The Library

One of the amenities of my MV cottage was that it was advertised as having free Wi-Fi access. When I spoke with my landlady (Bernadette, or Bernie) on the phone, she mentioned that the Wi-Fi access was theirs in the main house and that the cottage can receive their signal. When I arrived the wireless internet router had been moved from the back of the main house (the cottage side) to another area near the street-side of the main house. Bernie told me that if I had any trouble getting internet access, she would buy a booster so the signal would be stronger. Being pretty easy to please, I've been sitting on the couch working with my laptop since that's really the only place in the cottage I've been able to receive a "very low" signal. Everywhere else I lose it. Two days ago, the signal stopped altogether. When I spoke with Bernie, her service was down and she's been working ever since to get it fixed. I did mention to her that I'd take her up on the booster.

In the meantime, I've discovered the Vineyard Haven Library. It's well stocked, well lit, and equipped with free Wi-Fi in a comfortable, quiet area. From that little sanctuary, I make this entry. I've forgotten, or perhaps it's new, how much you have at your disposal with a library card. Besides the volumes in paper in the library itself, you have access to any book that can be ordered for you and, perhaps best of all, you have access to a terrific reference librarian! The reference librarian sat with me yesterday for 30 minutes browsing through Amazon.com and Google books to see what was available on Native American tribes in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley in the early 1800's! Research for Dad's book since I believe it was great, great grandma Lucas who was a Native American. She has ordered a book called Forgotten Fire which looks amazing.

One final note about having the advantage of being in a great place like Martha's Vineyard, like New York, you are where things are happening. In the case of MV, it's much more understated and quiet, but it's here. There are so many artists and musicians and writers here. Check out this photo (sorry for the poor cell phone quality) from my new local library.


I'll be going to Leigh (my landlord) and Bernie's Halloween Party tonight, so I had to take the bus out of Vineyard Haven in order to buy a bottle of wine (what she needed me to bring). Remember, VH is a dry town. I look forward to going tonight. Although I should be dressing up, I'll probably just go in black skirt and top with a camera hung around my neck. The camera is both armor and ice breaker, so it's a big help to me. Leigh and Bernie expect between 750 and 800 kids to come to the door tonight, if past years are any measure. Halloween is BIG on The Vineyard!!

Morning Rain, Afternoon Wind

This morning it was rainy - slow, steady rain soaking everything well and cleaning the air. It’s windy now, and the trees around my cottage are bowing their graceful heads as the leaves run races across my front yard. I’ve been here two weeks already – how the time flies.

I contacted my writing workshop leader, and she gave me the name of a woman who may be starting a writers' group on the island. I've left a message for the lady, so hopefully I'll hear back from her soon and be able to get involved from the ground up.

I keep photos of Grammy and Granddad Hogan up in my cottage window to help inspire me to write. Yesterday was particularly productive. I have so far to go in order to put together an actual story about Dad, but I was able to capture several memories that will help when I begin weaving the story. (**Rules of any comments on the writing in order to protect my 'artist child' - only good things, no suggestions or corrections.**)

Dad never wore a shirt. Okay, he wore a shirt to the dinner table and to town and to mass on Sunday, but in my memory of him, he is always shirtless - swinging a hammer, or laying mortar on brick, or using his hand saw (with the handle painted green). His back was the color of baked earth - terra cotta, the Italians say - and his weathered cowboy hat would cast a shadow on this shoulder or that as he moved around, steadily, purposefully, with very little wasted energy. Dad despised waste. Having been 9 or 10 at the time of The Great Depression, he considered waste a sin because everything was a precious gift from God. Even his health and strength and work ethic were gifts. He loved a good laugh, but when it was time to work, it was time to work...

