Headed up to the exclusive retreat of the rich and not-always-so-famous, that little (47.8 square miles) island located 30 miles south of Cape Cod. The tiny plane that holds 9 rumbled over the sea and little islets before touching down in ACK. Met by mom, then we hung in the parking lot until Stacey and Jeff landed (only a 3-hour delay) shortly after. Beautiful breezes, sun and grey shingled cottages (!) dropped down into the scruffy wild of the island (a strict building code ensures conformity and adherence to the natural flora). The well-tended gardens and abundance of hydrangeas adds the finishing touches to a picturesque beach town. Here’s the one at my lodging:
And the mistress of the inn:
My visit was timed to support and enjoy Marilyn and Bill’s annual Fourth of July luncheon party. But until then, time for biking, walking, visiting with family, laying on the back deck and yakking. For the party on Sunday, mom had been cooking for weeks: freezing cookies, ordering fish and flowers, worrying over whether a tent might be needed. But the day shone bright, with only some hazy clouds, just enough to keep us all from frying on the back deck. Guests clustered around the bars: both liquor and raw:
By 3 o’clock, everyone had left, including the clutch of hens on the sofa observing and critiquing. Mom, Stacey and I hightailed it to town to see what was new in the Nantucket retail offerings, and then headed home to put up our feet before returning to town for dinner. Home again, home again, stuffed and moaning. How many days of this can I take?