A Cape Cod Notebook can be heard every Tuesday morning at 8:45am and afternoon at 5:45pm.It's commentary on the unique people, wildlife, and environment of our coastal region.
A quiet nighttime journey to count horseshoe crabs becomes an exploration of Nantucket's seasonal transformations. From blooming lilacs to shifting shorelines, Mary Bergman reflects on the beauty, fragility, and resilience of coastal life.
In the middle of a snowy Cape Cod winter, a dog, an opossum, and a pair of neighbors create an unforgettable moment of surprise, humor, and connection.
Tom Moroney explores the efforts to protect the herring population on the Cape and the volunteers and infrastructure that make its recovery possible.
Nantucket writer and historian Mary Bergman talks about the sounds of wildlife reemerging signaling the return of spring.
Walk around the cranberry bogs of Cape Cod – cranberries.org says about 11,500 bogs in southeastern Massachusetts – in mid-winter, and it's quiet. Desolate. Frigid. Filled with life.
Nantucket historian and writer Mary Bergman speaks on the practice and tradition of scallop harvesting.
Jonathan Walker, slave stealer
I spent many years as an objective observer of this place. An academic, a historian, a researcher. On my better days, an anthropologist or some kind of gonzo documentarian, snapping pictures and recording my observations on the yellow legal pads I took everywhere, even the beach.
If you live on Cape Cod, you likely have sand in your car. And if you live on Cape Cod and don't have sand in your car, I might question if you are really living life to its fullest.
Cummiquid writer Susan Moeller takes a rabbit hole trip to an earlier Cape Cod.
The hound has gifted me a new image of hope. And it looks like an otter.
In this week's Cape Cod Notebook, Mary Bergman talks about October on Nantucket
I went in the water yesterday, a little slower than the day before, slower still than July when it was hot, hot, hot. The water now is not. A stiff breeze made for an embarrassing race to my towel to dry off, if anyone was watching. No one was.
Time now for a Cape Cod Notebook. This week, Wellfleet journalist Seth Rolbein talks about the restoration of wetlands in Harwich.
On this week's Cape Cod Notebook, Susan Moeller shares five minutes of peace on Cape Cod.
In this week's episode of A Cape Cod Notebook, Mary Bergman shares how she finds light in the depth of winter.
In this week's Cape Cod Notebook, Tom Moroney discusses September on the Cape Cod Rail Trail.
Cicada nymphs make incisions, but trees hold up.
Yes, I have sand in the car. So what?
To arrive at the Bank Street beach in Harwich Port, one must pass through its small windblown parking lot, a trip made dozens of times in my youthful race to the water's edge.
Now that the peninsula is filled to the brim once again, if you take a hike along the beautiful shore between high and low tides, beyond the confines of a public beach, be sure you have one of three things with you, or risk arrest for trespassing: A fishing rod, a gun, or a boat.
Flea markets are where lazy people go when they want to go yard-sale-ing.No driving all over the place or trying to find parking in some snotty residential area that frowns on yard sales.
We are past the solstice, and I am trying not to get too down about it. The fog that rolls in each night is a welcome break from the heat.
July is coming quickly, so it's almost time for my gardening motivation to go into hibernation.
Isn't everything we make temporary in the grand scheme of things? My day to day work is to promote historic preservation on Nantucket. We talk about preserving things in perpetuity. But on an eroding pile of sand, perpetuity is a relative term.
As we drove off, disappointed, I said I don't want to JUST be on Cape Cod. I want to feel like I'm here, really here, sand between my toes, waves crashing, gulls calling out for a meal.
We are running out of space at the Nantucket landfill. I spent the winter driving by dumpsters, unable to stop myself from looking over the edge.
Despite what might be in your head, the 25-mile path from Yarmouth to Wellfleet is not just a bike trail. There are runners and skateboarders and walkers, many of us with dogs.
The most important teacher I ever had was not some Harvard professor, or one of many newspaper editors who carved up my prose. It wasn't even a person, a whole person anyway. It was an appendage.
What really impresses me at this time of year, at any time of year, actually, are the lichens. These otherworldly beings, growing on tree bark and branches, spreading on the ground or on rocks or gravestones, seem to thrive in any weather.
The other day I took some old friends up to Great Point. The weather wasn't particularly good — Nantucket in March, we kept grumbling. I don't think they'd mind me saying old friends, as it's true. Both are older than me by a mile, and they don't get around as easily as they once did.
Those of you who travel the north side of Cape Cod know that Route 6A has been closed in Dennis for several months, and a detour sends drivers either north through Sesuit Neck or south to Scargo Hill Road.
The European green crab has quite the reputation. They're smart ... in a dangerous way. They're voracious, predatory and they eat their young!
My father stands in the doorway of Henry David Thoreau's cabin on Walden Pond. Of course, there is no cabin anymore, instead the cabin's footprint is marked with narrow granite stones, giving the whole place an unintended funerary feeling.
My dog America, a full-on poodle, loves to stare into pines and oaks that quill out of a hillside down to the marsh. She'll do this sitting on a comfy bed by a window, standing outside on a deck, or curled atop pine needles.
We've all had one of those neighbors. You know what I mean. The ones that keep offbeat hours. Or they just wander onto your property without asking. Or they disturb your household with their comings and goings.
Nelson Sigelman writes about a friend who is an island fisherman with a mysterious past.
After years of watching people leave Nantucket during the winter, I decided I wanted to be one of them. Not for the whole winter, just for a week
When Walter Baron built his workshop on a side road in Wellfleet 40-odd years ago, he knew what he wanted to do: Build boats.
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