a.k.a. Jose Ruiz, a.k.a. George Milewski

Today was a beach day! But before I got there, I had to deal with the US Postal Service. I'm having my mail forwarded to Vineyard Haven from New York with the "premium" forwarding service that allows forwarding without going back to the sender with a note that you've moved. I haven't been getting the volume I expected here, so I had to stop by the Post Office to check into that and to pick up a package from Macy's containing one large, white, super-duper fluffy robe. I've been using "General Delivery" for the last couple of weeks, but I took this opportunity to open my P.O. box (the mailman doesn't deliver to addresses in Vineyard Haven, so it must have some power that hail, sleet, and dark of night do not possess). As you can imagine with a town where you have to go to the Post Office to get your mail every day, it is often packed. I finally got my white, fluffy Macy's package and the keys to my new P.O. box. When I opened the box, not only was my envelope of forwarded mail there, so were pieces of mail addressed to that box number in the names of Jose Ruiz and George Milewski, names I would not have chosen for myself, but I suppose now I'll forever be Jose or George in addition to Mary.

Packages in hand, I set out to make the 11:10 a.m. bus to Edgartown. I wanted to try the state beach between Oak Bluffs and Edgartown which, David tells me, is known mostly for having been the setting for the filming of the movie "Jaws." I could have taken my packages home, but by this time the weather was so gorgeous I couldn't face wasting another minute that I could be spending lying and listening to the waves. In order to fit my packages in my bag, I had to remove my folding blue stripe sunshine blanket tote with carrying strap, waterproof backing, and 100% lifetime warranty. I sat the blanket neatly beside me on the #13 bus, and there it sits still unless I'm lucky and some kind soul has turned it in to the lost and found.

I got off the bus just before the Edgartown bridge and didn't notice that I was missing my blue stripe blanket until I was on the beach. After cursing my bad memory and grieving over the loss of my blanket tote purchased specifically for this trip, I cheered up and improvised. My jacket tied around my waist became my blanket and my fluffy Macy's package became my pillow. I suppose if a police officer had come by, he would have thought I was a homeless person since it looked like I had everything I owned there on the beach. The only giveaway may have been my little Michael Kors flats (which I feel certain weren't designed for the beach), but I don't know if while being ticketed for vagrancy, I could have convinced the officer to look at the designer label in my shoes.

In any case, it was a glorious day -- 63 degrees and bright sun. I read and slept, and wrote and ate, and took some photos to share and to remember how lovely Indian Summer on Martha's Vineyard feels.

Friends, New and Established

Saturday night, my friend Ardys from the Writers' Workshop and I decided to go to dinner in Oak Bluffs. We planned on Zapotec, but they were closed for the season. We walked around town, noting each restaurant's potential and menu before deciding on Sharkie's for Mexican food. We had a Black Cherry Mojito with our toasty tortilla chips and homemade salsa and guacamole. Dinner was a burrito for each of us, and we talked and listened to the lively music. (I've found out recently that my town, Vineyard Haven, is a dry town which explains why it's much quieter at night here.) After dinner, we walked Oak Bluffs some more when we came upon the local arcade. I taught Ardys how to beat me 6 out of 6 games at air hockey (!!), and then we tried our hand at pool. I was just as bad as ever, but Ardys made some pretty impressive shots. When we sunk the 8 ball early in the second game, we used the rest of the time to practice and actually made some improvement in our shots. It was a great night, except for the fact that I had to say good-bye to her since she had to head back home to New Hampshire today. We plan to see each other again.

Today my friend Jody visited me! We talked and walked and took beautiful photos. Then we ate at The Black Dog Tavern and walked and talked some more. I've missed her terribly and it was so great to catch up. Friends...what would life be like without them? Speaking of friends, Laurie will be visiting for a week two weeks from now. That will be so much fun. Can't wait!!

