And just like that, summer is over. We made fall-inspired blackberry boutonierres this weekend, dahlia’s finally peeked out of their mud pit of a home and the throngs of chowder-obesessed tourists emptied out on this morning’s ferry. They say the island changes in September, and it’s serious.
I’m wearing my white jeans today, for one because I just plain old hate the post-Labor Day rule but also because i’m not entirely ready for changing seasons. Summer here has been mild and easy, in a way that I have never known. In New York City, Summer is brutally steamy. The air is thick, trapped between towering concrete buildings and dirty, black macadam. Florida would be just as bad, if it weren’t for central air.
On this island, there are endless dirt roads leading to water; oyster-flecked ponds, turquoise inlets teaming with wooden sailboats, miles of still ocean, flanked with painterly dunes. Breakfast is farm fresh eggs, lunch can be raw shellfish and steamed lobster on the dock behind the fish market. Some of us are working between all of the sunbathing, but even then it’s the sweet life - farmer’s market in the shade, trading flowers for coffee and blueberry pie. It only took through July to realize that a Martha’s Vineyard summer is the quintessential one.
Today it’s 72 and clear, the kind of day that cartoons are made of. Tiny white clouds dot the horizon and the sun just barely warms your shoulders. It’s apparent though, that the air will only get chillier, the leaves darker. The few people left on main street have taken to wearing sweaters and drinking hot coffee, leaving the ice cream shops vacant.
But while there is a little sparkle of summer in the changing breeze, i’ll take my coffee iced and feet, bare.
Above: Outstanding in the Field’s menu at Tea Lane Farm; Mid-summer’s swim with Katie.