You Say CLEM-a-tis, I say clem-AH-tis

Actually, I prefer CLEM-a-tis, and I've also seen cle-may-tis listed as an acceptable pronunciation. Whatever your preference, it is currently clematis season around here, and having just come in from trimming part of my miles-long hedge (seems that way, anyway), a good part of this chore having included a wrestling match with this pretty-yet-pervasive vine, I do have mixed feelings about the stuff.

But rather than blather on, I will offer a short verse written by my dear mother, as good a summary of clematis as any (and I see by the accent that she penned in above the first syllable in her manuscript - typed on onion skin with her black Royal typewriter - that I must have learned my pronunciation from her).This is one of the shortest of the couple of dozen or so poems my mother wrote, and will surely not be the last we see of her poetry in these pages. The photos were taken today, for the occasion - in between climbing up and down staging and yanking my arm out trying to keep the trimmer going, thanks to a bad mix of gas, methinks.

   Clematis foams over old fences, 

Creeps over crumbling stone walls,

Drifts over everything in its path.

  

Alison Boylston Piazza

I think this clematis vine is the only thing holding my garage up at this point.

Vineyard Classic

Hundreds of swallows danced above the dunes at South Beach on Sunday.

Sunday was a classic Vineyard September day, a one-hundred-dollar day if there ever was one - crystal clear, not too hot, not too cold, with a brisk, refreshing wind; remnants of Earl, the hurricane that wasn't.

I had a hankering to see what was going on out at South Beach, wave-wise, so I took a drive out the right fork.

The first thing I noticed when I got to the beach was a large swarm, or flock, of something in the air over the dunes. At first I thought it was a swarm of dragonflies - this being dragonfly season and all - but as I walked closer to the action I realized it was the largest flock of swallows I had ever seen; there were literally hundreds and hundreds of swallows, soaring together en masse and in perfect synchronicity: up to the sky - soaring to the left, swooping to the right; now down, now up. This collective mass of birds looked like a fast-moving black cloud, swooping down very low to the dunes, not quite landing, but rather, hovering over the grass, but only briefly before suddenly soaring sky-ward again. They seemed unfazed by my presence and I was able to get so close that I could practically feel the flutter of their wings. I watched them in amazement as they repeated these movements several times before they flew on down Atlantic Avenue. I have never seen such a large flock of swallows before and I have no idea what they were doing. I thought perhaps they were in the middle of a feeding frenzy, but I didn't see any bugs. Besides, it was way too windy at South Beach yesterday for mosquitoes to be flying around. The other thing I wondered as I watched this fascinating sky dance was - how do they know how to fly together with such precise synchronicity? Is there a leader? Or, maybe they are so intricately tuned in to each other and to the group that each is able to match the movement of the bird next to itself, instantaneously.

Whatever the answers, I count this dance of the swallows as a treasure of a treasured day, thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated by this spectator.

You can identify a swallow by the vee-shaped notch in its tail, hence the expression, "swallow-tailed."

Terns work the shoreline.

The terns were not as trusting as the swallows, taking flight the minute I got close.

Vineyard classic.

His Name is Earl

And he's headed our way, and I assume everyone has battened down the hatches or is in the process of doing so. Yes, there is a certain cavalier attitude that is popular: "I'm cool; cat-4 hurricanes don't scare me." And then there's reality. Someone asked me yesterday while watching me help d-i-l prepare for the storm ("You're an Edgartown girl now, it's time for you to learn how to operate a hurricane lamp), "Should I be worried?" My response was, "Worried, no; prepared yes." 

You know the drill: boats out of the water or moved to safe harbor; tie down anything that has the potential of blowing away or through your window; storm windows down; fill the tub with water for personal use, fill clean containers for drinking (unless you prefer standing in line and getting into a fist fight over the last bottle of water at Stop and Shop); hurricane lamps prepared - trim the wicks, clean the mantle, fill with oil; batteries for the portable radios; get the board games out of the closet (remember board games? Game of Monotony, anyone?) and stock up on reading material. 

And a thank you to my friend Yaakov who reminded me about the Town of Edgartown's official web site where you will find official hurricane preparedness guidelines and be able sign up for a free alert system that will send a text message to your cell phone if an emergency arises, which reminds me -  don't forget to keep the cell phone charged in advance in case we lose power (well, you could re-charge on your car charger by driving around the island a couple of times, but this is not recommended during a hurricane), which also means of course that your portable land-lines (the kind that plug into the electrical outlet) will not be working either, so it would be good to have an old-fashioned, tethered phone connected to the land line.

As for me, I'm on high ground (at least I think this part of town is at the top of a hill - I know I do a lot of huffing and puffing when I ride my bike on this stretch) - not that I was running from the storm, mind you (not scared of hurricanes, nah nah nah nah), but I had a couple of appointments to tend to - and will be riding a down-draft back home on Sunday.

 The calm before the storm?

Marty

A funny thing happened to me on my walk downtown the other evening. Or, I should say, a funny person happened to me. The funny person was Marty Nadler. I love Marty - who doesn't? Marty comes to us via Hollywood, where he was a writer for the Laverne and Shirley show, among others. Marty is ours now and has become a local celebrity, performing comedy around the island and gracing us with his wit and charm wherever he happens to be. I often see him strolling on Upper Main Street after his dinner at Atria (his adopted home - he seems to be under the delusion that he owns the place), always friendly, and always dressed impeccably. I've long suspected, however, that Marty is one of the up-islanders who, when he gets back home, tells his friends, "I never go to Edgartown," you know, the way they love to do, especially in the aisles of Cronig's, exaggerating and drawing out the word n-e-v-e-r very dramatically (up-islanders seem to live for opportunities to say those five words). That's okay, I've seen him here, and now I've got a photo to prove it. I told him, "You'd better be careful, or you'll end up in my blog." He said, "You'd better put me in your blog." I love Marty.

August Rains

Remember the crunchy brown lawns of last week? Well, this week is the antidote, as mother nature is blessing us with several days' worth of rain, giving those dry lawns (they weren't dead, only sleeping - the natural cycle for grass), a big long drink, as she can always be counted on to do in August. She's also helping out with a little pruning, as the winds have strewn the streets with leaves and branches. This is the end-of-season storm that wakes us to the reality that Labor Day will soon be upon us and that it's time to get packing; the annual pruning of summer people, as well (oops, that includes me).

Magic

My favorite boat in the harbor, hands down, is the 56-foot classic wooden yawl Magic Carpet. Seeing the Magic Carpet glide through the harbor - silently, gracefully, sails filling the sky - is nothing short of, well, magic. The Magic Carpet is owned and operated by Captains Todd Bassett (another whose childhood on this harbor ultimately translated into a great life) and Lee Taylor, who have been sailing her out of Edgartown for the past sixteen summers. What a life - and what a wonderful addition to our harbor and to our town.

Captive Audience

Captain Rob Morrison had a trio of young boys (along with a dock-full of bystanders) in the palm of his hand the other day while filleting the afternoon's catch of sea bass at Lower Main Street's fishermen's pier. The boys were especially intrigued by the post-mortem movements of the body-less fish, the scientific reasons for which - the workings of the piscatory nervous system - being handily explained by the captain. I was impressed with Rob's knowledge (I would later learn that he has a degree in marine biology), as well as with his easy-going way with the boys (which is no wonder, since it was not long ago that the captain himself was a boy knocking around these docks).