Gosnold ventured out to find far away lands, while this one has been close by for my entire lifetime and I have not explored. Steeped in some class barrier that keeps us on the New Bedford dock, working inside Davey's Locker rather than riding over it on the ferry. An excuse that doesn't hold water as I sit here at 41. It is an island that is more than priviledge and summer pants with whales on them -- it has brown people and textured history, cows and farmland, cabins and lighthouses, cliffs and heather.
My trip during the Nor'easter was full of dark clouds and wind so strong it was hard to stand to take in the rugged scenery. No tourists but we were there like crazy middle-aged women determined to have a weekend away despite warnings from horny weathermen. The lights went out at the inn and we giggled. An inn we could never have afforded during the hip summer months, it was posh with downy beds and soft bathrobes.
Look forward to going back (*before another 11 years) but may strive to once again experience the wild autumn and the true Vineyard beauty.