Nantucket, July 2012
Ah, Nantucket! Every year, when the ferry pulls in and the church steeples and widow’s walks of Nantucket rise out of the haze across the water, I think of the magical Scottish village Brigadoon, which appears from the mist once every hundred years. Of course, in Nantucket, I don’t need to wear tartan or do traditional dances. This is fortunate, as I can’t do anything but stand and stare at the wide-open sky above those island beaches. We never see that sky in Brooklyn. Not like on Surfside Beach – where, if I squint, the clouds dance like Rockettes, kicking together in chorus lines that turn into a corps de ballet and float through Swan Lake.
I’ve heard a person can magically relocate to Brigadoon by walking across a bridge that appears in the clouds. And what clouds could possibly be more hospitable than Nantucket’s? But no matter how long I stare, no bridge ever appears. Every year, I walk across the ‘Sconset Bridge in Nantucket, hoping that will do the trick instead. But each time, I find myself back in Brooklyn at the end of vacation week.