Social Conscience

It wasn’t the island, it was the people on it.  They were the reason we knew where to retire.

We first visited Martha’s Vineyard in the mid-ninety’s with some friends, expecting a long weekend full of sunny beaches, biking from town to town, and glorious sunsets.  We found all of that, but my wife and I decided against renting jet skis, half-day fishing trips, or taking a sail on a catamaran.  Instead we pedaled into the village of Edgartown and she was smitten.  All she wanted to do was walk the streets, all she wanted to talk about was her desire to live here.

“People live here.  See that guy carrying his newspaper up those front steps?  He lives here!!  Why can’t WE live here?”

“Um, uh, well, because we live somewhere else?”  That response was not good enough to slow her down.  “Look at that cute little cottage!  That’s all I want.  And look, it needs some work.  How much could they possibly be asking?”

Ah, therein lies the rub, as another doomed man once said.  We waited until winter, booked weekends at The Victorian Inn (dogs allowed, so we brought our standard poodle Fenway for his approval), contacted Real Estate agents and shopped.  And shopped.  There was nothing even remotely affordable, so we downgraded our expectations and upgraded our offers.  We bought a sorry-looking building that was more like a shed than a house.  We spent every winter weekend making it livable and meeting island people.  And that’s when we both became smitten.

There is a palpable aura of community.  Volunteering is a way of life whether one is donating time, dollars, or both.  We all share the burden and the beauty of living on this fragile island.  A perfect example of this spirit is on display every Friday evening during the summer when a crowd gathers on the lawn around the Tabernacle.  People bring chairs, coolers and blankets, musicians play and sing.  Diversity in age and ethnicity runs the gamut.  A couple times each summer the humanity soars over the top when Camp Jabberwocky attends.

Campers of all ages and degrees of special needs join the celebration. Those who are mobile run up close to the band and dance, with counselors or solo, their exuberant movements awkward and beautiful.  Those who aren’t mobile get wheel-chaired or carried, then swayed to the music.  The counselors, mostly teens and young adults, appreciate the campers for what they are instead of what they are not, their mutual joy so obvious it can moisten the eyes of even the most jaded observer.

I know this because a friend, jaded and smug, blurted out, “This place is like the Hamptons, but with a social conscience!”