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Mary Bergman

  • The lilacs have come and gone, the American pillar roses out in ’Sconset, on the island’s eastern end, are just about to bloom. I’ve been canceling plans to go hang out with the horseshoe crabs, who troll Nantucket’s north shore under the early summer’s full and new moons.
  • I have, unwittingly, become instantly identifiable by my red knit cap. I have been wearing the cap each winter for more than a decade, and on days when I wear something else, I am invisible.
  • I keep having dreams where I am standing in the School Street parking lot. There is nothing particularly special, certainly nothing beautiful, about the parking lot, located between Mechanic and School Streets in Provincetown.
  • The bulbs I planted back in October have started peeking out, slender sprigs of green pushing through the so-called soil in my yard.
  • Not every public way is marked out here. I don’t worry about that too much. If you aren’t supposed to be someplace, there will most certainly be a sign warning you to keep off.
  • This time of year, the wind starts unraveling people. Especially if you are trying to leave the island for any reason, suddenly your entire life revolves around windspeeds. We are all amature amenologists out here.
  • There’s a friend of mine who is always chiding me about my failed garden: “You’ve got to do something with all that land,” she says. She has transformed the hemline of her little house with wildflowers, raised beds, and window boxes.
  • They say Windswept Cranberry Bog is retired, as if all the little insects, ferns, frogs, and grasses have simply moved south. Now, the bog is on its way to becoming a wetland after a century of cranberry production. On Nantucket, cranberries provided such an influx of cash into the strapped post-whaling economy that these little bouncing berries were known as “red gold.”
  • They say Windswept Cranberry Bog is retired, as if all the little insects, ferns, frogs, and grasses have simply moved south. Now, the bog is on its way to becoming a wetland after a century of cranberry production. On Nantucket, cranberries provided such an influx of cash into the strapped post-whaling economy that these little bouncing berries were known as “red gold.”