Max holding forth at 1975 Clambake

“My father inherited the house after Grampa died in 1956.  Having been in the Navy in WWII, he was ecstatic to be on the water.  He tamed a herring gull he called “Gus” who reappeared every summer for 27 years. Sometimes we’d feed Gus hard, stale jelly donuts from Walmsley’s Bakery in Oak Bluffs and Gus would dip it in the pool water and stretch his neck over and over to get the donut down.  He liked our sandwiches and dog yummies and could catch the latter when we threw them from the deck to the railing where Gus stood.  One year Gus brought a female my father named “Augusta” and she returned for many summers and then disappeared.” Martha Moore

Learning to sail in Harthaven Harbor

Sandy Moore

I learned to sail at Grampa’s wonderful house on the harbor.

Before any of us could do any boating, there was the “harbor test”. You had to swim across the harbor in front of the house to qualify you for rowing, paddling, sailing, or propelling any possible floating thing in the harbor. It was assumed that you could probably get to shore from anywhere after passing the test. My father and brother had built a sailing pram a few years earlier, which I inherited, and this small boat taught me how to sail.

The harbor is like a segment of river, with docks, jetties, and sand bars. It offered plenty of opportunities for error. The wind waffled between the houses and dunes, gusting unexpectedly with abrupt changes in direction. Early on, I spent half my time capsized, tugging the boat full of water to shore … bailing out water until I could roll the thing over and dump out the rest. The other half of the time I was careening, with marginal control, running aground, ramming things, and going under docks, not so good with a mast! It all happens so fast in small spaces.

Over time, you do get quicker, and learn to manage the sheet, rudder and centerboard at the same time. You watch for cat’s paws on the water so you don’t go over with every gust. You learn to keep momentum for the tack, or backwind the main to get around, or even to sail backwards. Our grandfather used to sit and watch us performing, smiling his approval.  There’s no better encouragement than that.

Eventually I was allowed to sail out into the ocean. The first sensations of this little boat rising and falling with the ocean swells was magical. I only remember once sailing down to Buoy Beach (with a power boat attendant).

That pram was a workhorse, lasted for years, made with steel screws!  There were races on Farm Pond, run by Bill Stevens at that time. There were mostly Beetle Boats, which seemed to be faster. My racing record, and my memory of it, are both sub par, although I do remember watching the prams plow through the water with that flat front pushing water while the beetles cut neatly through.

Lanny McDowell also had a Sea Shell, I think that’s what they were called, they had a SS on the sail.  We used to sail a tight tacking formation in the harbor and in the pond in front of “Windsong” Alan and Marty McDowell‘s house.

A number of years later the boat had a second coming as a pirate ship on Tisbury Great Pond with Ben’s kids. I don’t know if pirate ship is quite the right description. We had always sailed those boats with the oars sticking out front like dual sprits. It was a pretty good place to stow the oars, but it seemed to encourage a kind of duelling behavior, mostly trying to snag the sheet of the other boat, leaving them flapping. There was lots of serious maneuvering among the boats and it looked, from the distance, like dismasting was the goal.

At the end, the boat spent many years up side down on a bank overlooking Tisbury Great Pond. It had been painted blue with a row of big white circles down its sides. I’ll have to ask what finally happened to it.

After my father inherited the house on the harbor, we all continued sailing in a number of different boats over the years. We sailed in the sun, and we sailed by moonlight. We sailed in northeast storms, and got becalmed. We sailed to Oak Bluffs, to Edgartown, on to the Elizabeth Islands, Nantucket and beyond, always to return to this little gem of a harbor, and our beautiful house.

My father and mother: Alice and Maxwell Moore, Max later later married Anne Moore

Brother and sisters: Ben, Gay, and Martha.

Lanny is my 1st cousin and Marty & Alan, aunt & uncle

Sandy Moore

i remember - gay moore nelson

I remember our trips to the Vineyard.  We started very early in the morning so we could get there soon.  One year as we were driving through Providence and suddenly the horn turned itself on, in Mom's old car and we happened to be behind a hearse going up a steep hill when the driver stopped and came out of the hearse and came to our car to scold Mom.  She was able to calm him down and someone else came and stopped the horn.  We were very glad when we got to the ferry and to Oak Bluffs and then Harthaven.  We usually were so glad to get to the white house once again.

We loved the White House and all it's upstairs rooms and hallways, closets with pipes that went down to the kitchen and balcony upstairs where we could see all the way down to the harbor.  We made fairy gardens behind the white house where there was nice soft moss.  I loved the road that ran around the circle and the little white stones imbedded in it. 

We loved the garden, and Gram-pa’s garden with wonderful corn and other vegetables.

We all loved the beach in front of Aunt Barb's house, swimming out to the raft where we could dive off the diving board and swim around under the raft between the barrels that held it up.

I loved the nights when there was phosphorescence all around me.

I remember Sandy Low taking many of us out fishing and the day I caught a blue fish and got it into the boat, but then could not stop watching it and wanting to throw it back into the water.  (I was OK with bottom fishing scup and blowfish, but not sea robins)

I remember trips to the camp on the south shore and learning how to swim with the waves, or under them.