Nantucket: Small Island, Long Story

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A row of weathered gray shingled cottages with green roofs, white trim, and climbing summer flowers in pink, purple, and white. Small signs reading “Constitution” and “John Jay” hang on the buildings, and American flags fly above them. The scene looks like a tidy, historic seaside village.

Nantucket: The Little Grey Lady of the Sea

Before we leave the coast of Massachusetts behind, there’s one more island waiting out there in the Atlantic — small in size, enormous in history. Like Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket has no bridge or roadway connecting it to the mainland. You reach it the old‑fashioned way: by sea or by air. Ferries glide across the Sound from Hyannis, Harwich Port, and New Bedford, and small planes touch down at the island’s airport, delivering summer travelers to a place that feels both remote and familiar.

And then, once you arrive, Nantucket reveals itself.

Nantucket is one of those places that feels familiar long before you ever set foot on it — a name that drifts through novels, travel magazines, and summer conversations like sea spray. Thirty miles south of Cape Cod, this tiny island has earned its nickname, The Little Grey Lady of the Sea, thanks to the weathered cedar shingles that cloak nearly every building. They fade to a soft, silvery grey, giving the whole island a muted, timeless palette.

I haven’t been to Nantucket yet, but researching it feels like paging through an old maritime diary. Cobblestone streets. Rose‑covered cottages. Lighthouses standing guard over dunes and surf. And beneath it all, four centuries of maritime history — whaling captains, Quaker merchants, shipwrecks, and the quiet heroism of life‑saving crews.

A Seaport Frozen in Time

Nantucket is the southeasternmost town in Massachusetts, but it feels older than the state itself. More than 800 buildings predate 1850, and the National Park Service calls it the finest surviving example of an 18th‑ and early 19th‑century New England seaport town. Walk its streets and you’re essentially walking through a living museum — one that smells like ocean air and sunscreen.

The town center is a postcard: wharves lined with restaurants and boutiques, steepled churches rising above the rooftops, and those famous cobblestones that look charming until you try to roll a suitcase over them. In summer, the population swells to around 80,000, transforming the quiet off‑season island into a bustling colony of vacationers, seasonal residents, and day‑trippers stepping off the ferry with iced coffee in hand.

Before the Whalers: The Wampanoag Story

Long before the cedar shingles and whaling captains, Nantucket belonged to the Wampanoag people. They lived on the island for thousands of years, organized into groups led by sachems, with a population that may have reached three thousand. Their story is woven tightly into Nantucket’s early history — and into its whaling legacy.

When English settlers arrived in 1659, they persuaded two sachems to relinquish their rights to the island for 66 pounds sterling. The Wampanoag later petitioned, arguing the sachems didn’t have the authority to sell the land, but the courts upheld the deeds. Sound familiar? Manhattan’s story echoes here — “sold” in 1626 for trinkets and trade goods, another moment where Native land shifted into colonial hands under deeply uneven circumstances. It’s a familiar American story — one of displacement, adaptation, and resilience.

The Wampanoag became carpenters, weavers, and eventually whalers. By the early 1700s, whaling boats launched from Nantucket’s shores were crewed mostly by Wampanoag men. A typical seven‑meter whaleboat had five Wampanoag oarsmen and one white man steering. Without them, Nantucket’s whaling industry — the one that would eventually dominate the world — simply wouldn’t have existed.

The Island That Ruled the Sea

By the 18th and 19th centuries, Nantucket was the beating heart of the global whaling industry. Herman Melville captured the swagger of it in Moby‑Dick: “Two thirds of this terraqueous globe are the Nantucketer’s.”

The tragedy of the whaler Essex — rammed and sunk by a sperm whale — inspired Melville’s novel. Characters like Ahab and Starbuck were written as Nantucketers, shaped by the island’s culture of grit, danger, and ocean‑bound ambition.

Whaling wealth built the island’s grand homes, funded its churches, and shaped its identity. Even today, the Whaling Museum stands as one of Nantucket’s most important landmarks, telling the story of the industry that once made this tiny island the center of the maritime world.

