“It wasn’t really on my radar,” television and screen star Amy Brenneman says about the Vineyard. She was sitting in the living room of the Island home she and her husband, writer and director Brad Silberling, have owned for eight years.

By Brooks Robards


Using what you have

By Carole Gothard


Great renovators are not unlike great film directors. Both have to creatively drive a team that spans from the big-money professionals with the glamour jobs to the folks who hammer the nails, keeping track of the techies wiring for sound and the artisans who choose the just-right fabrics. Both oversee the experts in special effects (of one sort or another) who make crazy-sounding ideas become real. Both know details matter. They have strong vision, but draw too from the creatives around them.

By Lauren Martin


When I first saw the Chappaquiddick land that would become my home one day, it was covered with low brush and scrub oak. Along one side of the acre and a half was an overgrown peat bog. Up a rise from the bog was a small clearing with a few white and red oaks growing around its perimeter. Beyond the clearing, down a hill, was a grassy valley with four gnarled apple trees. I thought: I’ll put my house there in the clearing on the rise facing the bog, with the oaks on three sides and the apple trees behind.

By Margaret Knight


Late one afternoon on Vineyard Haven’s harbor, eager eyes zoom in on the distant tip of West Chop.

By Shelley Christiansen


As with certain human visitors who wear out their welcome, Martha’s Vineyard hosts many invasive plant pests: purple loosestrife, Norway maple, Russian olive, phragmites, some miscanthus, even the occasional ailanthus tree. But the grand champion of the invaders is Oriental bittersweet, Celastrus orbiculatus.

By Jim Miller


How can you tell if your deck is safe? Paul Daniele has run a home inspection business on the Vineyard since 1995. Usually when decks collapse, it’s from overloading of people.

By Tom Dresser


Michael Faraca is New England born and bred, but his work life is all Olde England. On this rainy mid-winter day, as he sits sipping hot sweet tea, looking proprietarily across a manicured garden of the North Water Street home that he has tended through three owners, he muses on his past twenty-five years of employment. “In the classic old English tradition,” he says, “the gardener comes with the house.”

By Mike Seccombe