A Predictably Unpredictable Vacation—Hey, It’s the Little Things

Martha's Vineyard

Route 90 East is the long, generally boring, well-traveled route which encounters route 425 East, which leads directly over the Bourne Bridge to route 28 South into Woods Hole, Massachusetts.  After twenty years, I could do the drive with my eyes closed.  But as the lone driver and only passenger of our fun and food-filled mini-van, I kept my eyes open with the help of books on tape, long overdue phone calls to family and friends, and music (oy, is my voice rusty!)  The nine hours went by quickly, even with the unexpected extra hour at the Bourne Bridge crossing the Cape Cod Canal, unusual I thought, for a Saturday night.  Had we ever crossed at this time of day?  Oh, well (sigh).  The extra time was not wasted.  I enjoyed reminiscing about previous vacations while thinking about next month filled with the sun, sand, and the same rituals, highly valued to comfort and restore.

Woods Hole is the port for the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard.  But it is also the home to the world renowned Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute.  Aromas of the ubiquitous honeysuckle assault us as we parked the van on one of the side streets and headed down to the center of this small haven for travelers and scientists alike.

In the early years, when we took an afternoon ferry, Woods Hole would offer us a visit to the aquarium to see our favorite fish grown larger in the last year.  A trip to the library where a book sale would yield a copy of “A Love Story” for my teenage girls for only 10 cents.  A walk along the docks to see how many different boats we could spot in the harbor.  A lunch on the porch overlooking the ducks and the bridge at the Black Duck—a favorite for our first fish and chips of the season.

More recently, early morning ferries started with a pre-sail visit to the Pie In the Sky Bakery.  Expanded garden seating while the sun begins to burn off the early morning mist, readies us for the delights of lingering over a breakfast with family, drinking our tea or coffee and leisurely reading the morning news.

And then the ferry.  The magical ferry.  Getting on the ferry meant getting in line on time—one line I really never minded.  It meant the beginning of our summer adventure. Listening to the ferry crew with their prominent New England, mainly Bostonian flat accents, fitting a hundred or more cars so tightly into the bow of the ferry that if we had gained a few pounds that year, exit from the car would be  difficult were it not for the sliding side doors of the van.

The weather was never really an issue (until we arrived, that is).  Sun meant sitting outside and soaking up the rays while we talked, walked and watched the people who had come for a day, a week, a month or for always.  (About 15,000 people live on MV year round according to the 2000 census.  But growth has been rapid and that number is likely much higher as we approach our next census next year). Cold, cloudy or rainy weather mean the 45 minutes crossing would be spent inside with games and books.

We arrived at one of two ports.  Vineyard Haven, the major port for MV, is a “dry town” known for its famous bookstore, The Bunch of Grapes, upscale clothing and galleries, and the Island’s Summer Stock Vineyard Playhouse.  Or Oak Bluffs, with its historic Flying Horses Carousel (longest, continuously running in the US), honky-tonk Circuit Avenue and the first settlement on MV, the Methodist Camp Meeting Ground with the Tabernacle for community sings and other cultural and religious events.  Oh, the possibilities were/are limitless!