Modern Nantucket: Salt Air and Summer Crowds

Today, Nantucket is a summer destination with a price tag to match — the average sale price for a single‑family home was $2.3 million back in 2018, and it hasn’t exactly gone down. But the island’s charm isn’t about exclusivity. It’s about atmosphere.

Fog rolls in like a soft blanket. Salt and sunscreen hang in the air on a July afternoon. Roses climb over cottage doorways in full bloom. It’s the lighthouses — Brant Point, Sankaty Head, Great Point — standing like old friends who’ve seen every storm.

Nantucket feels curated, but not artificial. Preserved, but not frozen. A place where history and summer coexist, each giving the other a little more meaning.

Leaving the Grey Lady Behind

And just like that, our time with the Little Grey Lady comes to an end. Nantucket may be small, but its story is anything but — a place shaped by wind, water, and centuries of human hands. As the ferry pulls away and the island softens into the horizon, you carry a little of its quiet dignity with you.

From Cape Cod’s sandy arm to Martha’s Vineyard’s rolling farmland to Nantucket’s weathered shingles, this stretch of Massachusetts coastline is a tapestry of islands, each with its own personality. Nantucket is the one that lingers — the one that feels like a whispered chapter in a much larger maritime tale.

Someday I’ll go. I’ll walk those cobblestones myself. I’ll see if the shingles really are as grey as everyone says. And I’ll bring back my own stories — the kind that only come from being there.

 

To Deep Fry or Not to Deep Fry

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Golden, crispy onion rings piled on a wooden surface with a small dish of red dipping sauce in the background.”

Onion Rings & Other Adventures

I almost never deep fry anything, but the craving for onion rings hit hard this week. So I broke down, hauled out my trusty cast‑iron skillet, clipped a deep‑fry thermometer to the side like I knew what I was doing, and went for it.

They were pretty good — crisp, golden, and absolutely worth the trouble. The only downside? By the time I was done, the oil looked like a snow globe full of batter crumbs. Since I fry with Crisco, I had to strain it before it cooled or it would turn back into a solid brick. I remembered my mom straining hers through cheesecloth, which sent me on a whole mental scavenger hunt wondering where people even buy cheesecloth these days. (Answer: apparently everywhere except my kitchen.)

And now, a brief report from the Feline News Desk at WMEW — All Meow, All the Time:

Banner: “We observed the frying operation from a safe distance. The sizzling noises were concerning, but we remained brave.”

Balboa: “I would like to formally request onion rings be added to the treat rotation.”

Rocky (retired, reporting from the Rainbow Bridge editorial suite): “Deb, next time take pictures. The readers deserve visual proof of this chaos.”

No photos this time — just a craving, a skillet, and two cats who think they’re culinary experts.

 

Martha’s Vineyard: Summer Colony, Sharks, and Storylines

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A high‑speed passenger ferry named “Ava Pearl” cuts across the water on a sunny day, carrying travelers on its open upper deck. The white and blue catamaran creates a wide wake behind it as it heads toward Martha’s Vineyard.

A Little Spin Around Martha’s Vineyard

We’re about to leave the Cape — at least for now — but before we go, there’s a little hook worth tugging on. Around here you’ll often hear people say “The Cape and the Islands.” Now, “the Islands” refer to Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket, but here’s the fun twist: neither one is actually part of Cape Cod. They’re simply spoken together because that’s how locals frame the region.

So let’s start with the Vineyard — Martha’s, that is.

Getting There Is Half the Fun

When people say getting there is half the fun, they mean it literally. There’s no bridge, no road, no secret tunnel. Martha’s Vineyard is a true island. You either board a ferry or hop on a plane, and that’s the whole point — you choose to go, and the island rewards you for the effort.

