The Lighthouse Keeper
BY DANIEL W. DRAKE
Had it been 20 or 30 degrees warmer this weekend, it would have been beach weather. It was unbelievably beautiful. The wind was about as still as it gets in these parts. In the clear crisp air, the blue sky glistened like a spectacular jewel and the sunsets were unusually awesome.

Each of these days is worth about five of those humid, torpid July days when the fog enshrouds the island, injecting dampness into everything, and every move draws perspiration. These were days for long walks or gettingready for winter chores, or some combination of each.

The only dark note was the shutting off of the outdoor shower. The Property Profile in this paper frequently refers to outdoor showers as one of the necessities of any home, modest or grandiose, to enable one to clean off after being at the beach. The person who writes that is correct, of course, but he doesn't know the half of it.

The outdoor shower is a sine qua non, an indispensable part of the daily routine. From the last snow flurries of April to the cold winds of early October, the outdoor shower is the only such facility used by anyone with a modicum of common sense. In sun or fog, rain or wind, it is cleansing, refreshing, invigorating; it is soul-building. An outdoor shower is the only way to go.

The prospect of turning off the shower casts a pall over the house. Alas, for the next five or six months, all showers will be inside. There is no variety to indoor showers. Each one is the same. The steam gets everything wet. The water, seeping around the shower door, soaks the bath mat; all efforts to stop the leaking having failed. The residual water has to be squeegeed off the glass to keep it looking nice. It's boring and confining - and ultimately depressing. The only thing worse than an indoor shower is a bath!

On beautiful days like these last two, doing the outdoors chores was almost fun. Cleaning up the plants maimed by the wind-borne salt of last weekend's storm, was not really a chore. The weather made it all very pleasant.

The salt killed off what was left of the morning glories which, in their verdant growth, a month ago were in discussions to star in a horror movie. A couple of very large hibiscus lost almost all their leaves, making easy the decision not to try to nurse them through another winter. (A significant dent in the floor at the bottom of the stairs, from a year ago, attests to the trials of trying to lug them up to where they get the necessary winter sun.)

To complete the day, as I was taking the debris to the compost pile, a large shadow passed and I looked up to see a very large red-tailed hawk fly towards the nesting tree. The bird circled around and landed in a lower branch, watching me closely as I dumped the detritus from the garden cart.

The hawk didn't look particularly familiar. It was bigger than Hawkeye and had a slightly more ferocious look to it. I figured it was just checking out the scene, so I started on to the next project.

"Hey," the bird cried. "What's the matter with you? Aren't you going to say hello."

"I'm sorry, I replied, somewhat sheepishly. "I didn't realize that you wanted something."

"Well, you talk to Hawkeye," came the answer. "Why not me?"

"I'm kind of busy, but I guess I can talk for a minute," I said, somewhat lamely. "Who are you?

"I'm Regina, Hawkeye's partner. I know he likes talking with you, but he's off somewhere, and, anyway, he doesn't always get it right. I thought it would be a good idea for me to share with you my perspective on things. You really haven't been on target since that scallop died."

"Well, I don't know," I said, somewhat taken aback. "A lot of people already think I'm crazy talking to one bird. Besides, it is too beautiful a day to get hassled."

"I am not here to give you a hard time," Regina replied. "In fact, from what Hawkeye has told me, I agree with you on most things. But, now that the la-de-dah of the American elections is over, you need to focus on the local race. We haven't heard anything and the election is only two weeks away."

"I definitely cannot talk about that subject at this time. Later in the week, I am going to be on a panel asking the candidates questions. The panelists have to be impartial."

"That's right." said the hawk. "I understand completely. I do think I can help you with putting together your questions, though. I already have a list."

Before I could say anything Regina started enumerating her questions.

"1) Because the school kids seem to have had so much trouble scoring on the standardized tests, does Nantucket need its own Department of Education, perhaps to create lower standards?

"2)With respect to overseeing the sewer system upgrade and the operation of two new waste water treatment plants, is a little knowledge too much?

"3) Should a person be royalty in order to be eligible to run for selectman?..."

"Ouch," I interrupted. "Stop. Those questions are totally inappropriate. Those are worse than asking the candidates whether, if they were elected, they would vote to paint Nantucket's police cars vermillion. I can't use those. You don't get the point at all. The questions are supposed to be serious."

"Whatever," Regina said. "When people get elected, they are going to say what they want to say and do what they want to do, regardless of what they said during the campaign. As you are well aware, Nantucket certainly has had some experience with that in the last couple of years. My point is why waste your time on anything serious.

"We have to try," I responded. "What other way is there to try to get some idea of what the candidates are all about and what is important to them?"

"I don't know," said Regina, as she prepared to fly. "I suppose one question that will get to the heart of things is 'Should every dwelling unit be required to have an outdoor shower?' and, by the way, maybe yours should."

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The "Lighthouse Keeper" reflects the views of the author and does not necessarily represent the editorial position of The Nantucket Independent. Please send any comments to drake@nantucketindependent. com.