaves.  But the long months of winter have primed me for these exact moments.  Each flower that sprouts, grow and blooms, each patch of green on the hillside is exciting!  And soon the hill at my Chilmark home is splotched with tiny patches of yellow and purple as miniscule, inch-high flowers begin to bloom.  Since October, my trees have been bare, save for the shaggy carpet of moss that clings to the branches of trees here… and now they suddenly burst forth with life, leaves slowly unfurling and and tiny white blossoms decorating the boughs.  

While its lovely to come and visit, and spend any length of time here during the "season", it took one very long year here to bring me this amazing sense of appreciation.  The complete transformation has begun here and by small degrees, the island is returning to that stunning, painting-inspiring beauty that we all know and love.  The migratory birds are returning, everything is abloom and I couldn't be happier to be here in this heavenly spot we like to call home.