The ferry ride takes about 45 minutes, and on a sunny day it’s as relaxing and pretty as coastal New England gets. Ferries run year‑round, but once May arrives your options multiply. Seasonal passenger service pops up from Falmouth, Hyannis, New Bedford, Quonset Point in Rhode Island, New York City, and northern New Jersey.

You can’t catch a ferry from Boston, but you can fly. Logan offers daily year‑round flights, and between May and October the schedule expands with routes from American Airlines (Washington, D.C.), Cape Air (multiple cities), Delta (LaGuardia), and JetBlue (Boston and JFK).

A Summer Colony With a Long Memory

The Vineyard’s reputation as a summer escape stretches back more than a century. Families return year after year, building traditions that last generations. Oak Bluffs became famous for its gingerbread cottages — tiny, colorful homes that look like someone dusted a Victorian village with powdered sugar.

 

Edgartown grew into the elegant counterpoint: white clapboard captain’s houses, quiet streets, and that postcard‑perfect New England calm.

 

Jaws Put the Island on the Big Screen

If the scenery feels familiar, it’s because Jaws was filmed here in 1974. Spielberg turned the Vineyard into “Amity Island,” and locals still point out filming spots. Say hi to Bruce while you’re at it. The movie changed the island’s identity forever — suddenly Martha’s Vineyard wasn’t just a summer colony; it was the shark island. (Fun fact: Amity means friendship. Just ask the mayor)

And Yes… the Sharks Are Real

Back when Jaws was filmed, great whites were rare in Vineyard waters. That’s changed. As the ocean warmed and the seal population exploded, the sharks followed the buffet. Today great whites are regular summer visitors around both the Vineyard and Nantucket. Researchers tag them, track them, and occasionally name them, and every summer brings a fresh round of “shark spotted off South Beach” headlines. Islanders take it in stride. Sharks are just part of the neighborhood now.

A Place Where Friendships Form Easily

Locals talk about “Vineyard friendships” — the kind that form over shared ferry benches, sunset drinks at Menemsha, or long walks on State Beach. Something about being on an island makes people open up. Maybe it’s the slower pace. Maybe it’s the salt air. Or maybe it’s the fact that once you’re there, you’re all in it together until the next boat leaves.

A Tragic Footnote: JFK Jr.

The Vineyard is also tied to one of the most heartbreaking moments of the 1990s. John F. Kennedy Jr.’s plane went down in the waters off the island in July 1999 as he was flying there for a family wedding. Islanders still remember that night — the search lights sweeping the water, the quiet that settled over the community.

The Island Today

Despite the fame, the sharks, the movies, and the history, Martha’s Vineyard still feels like a place where you can exhale. Beaches, bookstores, ice cream shops, bike paths, seafood shacks — it’s summer distilled. You arrive by boat, you leave by boat, and in between you get a little taste of island time.

Look! 100,000 views

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“Deborah sits between her two cats, Banner (orange tabby) and Balboa (black cat), with a softly glowing, ethereal image of her retired editor‑in‑chief cat Rocky in the upper right corner.”

The Dustyroads Team — Banner, Deb (aka Dusty), Balboa, and Editor‑in‑Chief Cat Rocky (retired)

Hello my friends, loyal readers, and family.

Today is a very special day at Arounddustyroads. It feels like I’ve been writing forever, but this morning we crossed a huge milestone: 100,000 all‑time views. My little blog — this one‑woman column from Taunton that started with a camera, a keyboard, and a stubborn posting schedule — finally hit six figures. And we couldn’t have done it without you.

Along the way I had a finicky editor‑in‑chief cat who kept nudging me forward even when the going got tough. Rocky may be retired now, but his legacy lives on. Banner and Balboa have big whiskers to fill.

Here’s to the next 100,000 views. 

 

A Lighthouse Lover’s Guide to Cape Cod

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Chatham Light on a clear summer day, the white tower and red‑roofed Coast Guard station standing against blue sky and green trees, with visitors gathered out front.

