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My husband Whit and I slipped into a back pew just as the minister directed all to rise, open hymnals, and sing. After lumbering through thr...
Essay
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I found a bone at Felix Neck in February. It was poking out of the cold earth at the base of a tree, so I dislodged it and took it to th...
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Photograph:'Oak Bluffs II, 2015' by Alison Shaw. alisonshaw.com.
When I first summered here, there was a tiny filler column in the Viney...
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Margaret Knight, building on Chappaquiddick, 1973
I’m feeling pretty healthy and not that old, so I wouldn’t have thought to write my ...
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How publishing cycles and vegetable celebrity don't always align.
My aunt called the other day. “I’m going to send you an article,”...
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Tiny House in a windstorm — Photo by Tammy Strobell, flickr.com/rowdykittens
About a year ago, my husband told me I didn’t need anoth...
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“I’m setting the alarm for midnight,” my husband Whit whispered as I came out of our children’s tiny bedroom and latched the narrow door b...
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Jan Pogue and John Walter sit on boxes of their book Delish.
Ten years is almost nothing in the lifetime of this Island.
By Jan Pog...
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A Bed to make.
Or as the Italians would say, Dolce far niente.
For a few years now I’ve been asking myself this question: What if th...
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At various times in my life, a nagging voice has appeared, sometimes in the back of my head, sometimes in the front, asking, “Do I matter in...