My Little Town, Early Morning

On Monday morning I finally managed to get out early enough to be the first one into (and out of) Stop&Shop for Geezer Hour, and this is what I saw when I returned home, around 6:30am.

A Perfect Fourth

This year's Independence Day was as fine as any I can remember; maybe even better. Yes, the day was magic - an old fashioned Edgartown  Fourth of July, right out of a Norman Rockwell painting, beginning with the weather, that despite advance doom and gloom reports, turned out to be sunny (remember? weather reports don't apply to Edgartown).

After hanging the decorations (and yes, I managed to hang my vertical flag backwards again), mowing the lawn, and making sure all was in order for the evening, I biked with friends out to the beach - the heat of the day making the water all the more refreshing - where I was hard pressed to drag myself out of the briny deep.

I've begun what I hope will become a yearly tradition: a barbecue on the front lawn along with a live Irish traditional music session on the porch (videos at the end). This brings to full circle a story that was referred to often in my childhood. According to a Vineyard Gazette piece that appeared in a May 1948 issue, my Main Street house was moved from Ocean Heights in 1848, being rolled into town on logs by oxen (picture the house being pulled forward a few feet, with the men then removing the rear-most log and placing it the front row - over and over for three miles down a dirt road). As the story is told, that particular May day culminated with a rare spring snow storm (records of which I've never been able to find), and as was the custom of the day, with a pot-luck feast, replete with fiddlers.

Since I haven't figured out how to barbecue, play my fiddle, and photograph simultaneously, a couple of things suffered - okay, everyone told me that burned hot-dogs taste better, but I think they were just being polite - also, I couldn't wander and take the copious numbers of photographs I usually take during this bonanza of Edgartown faces. I did manage to get a few shots that I like (the complete set: link).




117 Main Street.













Dylan Morgan, in step with his grandfather Colonel Fred B. Morgan.





The Colonial Navy Band from Fall River












Ready for the shower of sweets.
 







The pipers regaled us going into town, as well as on the way back out - a double treat.






Dylan Morgan






Skip Tomassian





Mike Smith (left).








Sheriff Michael McCormack








Edgartown's finest - Smith, Rossi, Gazaille, and Searle.






Porch musicians, Cormac and Bob.






David






Levi, Cormac, and Bob.






Levi and Cormac






David, Levi, Cormac, and Bob.





                                                              Susie and David








Fourth of July Porch Session from Sara Piazza on Vimeo.
Footage from our inaugural Alison Boylston Piazza House/Midnight Mermaid porch session, July 4, 2011. Great tunes, great friends, great craic!


Fourth of July Porch Session 2 from Sara Piazza on Vimeo.
The Bucks of Oranmore with Levi, Cormac, Bob, Susie, and David.

This was a great day - from swimming at Bend in the Road, to the parade, the BBQ, and great music - all topped off with spectacular fireworks over Edgartown Harbor.

On the Right, Going Out

117 Main Street, the Alison Boylston Piazza House, a/k/a the Midnight Mermaid.


My neighbor Skip is an American flag etiquette expert, and I can always count on him to straighten me out if my flags are not hanging properly. When I hung my flag from the fascia board of the porch a couple of years ago, I knew that the American flag must be depicted in a particular way in a picture or a decal - with the field of stars on the left - but I somehow couldn't figure it out as it pertained to hanging it perpendicularly, and I did manage to hang it backwards, which Skip helpfully pointed out to me.

I had been wanting to get a proper flag, with a pole, for some time - to replace the one that was stolen a few summers ago - which I did recently. As I unfurled it and placed it into the bracket on the front of my porch I thought, well, at least I can't hang it backwards this time.

A couple of days went by before Skip stopped by my porch to tell me, "Nice flag, but it should be on the right hand side of the doorway as you go out." Darn - my new flag was on the right, going in.

No matter - I still had the new bracket in its package, so I climbed back up and installed it on the correct side.

When I was a camper at Camp Wintucket summer day camp - out on Wintucket Cove, and run by Joe and Betty Robichau - we were taught how to care for the flag, raising it up every morning and lowering it every evening - never, ever, allowing the flag to touch the ground, of course - as well as the proper folding: triangle over triangle, into a neat package, to be stored until the next day's raising. I do remember that being selected to participate in this rite was considered an honor and a privilege.

Because I don't have a light for my flag, I do have to set my flag out every morning and bring it in every night, which I thought might be a chore, both to remember to do and to do, but it turns out to be an activity I actually enjoy. First of all, it is now part of my daily routine; bookends on my day. I have also discovered that there's something transformational about taking care of the flag every day. Of course, the flag doesn't really need me to care for it, its being an inanimate object, but on a deeper level, the act of tending to the flag twice a day fosters a caring and respect - in me - that spills over into many other areas, including: love and respect of country, others, and self. 

Have a happy and safe Fourth of July. See you at the parade, and if you see me with my camera, smile.









Camp Wintucket, 1948. My brother, John, is third from left (with his hand on the little sailboat). I wonder if that's Mary Waller, the only girl, with pig-tails.