All Roads Lead to Lake Tashmoo Beach

Seven minutes into the 10-minute West Chop Loop, I stepped off the 10A bus and followed the driver's directions, "Walk down that paved road until it ends. You'll see two stone pillars. Turn right on the dirt road and just keep walking." I walked to the end of Daggett Road, and when I saw the stone pillars and the sign "Stonehaven - Private Property" in front of them, I laughed aloud. Apparently all roads must lead to Herring Creek Road and Lake Tashmoo beach, since this is the very spot where I emerged from the woods several days before on my quest for a beach with waves. (David has since told me that Katama is the place for waves.) Anyway, since I had taken the bus this time instead of walking and I felt strong and sure with my new directions, I set off determined that I would find the beach. After having walked about 35 minutes, I noticed that the trees were coming to an end and that only blue sky lie behind them. This was a good sign. To get to the public beach, I would have had to walk another 10 minutes, and I was ready for a rest and for the lunch I had brought with me. I trespassed through the driveway of a beach house abandoned for the season, and up and over the deck onto the steps leading down to Vineyard Sound. At last, sand, pebble beach, beautiful clear water, and the rhythm of restful waves.

Last Day at the Writing Workshop & Snapping Turtle Farm

These past four days at the Writers' Workshop have been incredible. What we are taught and what we have learned cannot be put into a syllabus. Reduced to its essence it amounts to contagious creativity in a safe environment, followed by warm bread slathered in butter. Wonderful! Here's a photo of our group at the end of our session today.

After today's session, I joined several other group members for lunch. Wendy Weldon, also a member of the writers' group and a talented artist, invited us over to her place which she named Snapping Turtle Ranch some years ago. Her property holds her studio, where she lives all summer since she rents out the "main house" in order to pay the taxes and insurance on the place. Wendy is one of many second generation Islanders that struggle to keep property that their parents bought 30 years ago. Of course she sells her paintings and etchings as well, but it's really the summer visitors who keep the place afloat...barely.

While at Wendy's place, we were treated to homemade apple & grape chutney which was spectacular. She also provided hot sauce with the quesadillas that she made from the peppers in her half-acre garden, and beets and tomatoes fresh from the garden. Ardys gave Wendy some pointers on helping her aging cat by providing acupressure points to help release her blocked chi. So many of the Islanders are very open-minded and spiritual people and having an acupuncturist for yourself or an animal communicator on retainer is as normal as having a therapist in Manhattan. I will learn so much this year.

Lunch at Linda Jean's

The second day of my writing workshop went well, and with the exception of my butt falling asleep from sitting on a thin cushion on the floor for 5 hours, I loved every minute of it. Some of the aspiring writers are so talented...incredibly talented. There's Serge, the son of an Italian mother and French father, whose every story is a poem so tightly compressed and highly polished it can only be called a diamond. And there's Ben who, at 18, can hold the entire room's attention with his beautiful and lyrical writing and reading performance. Our homework assignment tonight was to write about a time when we felt one way but acted another. Most of my writing takes the form of a narrative, but I've chosen to do something a little different this time:

I felt powerful, but feared to lead, so acted weak.
I felt beautiful, but feared attention, so acted plain.
I felt bright, but feared blame, so acted dull.
I felt foolish, but feared scorn, so acted wise.
I felt lonely, but feared pity, so acted brave.
I felt certain, but feared the truth, so acted blind.


After the workshop, my new friend Ardys and I drove from Chilmark to Edgartown to have lunch. Many of the restaurants were closed for the season or only served dinner, so we ended up (on the recommendation of a local) at Linda Jean's. It was a down-to-earth place with friendly service and fresh and delicious food (I had a fish fillet sandwich that melted in my mouth). Linda Jean's was very much like the Islanders -- unassuming, down-to-earth, friendly, and welcoming. Such a pleasant surprise.

On my walk home from the Stop and Shop today, I took a few photos of the cottage. The first is from about a block away, and the second from right in front of the cottage. I'm very comfortable for now and have hopes that the winter nights won't be too severe.

Writing Workshop in Chilmark

I went "up island" this morning to the town of Chilmark. It was the first day in a 4-day writing workshop given at the home of Nancy Aronie. The garden and view alone is enough to inspire writers of all levels who come from as far away as Connecticut to attend. There were about 15-20 participants today, and although there was no formal teaching, Nancy has a way of telling her own story as a writer that it makes you feel safe and ready to write from your own heart and your own voice.

