by Adam R. Moore
“Where are you taking us, Dad?”
So asked my children, seeming a bit nervous. It was a full moon, on a beautiful summer night. I had mustered the children on the front lawn, and had asked them to accompany me on a walk in the moonlight. Showing a bit less appreciation for the glory of the full moon than perhaps I had hoped, they nevertheless dutifully joined me on a moonlit walk toward the sea. I had informed them that no flashlight would be necessary, yet they did not quite believe me, and I noticed furtive flashes of flashlight beams, blinking along here and there, as they followed along behind.
Ours was a memorable walk. By the light of the moon, we strolled along the Crab Creek Road, walking from Quansoo Farm, to the Atlantic Ocean, and back again. The children mainly seemed to enjoy returning safely home, and realizing that their father had not lost his mind. I, however, enjoyed the walk so much that I resolved to set out for a moonlight walk during every full moon — albeit without the children.
For the following year, I did indeed venture forth, walking during every full moon. Naturally, most of these walks took place near home, at Quansoo. One memorable walk, however, took place in New Orleans, as I was in town during the full moon for the annual Rally of the Land Trust Alliance. Of all the full moon walks, the best took place during the winter, and the loveliest of all took place when snow covered the ground. After a year’s worth of walks, I discontinued this practice – until last month.
In mid-December of 2019, the island had settled into a deep freeze. Snow blanketed the ground. On this particular evening, I attended the annual middle school Christmas concert at the Performing Arts Center. Melissa was planning to take the children off-island for the weekend, and had a ferry reservation for later that evening. So after a great roll of the timpani, the concert ended and I kissed my family goodbye, and headed home to Quansoo. This was the night of the full moon, and the moon beckoned.
Glowing just above the bare branches of the forest of oaks, this last full moon of the year bathed the entire plain in its silver light. Beside the moon stood Orion, bow taut, dominating the southeastern night sky. The night was cold, and clear, and still.
I bundled up and headed out. On most full moons, one does not need a flashlight for a walk, and this is especially the case when the full moon shines upon the snow. I walked over to the Hancock-Mitchell House for a moment. The windows of the old house reflected the moonlight, just as they have for every full moon, for centuries. I turned in the direction of the moon, and found that the snow glittered, as the crystals of snow split the rays of moonlight into prismatic sparkles.
To the ocean I walked, treading upon a familiar path at an unfamiliar time of day. I walked beside the field, fringed with little bluestem and switchgrass and a bristling thicket of huckleberry. In the woods, the moon cast a lacework shadow of interlocking branches upon the snow. I crossed the Crab Creek footbridge, and trod over the dune, to the sea. There, the moon shone upon a placid Atlantic Ocean, and toward Nomans Land, a lone fishing boat cast its own white light upon the sea.
I appreciate all of the scenic features of Martha’s Vineyard. I marvel at the grandeur of the Gay Head Cliffs, at the grotesque beauty of stunted beeches at Cedar Tree Neck, at the great curving arm of Cape Poge. Yet for all the island’s scenic beauty, the greatest feature, in my view, is the dark night sky. On moonless nights, the stars sparkle, and the Milky Way stretches from south to north in a great arc, and one can easily find the constellations, timeless and eternal. And on the full moon, the moon floods plain and moraine with silver light, and casts a bright silver beam on the surface of pond and sea.
Fear not. The next full moon, embrace it. Leave the flashlight at home, step outside, and see the wonders of the island in an entirely new light.