Cape Cod’s Mighty Sentinels 

Nobska Light- Photo credit Linda Whitcomb

Some people are real lighthouse folks. They love them. Lighthouses have a mystique about them — they represent our relationship with the sea. They stand as guardians for sailors and provide a path of safety to snug harbors. They warn ships away from dangerous shoals.

If you’re one of those lighthouse people, this post is for you.

Cape Cod, with its hook into the Atlantic Ocean, presented a multitude of hazards. In response, we built lighthouses — lots of lighthouses — beacons to guide sailors home.

Today on Cape Cod you can visit eleven of these mighty sentinels. Not all allow interior tours, but all can be admired from the outside. I’ve started out many times to visit them all, but somehow I always run out of time or get sidetracked.

How many have you made it to?

Nobska Light (Falmouth/Woods Hole)

Nobska Light has watched over Vineyard Sound since 1829. Its original 30‑foot stone tower and whale‑oil lamp guided mariners through the tricky currents between Woods Hole and Falmouth. Over the years it evolved from a simple coastal beacon into one of Cape Cod’s most beloved landmarks. With its white tower, keeper’s house, and sweeping views toward Martha’s Vineyard, Nobska remains a place where history and beauty meet the sea.

Chatham Light (Chatham)

Chatham Light stands watch over one of the most dramatic stretches of coastline on Cape Cod, where shifting sands and powerful Atlantic surf have challenged sailors for generations. First lit in 1808, the station has evolved through storms, erosion, and countless rescues, yet it remains a steadfast symbol of the Coast Guard’s presence on the Cape. With its crisp white tower overlooking the restless waters of Chatham Bar, this lighthouse feels alive — a place where history, danger, and beauty meet at the edge of the sea. Even from the outside, you sense the weight of its duty and the stories it has seen.

Stage Harbor Light (Chatham)

Stage Harbor Light sits quietly along the shoreline, a weathered sentinel overlooking the calm waters of Chatham’s southern coast. Built in 1880, it once guided fishing boats and coastal schooners through the harbor’s shifting channels, but today it stands retired, its lantern long dark. Yet the lighthouse still carries a certain grace — the kind that comes from decades of salt air, storms, and sun. Seen from the beach or by boat, Stage Harbor Light feels like a glimpse into an older Cape Cod, a place where time slows and the past lingers in the wind.

Nauset Light (Eastham)

Nauset Light is the lighthouse everyone recognizes — the bold red‑and‑white tower perched above the Atlantic, famous from the Cape Cod Potato Chips bag but even more striking in person. First built in 1877 and moved inland in 1996 to escape relentless erosion, it stands today as a symbol of the Cape’s constant dance with the sea. The surf below is never quiet, the wind never still, and Nauset feels like it’s holding its ground with quiet determination. Whether you catch it at sunrise or under a bright summer sky, this lighthouse carries the spirit of Eastham’s rugged coastline in every line of its silhouette.

Three Sisters Lighthouses (Eastham)

The Three Sisters are unlike any other lights on Cape Cod — three small, weathered wooden towers set inland among the pines, quietly telling the story of a coastline that has shifted and reshaped itself over centuries. Built in the 1830s to guide mariners past Eastham’s treacherous outer bars, the original trio once stood proudly along the shore, their three lights forming a distinctive pattern at sea. As erosion claimed the bluff, the Sisters were moved, retired, and eventually restored, now standing together like old friends who have seen much and endured more. Visiting them feels less like seeing a lighthouse and more like stepping into a chapter of Cape Cod’s past that refuses to be forgotten.

Highland Light (Truro)

Highland Light is the grand old sentinel of Cape Cod — the tallest, oldest, and perhaps most storied lighthouse on the peninsula. First lit in 1797 and rebuilt in 1857, it has watched centuries of ships pass along the treacherous “Backside” of the Cape, where deep ocean swells meet steep bluffs. In 1996, the entire tower was moved 450 feet inland to escape the relentless erosion that threatened to send it over the cliff, a dramatic reminder of how fragile this coastline can be. Standing beside Highland Light, you feel the sweep of history and the raw power of the Atlantic all at once. It’s a place where the past feels close, the horizon feels endless, and the lighthouse seems to hold its ground with quiet, unwavering dignity.