We had a 20-minute writing assignment about 2 hours into the class. The topic was "Dinner at my house was..." and each participant has to write his or her own story. We then listen to each story read aloud by the author, and give only positive feedback. Not everyone has to comment, but as with all good groups, everyone gets into it and recognizes so many good things in each of the works. There are such a variety of people in our group - men from 18 to 70, four 16-year old girls who are in a local charter school, and probably 10 women from ages 30 to 65. I really look forward to going back tomorrow morning.

I found a ride back to Vineyard Haven with a young woman named Ardys (pronounced are-dis). She's staying at a private home here in VH for 4 days, having come here specifically for the workshop from New Hampshire. We seemed to get along well, and we plan on doing some shopping or sightseeing after tomorrow's class.

The North Wind

The North wind doth blow and we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He'll sit in a barn and keep himself warm
and hide his head under his wing, poor thing.

Today felt like the beginning of winter. The high temp was 51 degrees, and it's expected to fall to the low 40's tonight. That in itself wouldn't be anything but a normal fall day, but the wind was a steady 25mph with gusts up to 35mph. Even the locals were taken by surprise at the sudden change. Tomorrow should be back up to 57, but the wind will continue. One lady at a souvenir shop close to the ferry landing worried that she planned to leave tonight...if the ferry was running. Apparently those who had just come across had had a pretty rough ride. Well, this is my home for the next 8 months for better or for worse!

I did get a photo of the cove in Vineyard Haven, and the waves were no longer lazy as they were a couple of days ago. They were choppy and rolling over each other, clawing to get further onto the beach.

Addendum to 10/18 Entry

I found my camera cord. Apparently I was more organized when I left NYC than since I've gotten here, because it was in a plastic bag labeled "SLR Camera." It was just in one of the boxes I hadn't totally unpacked.

So, here are some of the photos I took yesterday in Edgartown.

#1 Bus to Edgartown

I ventured out of Vineyard Haven for the first time today. I took the #1 bus to Edgartown to purchase a monthly bus pass. On the way to Edgartown (8 miles), we passed through Oak Bluffs (3 miles). I would love to add the photos I took of the towns because they are beautiful. Unfortunately, I think I got overzealous in weeding out cords I didn't need for my electronic equipment -- I can't find my cord to download from my digital SLR camera to my computer, and even the card reader Kathy got for me doesn't work because the data card in this camera is too large to fit in the reader! I've borrowed a few photos from the web.

Here are a few of the things I saw:

- Joseph Sylvia State Beach Park
- Beach houses to die for
- An old whaling church
- Kite surfers

Owen Park Beach

After recovering from my walk this morning, I headed back out. I knew there must be a beach close to me, and I was right. I've walked several times to the ferry waiting area without realizing that the beach was just a few steps further. This time, after having consulted the map and assuring myself that I was missing something, I took a few steps more. Owens Beach is about 10 minutes from the cottage, and though it is in quite a sheltered inlet, there are still lazy waves and sand and the creaking of the rigging on the sailboats in the harbor. It will do very nicely for when I want to stay close, but I'll continue searching for a place where the waves crash!



On my walk home I pass the Tisbury Town Hall. These cheery-faced chrysanthemums let me know I'm almost there.

Lost on the Way to Tashmoo Beach and The Children

On the map it seemed pretty simple, but in real life walking to Tashmoo Beach isn't all that easy. Martha's Vineyard, for all it's publicity, is still largely undeveloped. On my quest to find Tashmoo Beach this morning, what looked like a road on the map turned out to be a series of dirt roads that branched off in so many ways, I could never find my way. Two and a half miles into my walk (and after speaking with several people to get directions along the way), I finally gave up and called Rich to see if he could find my location on his GPS so I could figure out how to get back home! I ended up walking 3 1/3 miles, but never seeing the beach. Disappointing, but I haven't given up yet. What I did learn is that the little roads running through the woods can be very dark and lonely, so I'll probably take another route after I get some wheels under me.


