I am leaving, moving off-Island. For good. A new home, a new town, a new state. I have, in a sense, been voted off the Island by the myriad of issues and inconveniences so familiar to those of us who call this place home — our only home — the one we struggle mightily for year after year to pay the rent, or if we’re really lucky, the mortgage. The home that is our entire world. Where we reside alone, or with partners, family and/or friends, and perhaps a few children and pets. Where we gather to mark a multitude of beginnings and endings: holidays, birthdays, first and last days of school, marriages, divorces, births, and deaths.
The house I’m leaving is my children’s childhood home, though all three are grown and flown. It is the last one visited by my parents, one shared over the years with several very special cats and dogs, six of whom are buried in the yard, along with a small army of deserving woodland creatures. I won’t dwell on the various reasons for leaving, how much harder it’s grown to call this Island home. Those of us who do it understand all too well that we can’t help ourselves. We love this place; we are in love with this place.
Driving home from my last oh-so-precious Island dentist appointment recently, I passed through the heart of West Tisbury: horses in the barnyard, sheep in the meadow, swans on the Mill Pond. But it was a field of mowed, rolled hay that reduced me to tears. We moved here during haying. Later one child would participate in this tradition on a friend’s farm; another spent days and years at the FARM Institute, leading to a sustainable agriculture major in college. But that first year, those carefully rolled bales of hay were foreign to our suburban sensibility.
We fell easily into the rhythm of the Vineyard seasons, the knowledge that the ocean was never far away — scents of sand and salt wafting through car windows on errands, the crashing of Long Point waves serenading us on stormy nights, the distant moan of the ferry stretching all the way to our yard when the wind is just right.
Every inch of this Island is crammed with memories. Once upon a time I got engaged on the East Chop bluffs, toppled a canoe with my father on Lake Tashmoo, spent a week aboard the Alabama with my daughter’s fifth-grade class. Several times a week I frequent the West Tisbury Post Office, where one child tore open their college letter of acceptance, or I drive through the intersection where another wrecked the family car, pass the schools that were once as familiar to me as my own backyard. Over the years I have attended an endless array of concerts, dance recitals, school plays, and Minnesinger shows at the MVRHS PAC. My kids traveled off-Island for school sports and class trips. They received their high school diplomas at the historic Tabernacle in the Oak Bluffs Campground. When your children grow up on an Island, their coaches, teachers, and childhood friends are never strangers. They’ve remained a gratifying part of my life long after my kids settled off-Island. I run into them in the grocery store, at cookouts, on the boat.
And speaking of the boat, what will I do without the endless nautical drama? Will it run; will there be delays? Don’t forget to check the wind, the weather report. Do I need to leave a day (or two or three) before my actual plans? Should I book a hotel, just in case? What if my kids don’t make it home for Christmas, or my birthday, or my mother’s memorial? What if we are stranded on the other side?
There will be adjustments, learning to appreciate summer days without the Island traffic, the crowds, the (mostly) enraptured faces of (mostly) grateful tourists. What will winter be like without wave-battered, windswept beaches, or gray Island days made brighter by coworkers and patrons at the West Tisbury library, or cozy dinners around a bonfire with my dog park gang? What could possibly compare to a brisk winter walk on Lucy or Moshup, the feeling that my dog and I are not just the only ones on the beach, but perhaps the last remaining beings in the entire world?
There is much we relinquish, choosing life on an Island, most of it willingly. In turn, we are rewarded in ways others can only imagine. What DO we do here all winter, that mysterious stretch of time between Labor Day and Memorial Day weekends, cut off from the mainland, surrounded by the sea? Muddle through long dark days, consumed with loneliness and despair? Live ordinary lives, surrounded by extraordinary beauty? Indulge in magic and mayhem?
I’ll never tell.
I recently came across a postcard my grandmother sent while vacationing here more than 50 years ago. The front features a predictably stunning photo of the Aquinnah Cliffs, and on back she writes, in her flowing, old-school cursive: “This place is so beautiful, too bad it’s so inaccessible.” Still true, even today. But that difficulty is no doubt part of its allure.
