The Kast family week on Martha’s Vineyard was just a wistful wish the year I turned 70. “You can have it,” said my daughter, Erica, and I did. Our motley mix includes the progeny and friends of many marriages, ranging in age from 2 (great-grandson Avi and granddaughter Arisha) to 77 (me). Some come now and then, some every year, some came once and not again. Births and deaths have altered us, but the event perdures.
This year I spent the previous week with Carter Frank and Kathy Koch on Cuttyhunk, a tiny island with neither cars nor stores just off the Vineyard. Thus the crane in New Bedford hoisting containers of supplies onto the Cuttyhunk ferry. Carter did a barre each morning on the porch, followed by Cunningham 6’s and Tai Chi. I wrote, all read and hiked and swam.
Staying in Matthew Deyo’s East Chop house on Martha’s Vineyard (the place we like the best), we cooked each night with produce from the West Tisbury Farmer’s Market, swam on Jetty Beach (even Richard got wet once, and Avi loved the water). We kayaked on Sengekontacket Pond (Joan’s first time), rode the ancient carousel, bought fish to grill in Menemsha and ate a lobster roll along the harbor.
Kim, Joan and Erica loved the stronger surf on Longpoint Beach, and I, as you can see, preferred to watch.
My son, Anton flew six hours each way to join us for a day, just in time for the family portrait. Granddaughter Emma, interning for Bernie Sanders; had the fun but missed the portrait; Aza was en route to Asia; Tom and family had just settled outside Vienna and could not come.
Erica and I made our first trip to Cape Poge, way out on the tip of Chappaquiddick, where Oyster Catchers feed.