I thought of Greg when I saw this group of wild turkeys, whom I lovingly named "The Children" since the sign above them seemed to insist that was what was crossing there.

Martha's Vineyard

My first full day on Martha’s Vineyard. I flew in on a flight from Baltimore Washington International Airport to Boston on a 28-seat plane, and then transferred to an 8-seat Cessna on Cape Air from Boston to the Vineyard. I enjoyed the flight, but I have to admit it’s a little disconcerting to be able to read the instruments in the cockpit from the back seat! The luggage carousel at the Martha’s Vineyard airport was also notable…it consisted of a stationary metal angled bin that was filled by baggage handlers after they opened windows from the outside and placed the suitcases on the “carousel.”

The cottage is adorable but definitely set up for the summertime. I’m hoping I won’t freeze to death as it gets colder. The landlord, an Aussie by the name of Leigh Cormie, said he and his wife would put me up in the attic (the 3rd floor of their house next to the cottage) if it got too desolate back here.

A few initial observations:

-The people are very friendly – more like a small town than I expected.
-Most of the shops in Vineyard Haven where I live are “mom and pop” which I like. I wish more of America was like that.
-I’m eating Nutrisystem meals to help me lose weight and it’s a good thing – I can see by all the local restaurants that it would be hard not to put on weight.
-The houses here are amazing!

Tomorrow I’ll try to head for one of the public beaches.

Family Dinner

According to the 2000 US Census, approximately 29% of Americans live in "non-family" households. Although I don't think it's possible to assess how many of the 71% of Americans living in "family" households are truly in a functional family, I know that my Maryland family is among them.

Last night we had dinner at Greg and Debbi's house. Deb was making corned beef and cabbage, and although she's not of Irish descent herself, you couldn't tell it by the way she cooks this meal. By my count, the original number of family members that would be sitting down at the table was to be seven. By the time we all gathered 'round, the number had swelled to eleven, but Debbi didn't even flinch...she's the same welcoming hostess regardless of the number of guests, and she and Greg make each person feel that they are the center of love and attention.

Between bites of corned beef and cabbage, followed by homemade banana bread hot from the oven, we laughed at Greg's impression of a bullfrog with bulging eyes croaking from his lily pad in deep rhythmic tones, "Baa-rrrack, Baaa-rr-aaack, Baarraack." (I don't suppose it's necessary to say that Greg isn't a huge Obama supporter!)

Greg and Debbi's daughter, Lisa, who is a senior at Catholic University in Washington, DC, gave us an example of one of the oral histories she's been studying from the Smithsonian's collection of American Craftsmen. This famous furniture maker started in the 1970's, and as Lisa (a demure, dark-haired beauty) began relating the interview, she shed her 21-year-old demeaner and became a 60-something burned-out hippie: "Ya know, man, we started by making roach clips in California..." She had us in stitches by the end of the story.

As dinner was breaking up, I was sitting in the living room of the house where my father lived from the time he was 6 years old, listening to a minimum of four lively conversations being carried on, while my Aunt Gladys (81) and my great nephew Wesley (15) played Rummy with equal passion. I remember my dad telling me about sitting in the kitchen and living room when he was a boy telling stories and reading aloud. I know he is smiling down on us seeing that he has given my sisters and me a gift we never knew we were missing...a family.

In Search of Hogan's Swimming Hole and Great Falls Picnic

Today had a rather sad beginning. As we were going out the driveway of my Aunt's house, we saw a young deer trying to move across the front lawn. It was dragging one hind leg which was twisted horribly in the wrong direction. Apparently the doe had been hit by a car during the night and had pulled itself up into the yard to escape further injury. Debbi called animal control, but it was several hours before a police car with two officers arrived. I hoped the poor deer's suffering would end quickly since I'd grown up around animals and knew that it only took one well-aimed shot to do what was necessary and humane. I was in the house when I heard the shot and breathed a silent 'thank you.' When I heard a second shot, I was surprised. By the third shot, I was angry, and by the fourth I was feeling nauseous. Later I found out that a rooky cop (using a pistol) was afraid to get too close to the deer, so it took him that many shots to finally get the job done. It still makes me angry to think about it.