I am heartbroken to leave. But those hay bales reminded me that the world is filled with places of unexpected beauty and serenity, and though they may not be on the Vineyard, I am determined to find one or two new ones to call my own.
Many moons ago I was captured — enraptured — by this place. When I go, I leave behind a piece of my heart. But this Island is part of me now. I’ll carry it with me the rest of my life.
And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Certainly one of the most poiignant and beautiful letters I have ever read regarding an issue many of us deal with. Thank you.
They say…… There’s no place like home.
They say…… You can’t go home again.
They say……. Home is where the heart is.
What they don’t say is that when a farewell is forced it breaks sorrow over the heart like surf against a rock.
I hope you find your hay bales and heart ‘s desire someday soon, if not in a place where the sea embraces the sky as one, then perhaps along some winding road in which mountains rise and fall like the tides.
Good journey, Maureen!
“Oh my …” I muttered to myself with a few tears. “ Who wrote this?”
I scrolled back up to the byline of one of the best Vineyard focused pieces I’ve ever read . So wonder fully done. Thanks Ms Hall.
I couldn’t help but think that this will be a familiar ending for so many of us. You captured the emotion beautifully and brought some tears. Wishing you well on your quest for the next vineyard…
It is a bittersweet tale, written with so much love. A tale that is heard more and more frequently these days.
I look forward to hearing and reading of the new memories you will make and I’m sure there will always be a place by the fire for you.
Thank you so much for this beautiful love song. You’ve captured so many things so well. Safe travels, and fair winds and following seas in all of your future adventures.
This is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing your reflections of island life.
My thoughts exactly. How beautiful and powerful. Thank you.
You must have been inspired a bit by Isak Denison. I guess MV will always have a piece of your heart, and somewhere on this island, MV has a part of you. May your journey continue on the best of terms.
This is the ballad of the long, slow, heartbreakingly beautiful goodbye for those of us who know in their hearts that we are but mere stewards. 😔
I share those thoughts and memories. And we left for the same myriad of reasons. We hope you find a new community and feel warm and embraced like you did in MV.
And I thought I was the only person to cry about hay bales 💚💙
What a beautifully written, heartfelt letter! I feel your pain but am sure you will create new memories that will also bring you to smile! Wishing you well on your next journey!
Parting can be such sweet sorrow!
We too, my husband and I will also be leaving in about 4 years after we retire, me as a teacher and him with the land bank maintaining the public trails. We intended on staying forever when we moved here 27 years ago but have realized we cannot stay as retirees with no family here. But no regrets. We have made awesome friends and memories. We are going to go back to our childhood home to be closer to family and older friends, but we will miss the island that we grew to love, and will cry when we do leave. P.S. But will not miss the boat drama for sure.
As one of the “dog park gang”, and someone who has had the privilege of calling you my friend, you are a treasure that will be missed by many on this Island. But, rest assured, soon enough we will have on-island and off-island reunion plans in the making, and with that, lots of new memories to create together.
Maureen, a poet forever. If you need a return for the soul or a visit with some poets on the island — bring your own new ones — I’ll be happy to host you. As I ‘ve said in a new/ old “ love” poem to white and red stones on the beach— “There’s
a time when love names everything it looks at.” You have done that too. Like Adam, you’ll never forget the names of all you’ve loved. Into being .
How lucky my sister and I were to have family on the Island when we were children in the 40’s and 50’s. Every summer our family of four would spend weeks staying with our grandparents and visiting aunts and uncles. She and I are in our 80’s now and still talk about the fun we always had ie…catching fireflies in a jar, beach parties at South Beach burning tires no less, and catching the tiny crabs in the sand once the wave was receding back to the sea. I could go on and on…
Your Island of today is nothing like the Island we enjoyed, so with all honesty I can say “those were the good ole days”.
Comment above
What a lovely goodbye gift you have left us with, Maureen! Thank you for that and for your continuing friendship. See you ’round the pit!
