The day I write this is the first day it is predicted to get over 60 degrees here on Nantucket. The island is waking up now, the sounds of mourning doves cooing and peeper frogs peeping bookending the day. (I know you call them “pinkletinks” on Martha’s Vineyard, but do they still peep, or do they pinklet?)
People, too, of course, are arriving. When I leave work on a Friday, the sound of rolling luggage on brick sidewalks has replaced the stillness I’d grown used to. We are still a long way off from the boiling point of high season, but it will happen fast.
Walking down Main Street with a friend the other night after dinner, we stood in front of The Hub. A heavy fog was swirling at our ankles. The freight boat was coming into the harbor, sounding her horn. These new freight boats sound different, less melancholy, than the auto ferry’s steamwhistles. I found myself in Woods Hole some this winter, and it seemed only fitting to be in another town where the day was punctuated by the comings and goings of the Steamship Authority’s fleet.
“Close your eyes,” I said, “and imagine, in two months, there will be a sea of people swimming past us.” I could almost hear it—high heels on cobblestones (ouch), laughter of people in passing cars, the pinkeltinks replaced by the sounds of someone tickling the ivories down at the piano bar.
We were quiet a while, the peeper frogs in the Lily Pond grew so loud we could hear them from town, an electric chorus. Those peepers are little wonders, surviving the frozen winter and emerging triumphant. Their song travels far.
I have been learning about sound waves from the Nantucket Amateur Radio Association. Jerry and Mike are teaching a Ham radio class for those interested in getting their license. I never did well in physics, but when out cell phones didn’t work during the slate of storms this winter, I started feeling the isolation of the island in a more acute way. I have enjoyed these basic physics lectures.
Mike touches his finger to the telegraph key to show us how Morse code works. A sustained whiny sound that, of course, makes me think of some kind of whalesong, emanates. He touches his fingers to the antenna; his body becomes an antenna. Now this wave has been introduced to the world.
A big part of Ham radio, I am learning, is the desire to connect with people across distance. All the radio guys, some of who have been involved in amateur radio since they were children, have wonderful stories of the people they have met, first on the radio, then in person. There is a blend of science and serendipity in these tales. Everyone in this room understands the power of waves, visible or invisible. The peepers just know this innately.