The rest of the day was much happier. Greg, Debbi, Aunt Gladys, Kathy, Rich, Wesley, Billy and I went in search of Hogan's Hole. When my dad was a teenager, he discovered a place on Rock Creek a mile from the family home that had excellent potential for a swimming hole. He cleaned out rocks and debris from the bottom, and dammed up the creek below the hole slowing the flow enough to make the water deep and perfect for diving into. Over the years he continued to maintain the swimming hole, adding a diving board and a rope swing. It came to be known as Hogan's Hole after my dad. In 1941, the Washington Post did a full-page photo and a feature article in the Rotogravure Section. Of course the creek has changed many times over the past 65 years, but that doesn't make me any less proud of what my dad accomplished and how many boys' (and on rare occasion girls') lives were brightened during and after those Great Depression years.

"While $1-a-year men wrestle with priorities and Washingtonians worry about traffic, these Rockville, Md., youngsters go swimming at a spot that would make Tom Sawyer green with envy.

Just a few miles from the District, on Veir's Mill Road, this particular part of Rock Creek has been a swimming-in-the-natural pool with boys for generations. Screened by trees and brush, with a rock for medium diving, a fallen tree for low, and a plank diving board for higher--it's a boyhood dream come true. They call it Hogan's Hole, and are willing to walk three miles, climb a locked gate and maneuver through a barbed wire fence to get there."

Finally, the day ended with a 40-minute drive and a picnic at Great Falls National Park on the Potomac River. The water was far below the normal water line, but the falls were still beautiful.

Gettysburg and the 33rd Virginia

Yesterday we took a drive up to the Gettysburg National Military Park just over the Pennsylvania border. My cousin Rob is one of the premiere Civil War experts in the country, so we had our own private tour guide through the battlefields.

I was surprised to learn that members of my maternal grandmother's family had fought in Gettysburg at the battle of Culp's Hill. Simeon, Christian, and Philip Lucas all left their family homestead in the Shenandoah Valley to join the rebel cause and become part of the famed 33rd Virginia Infantry Regiment. Rob pointed out where, on those steamy days of early July 1863, the 33rd VA crept up the hill through dense woods strewn with large boulders while dodging Union rifle shots raining down upon them. Christian was the only one of the three that survived long enough to fight at Gettysburg. He survived the battle, but went A.W.O.L. on September 1, 1863, and was later court-martialed and sentenced to death. The lawyer defending him got the sentence reduced to life, but he was paroled by the Union Army in May 1865 as a P.O.W.

(Philip was killed in the Battle of Bull Run in July 1861, two years before The Battle of Gettysburg, and Simeon was killed in the Battle of Chancellorville in May 1863, just two months prior to the Gettysburg engagement.) *Note: Thanks, Greg, for catching the error I had previously posted!

Ancestral Homes

Today Aunt Gladys, Kathy, Rich, and my great nephew Wesley drove down to Georgetown to visit the final resting place of my paternal great grandparents -- Holy Rood Cemetery. My great grandfather, Lawrence Hogan immigrated from Limerick City, Ireland at the age of 17 around the time of the Civil War. He met my great grandmother, Sarah Carlin, in Connecticut. Now they rest together in love forever on a beautiful grassy hill through summers of sunshine and under winter blankets of snow.

A much more recent ancestral home sits high on a hill on Veirs Mill Road in Rockville, MD. The house is where my dad and his brothers and sisters grew up, and it still stands on a portion of the Hogan homestead occupied by my cousin Greg Campbell and his family. The love and warmth that fills the old ancestral home (built in 1927) is as apparent now as it was when the previous generation lived, and loved, and cried here. The moment you walk onto the porch and through the kitchen door, you know you have found a home.