You write a beautiful tribute to the island we all love and were, some of us, lucky enough to call home. After 22 years in Chilmark, I left the island for Colorado to be with my daughter 11 years ago. Yes, the Rockies are beautiful and yes, I made good friends there but I missed “our” island and my wonderful Island friends. I now live on the Northern California coast (I joke that my next stop will be Guam) and I find that all coasts and all oceans are not the same. My heart is still on Vincent Beach, at the Chilmark post office, on lumpy bumpy Tea Lane, at Menemsha especially at sunset, even at Cronig’s market. I’m too old to move back but it’s really hard to live out here with my heart still beating on the Vineyard.
So many of us exist on this brink, eking out a living of sorts while staying here past retirement. Many of our friends have left for the Cape and cite the boat as the primary rationale. And I must say that overall, the mainland has much to entice. We went to a concert there only a week or so ago, and getting back home was a bit of anguish. Because our Hospital is affiliated with Mass General and Brigham, we have so far not required much in the way of medical attention off-Island, for which we are fortunate. Washashores, both octogenarians, we hope to finish out our lives right here, but truly understand and feel for those who have to leave. Best of luck to you and let us here from you when you are newly “settled”.
Hi Sara! My married name is Crafts and I’m just wondering where you grew up? It’s not a name I see very often except for family members.
That was really beautiful to read. Thank you. I hope your new place brings you a new collection of sweet memories.
You’ve painted a beautiful miniature of Vineyard life and leaving for all who will go and for all who have gone before you. Safe journey!
Maureen, Your writing is as beautiful as it was once in Jon Hough’s writing group where we met and exchanged many connections. Thank you for encapsulating the beauty of the island and the poignance of your many memories. We, too, decided to leave, though the time we spent on MV (24 years) were our sunset years. Take heart that your decision is a wise one. We are only now settling in to a new life in a new state, but the experience is filled with new beginnings. May yours be a blessing as well. E
What a beautiful tribute and lament all rolled into one love letter that brought me to tears. I left in 2003 and although there is, of course, natural beauty and wonderful community to be found off Island, the love and the ache both remain.
Your ability to clearly express this deeply personal & painful decision with such sensitivity & eloquence is nothing short of extraordinary.
The Island is a part of you now & will always be with you where you go. I hope you will make your way back here from time to time to visit friends and revisit memories. Best of luck on this next chapter.
This is So Beautifully Written. I had to leave the Island 3 Years Ago. I, like You, raised My Children on the Island after moving into our Summer Home Year Round. The Island is The Most Special Place to both Me and My Children. We Will Always be Grateful for the 20 plus Years We got to Experience the Magic of this Precious Island. Thank You for Putting into Words what I have been Feeling for the Past 3 Years. Much Luck on the next Part of Your Life’s Journey.🙏💜🙏
May the hay bales continue on forever.
Go in peace. 👋 🦞
What a beautiful love letter to the island. You so perfectly paint the details that create the whole picture of this place. When people ask me why I live here, your description is the answer. You clearly know how to find beauty & joy, I am sure you will continue to do that on your new path.
I too have been thru this and it is always home. My family are buried there. Hard to get there. My mom will also be buried there and I will not be able to visit as often as I like. Family history once upon a time I could travel north road to hear my dad tell me of the stories when that land along the road was owned by his family. But I too succumbed to the cost to live there and left. I will remember only to hope that I would get there to visit that family and remember. I Left a peice of me there only to hope to visit. Good luck on your new journey. After time it will feel like you have a home with the thought that you visit the home the piece of your heart is there. Much luck to you.
Martha’s Vineyard is my favorite spot on this earth, though it has been a myriad sunsets since I was there. The old A&P, the winery, the wildflower farm, Eileen Blake’s Pies & Otherwise…hoping the character of the island clings to its shores despite whatever plagues it. Because I am counting on retiring there. My father who will be 100 in December, a WWII P-38 pilot who also fell in love with the island, simply stated that everything that ails our society boils down to one or both of two vices: greed and bias. May the Vineyard stoically resist them both.
Comments are closed.