First, a few out-of-state plates begin to slow down our commute on the Peninsula, actually going the speed limit. Sometimes they poke along the shore, fingers pointing out the driver's window at the "pretty boats." Other times they just creep along swerving to avoid potholes and frost heaves from as if these imperfections in the road might rattle their Lexus to pieces.
Next, the Harbor starts feeling crowded as the yachts appear; big beautiful, shiny sailboats that swing proudly on their moorings, dwarfing the lobsterboats. This isn't such a bad thing, as it creates jobs for the locals, raising and tending moorings, as well as launching and maintaining boats. This is easy work for the fishermen and business for the local shipyards.
As the temperature of the ocean gradually climbs, the kayakers arrive. The fishermen dread their arrival, since sea kayakers are a hazard to lobstermen; they are easily masked by the slightest swell and can be very difficult to see on the water. However, I enjoy a periodic paddle myself, so I can empathize with both parties. Bright colors are always helpful.
Next we start to see nice cars and unfamiliar faces on the docks looking out of place. Before long, people will start asking the fishermen questions. Just the other day, a clean-cut man in suspiciously white sneakers and a pastel, collared shirt strolled leisurely down the dock to inquire about where he could buy lobsters. We pointed in the other direction. Questions are fine with me so long as I'm not in the middle of working and expected to drop everything to talk. I admit that sometimes I lose patience with the really obvious inquiries though. My favorite was when a tourist asked how the fishermen manage to park all of the boats facing in the same direction . . .
And, finally, enters The Village Improvement Society. The VIS is a group of outa towners (folks who have either summered here for years or have moved here from away). They state their goal as "community promotion" and "combating community deterioration." The lobstermen refer to this prestigious institution in jest, I admit. What's to be "improved?" It's a working waterfront. More often than not it seems as though the VIS is policing the aesthetic appeal of the Harbor for tourism instead of bettering the community. One fishermen shook his head at mention of the VIS saying "When the VIS paved the parking lot [of the town landing] I knew that everything was gonna go downhill from there."
Locals don't appreciate change. Pavement signifies both change and urbanization. But after a year or two people stop complaining and quietly prefer paved roads to dusty dirt ones.
There are certain "improvements" that could be useful and appreciated in the community, though. Like installing a mirror to improve visibility on a deadly corner near the town center. I swear every day some poor soul's life flashes before their eyes when they have a near miss with the school bus as it comes careening on two wheels around that corner.
Instead the VIS focuses their attention on keeping the shore tidy. This spring the VIS has already made an appearance when a deteriorating dinghy dared rear its rotting bow at the town landing. They had a heyday with that one. It didn't rest there for long.
Personally, I think that the VIS would be better appreciated in Christmas Cove, a posh harbor on the next peninsula west of us. But then again, I guess there wouldn't be much to "improve" over there, without any slovenly lobstermen to pick up after.
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