The couple looked as though they were lost, not sure whether to take a left onto Barstow Street toward the library or continue on toward the beach. I had seen them earlier while on my daily walk. They were at the end of Long Wharf looking out over the harbor, glancing up at the newly refurbished swordfish, turning toward Goodspeed Island and finally pointing toward the lighthouse before turning back toward Water Street.
As I passed them at the stone monument to our ship-building legacy, I felt compelled to ask if they needed assistance. They did. They wanted to get to the lighthouse. I told them it was a short walk. They asked if they could drive. That and prerequisite fanny packs gave it away, they were tourists. The word tourist can take on a negative connotation to some (not me), so I’ll politely call them visitors.
Naturally, being a good-hearted soul and proud of our heritage, I segued into an unsolicited lecture about our cherished village’s history, regaling them of our whale ship-building prowess that I was sure our visitors would appreciate. Sensing they had no interest in the details of my tale, I asked where they were from. He was from Ecuador and a professor. She was from Columbia and also worked at a college.
When asked how they happened upon Mattapoisett, I immediately felt sorry for the couple, who said they were here to see the Arabella, the floating YouTube sensation recently launched into our harbor. I had to tell them they were a few weeks late, hoping they had not come all the way from South America to see it. (They had not, only from Rhode Island.)
It seems our little village has become quite popular. Even the national news featured Mattapoisett the day after the launch. Alas, our secret is out. Heck, how are you supposed to keep a secret if the whole world knows about our idyllic village? Our Shangri-la of seaside serenity is becoming, shall I say wistfully, too well known. The genie is out of the bottle. The cat is out of the bag.
Over the past month or so, I have met people from all over the world. During the celebrated launch, I spoke with folks from Australia, Germany, Ireland, and several states. The Fourth of July Road Race had runners from as far away as San Francisco. Recent weekends have seen an increase in bicycle traffic, presumably due to the new bike trail. One woman I spoke with said she had rarely been to Mattapoisett, though she lived in Fairhaven.
Some of this newfound popularity may have been the fault of my friend, man-about-town, motorcycle enthusiast and cranberry grower (who will remain nameless to protect me) and who blabbed about our desirability in an article in the big city newspaper north of here. Citing our beautiful scenery, quaint village and cool sea breezes, he noted that real estate was relatively inexpensive compared to the Boston area.
If you call million-dollar homes … unaffordable to the masses, the hoi-polloi, the working stiff … affordable, he was right. If you check out the real estate section of that northern journal, you will see nothing but multi-million-dollar estates. A million-dollar home here seems downright cheap. Ripe for strangers seeking their own place in paradise.
Every person I have spoken with from far-away places has said they wished they could move here. According to a local realtor, many have. And they are not looking for summer homes. What does this mean for our quiet, little town? Sidewalks on both sides of the street and no parking on them? Landscapers’ trailers everywhere. Year-round restaurants … well that might not be bad. What’s next … change the name of our town to the “Poi”?
Change, that’s what will happen, and nobody wants change. Right?
So, here’s the deal. Listen up all you foreigners, day-trippers, carpetbaggers and city slickers yearning to inhabit our piece of heaven, our special place. No doubt you’ve seen the bumper stickers “Mattapoisett is Special.” Don’t believe it. It’s a terrible place. Just awful.
Let this old, townie curmudgeon set you straight. It is cold in the winter. The winds blow off the harbor. There are no pretty boats out there. The streets are desolate. The restaurants are mostly closed. Peace and quiet prevail. You don’t want that, right? This is our little secret!
Do you think that will discourage the interlopers? Oh well, probably not.
Editor’s note: Mattapoisett resident Dick Morgado is an artist and retired newspaper columnist whose musings are, after some years, back in The Wanderer under the subtitle “Thoughts on ….” Morgado’s opinions have also appeared for many years in daily newspapers around Boston.
By Dick Morgado