Race Point Light (Provincetown)

Race Point Light sits at the edge of Provincetown where the Cape feels wild and wide open, a place where sand, sea, and sky stretch out in every direction. First lit in 1816, it guided ships along the outer arm of the Cape, where strong currents and shifting sandbars made navigation treacherous. Reaching the lighthouse today often means a long walk through soft dunes, the wind in your face and the Atlantic roaring nearby — and that journey is part of its magic. When you finally arrive, Race Point Light feels both remote and welcoming, a sturdy white tower standing against the elements with quiet resilience. It’s one of those places where you can hear your own thoughts and feel the full sweep of Cape Cod’s untamed beauty.

Wood End Light (Provincetown)

Wood End Light sits at the quiet edge of Provincetown, where the land thins into sand flats and tidal marshes before giving way to open water. Built in 1872, it guided ships past the tricky currents at the mouth of Cape Cod Bay, standing as a steady companion to Race Point and Long Point. To reach it, you cross the breakwater — a long granite path that disappears under high tide and feels almost otherworldly when the wind is calm and the harbor is still. When you arrive, Wood End Light feels peaceful and solitary, a simple white tower keeping watch over the shifting tides and the wide, empty horizon. It’s one of those places where the Cape feels both remote and deeply familiar.

Long Point Light (Provincetown)

Long Point Light sits at the very tip of Cape Cod, where Provincetown’s sandy arm curls into the bay like a protective hook. Built in 1875, it guided ships past the harbor entrance and the shifting shoals that once made this stretch of water notoriously tricky. Reaching it today feels like traveling to the end of the world — a quiet walk across sand flats, gulls wheeling overhead, and the town shrinking behind you until all that’s left is sky, tide, and the steady white tower ahead. Long Point Light has a lonely beauty to it, a sense of isolation that’s peaceful rather than stark. It’s the kind of place where you can stand for a moment and feel the full sweep of the Cape’s geography, the curve of land meeting the open bay, and the lighthouse holding its solitary post with quiet grace.

Sandy Neck Light (Barnstable)

Sandy Neck Light stands at the entrance to Barnstable Harbor, a quiet, dignified beacon tucked along one of the Cape’s longest and most beautiful barrier beaches. Built in 1857, it once guided schooners and fishing boats through the harbor’s narrow channel, but today it serves mostly as a picturesque landmark — privately owned, lovingly maintained, and best viewed from the water or the long, winding trail behind the dunes. There’s a peacefulness to Sandy Neck Light, a sense of calm that comes from its distance from the bustle of town. With the salt marsh stretching behind it and the harbor opening before it, the lighthouse feels like a gentle reminder of the Cape’s quieter side, where tides move slowly and the past lingers in the breeze.

Bass River Light (West Dennis)

Bass River Light is one of Cape Cod’s quiet treasures — a small, graceful lighthouse tucked beside the Lighthouse Inn in West Dennis, still shining each night as a private beacon. Built in 1855, it once guided vessels along the busy Bass River channel, its light reflecting off calm waters and salt marshes that haven’t changed much in more than a century. Today it feels almost like a secret, a lighthouse you stumble upon rather than seek out, with the inn’s white buildings and the river’s gentle tide giving it a peaceful, timeless charm. Bass River Light may not be as famous as some of the Cape’s larger towers, but it carries a lovely intimacy — a reminder that even the quieter corners of Cape Cod have stories worth telling.

Closing Thoughts

Cape Cod’s lighthouses are more than landmarks — they’re storytellers. Each one has weathered storms, guided sailors, and stood watch over generations of coastal life. Whether you’ve visited one or all eleven, each lighthouse offers its own moment of connection with the sea and the history of the Cape.

Note: Most of the photos were taken from the internet. If I was able to give a photo credit I have done so. Many thanks to the talented photgraphers that captured these images.