The Grey Lady
Todd was five. He couldn’t stop screaming. He wasn’t in pain or having a tantrum; it was joy. It was his first experience jumping in the waves crashing onto an ocean beach. The shoreline seemed to extend forever below an endless horizon. The trip began as an invitation from an old friend who was spending a year on sabbatical in Martha’s Vineyard. It was the year I started practice on my own. I was tired and emotionally exhausted and, for the first time in my career, I took three weeks off. I would return many times, not to Martha’s Vineyard, but to Nantucket, the “Grey Lady,” as it’s known, the island further off the coast of Cape Cod we visited on that trip.
I like to say that it was the two-hour ferry ride that made it my special place, but it is more than that. There is everything that one reads about the attraction of the ocean and island living. In an all-consuming profession such as architecture, detachment from the daily demands of practice at times seems rare. After the long drive down to the coast of New England, the ferry ride is a wonderful decompression. There is something symbolic about leaving the mainland behind. As you pass the red lighthouse at Brant Point and enter Nantucket harbour, filled with sailboats and yachts, you are enclosed by a ring of 17th- and 18th-century grey, shingle buildings, with church steeples and towers in the background. The sound of gulls and waves lapping against the pier, the smell of salt water, the ocean breeze and then the slight rock of the ferry as it nestles into its slip signal your arrival. It is postcard picturesque.
The beauty of Nantucket Island relies on more than grand buildings. Rather, it’s fine grained human scale. Even though you are on vacation, you cannot help but be moved by its unspoiled beauty and become an observer recording the fine details of this historic place. The main street is cobblestoned, the sidewalks are brick, the curbs are granite and the larger trees branch over the walkways. The streets are narrow and bordered on both sides by historic buildings, dating mainly back to the Island’s whaling days. The roofscapes are still dotted with widow’s walks, but no one is awaiting the return of the whaling fleet. There are no McDonald’s. Gas bars don’t have big flood-lit canopies, but are nestled into the island landscapes and usually have a shed or shingle-style building to serve customers. In general, most of the grim and gaudy commercial development that dominates the North American landscape does not exist on Nantucket. There is no Learning from Las Vegas here.
There is enormous pride in the heritage of the island and the maintenance of its heritage buildings. Every summer, crews of painters and workmen can be seen stripping back the wood clapboards and repainting siding and trim. The islanders know the innate details and methods of construction that began with the first saltbox homes of early 18th century. Traditions have been retained that began in the mid-1800s. In the early settlements, trees began to be planted, picket and balustrade-style fences became the norm, as well as hedges to define public and private property. The tradition of the deep green hedges continues to the present day in the town and hamlets of Nantucket. They have become an art form, shaped and punctured to provide framed views of the water or the entrance to a home. The formality of the townscape is in sharp contrast to the island countryside, an environment best described by sand dunes, moraines, grasses, and scrub growth, largely untouched even where there is development. Strict design guidelines have been set, dictated by the surrounding topography and location for development. There is no suburbia allowed.
Nantucket is also a place where the architect must park his or her ego. You cannot return as many times as I have and not become a conservation advocate. Almost everything is built of shingles or siding, with combinations or interpretations of the traditional Nantucket style. The result is that new homes, set randomly in the terrain, weather and blend into the landscape. The approach would be best compared to Sea Ranch in California and the work of McKay Sweetapple in Nova Scotia – simple forms and natural materials with a reference to traditional construction. As a member of the Canadian Association of Heritage Professionals, I am aware of architects’ apparent inability to respond to context without making personal statements. When we do “traditional style” buildings, they are too often executed poorly, in my opinion. There is a lack of appreciation and understanding of traditional methods of construction. It is a secret pleasure as an architect to witness the opposite on Nantucket.
On this far-off island, there is also a sense of loneliness to the rugged terrain of sand roads and almost barren landscapes. In the mornings, there is usually a cool and damp grey fog that gives the island its second name. It separates the island inhabitants both from the outside world and from one another. The grey buildings are consumed by the fog. It reminds you that the early life of the islanders was harsh and dangerous. The ocean, for all its beauty, is unforgiving. Unlike a science fiction thriller, the dome of fog lifts but not until after it’s taken its penance. The New England fog grounded many whaling ships and has sent private planes to their grave off the coast.
The children, of course, were part of the decision to return to the Grey Lady and make it a special place for us. Nantucket is safe; it is difficult of get lost – the island is too small. Everyone goes to the beach. Yes, there are seals, riptides and the reports of sharks off the coast. Jaws was filmed off Martha’s Vineyard, we like to say. Is there a better place to gather a family than under an umbrella with a cooler, looking out over the ocean? The family is gathered around and the grandkids are playing in the sand. Right now, I can almost hear the ferry boat horn giving the signal that we can start to board.