I don’t live in Mattapoisett. It’s right over there. My older son attends school with children from Mattapoisett and one other town. I built a house in Mattapoisett once:
Mattapoisett is like Marion, where I live. It has a “village,” a rabbit warren of little streets down by the ocean that’s lovely to walk around in. Away from the water, across the main road in town, there’s more suburby looking areas. Exurban, really, as we’re pretty far away from any Metropolis. Officially we’re a suburb of New Bedford, I guess, but that’s like saying you’re a satellite without a planet. It’s all small around here.
Marion is considered more tony than Mattapoisett. It has a fancier yacht club, tennis club, golf course, stuff like that. But it’s much more fun to walk around Mattapoisett than it is in Marion. Marion is like an outdoor funeral parlor compared to Mattapoisett, and that’s saying something, as Mattapoisett is pretty sleepy. But you just take a pleasant walk on Mattapoisett’s shade-dappled streets, walk right down to the water, get an ice-cream with the ocean for a backdrop, or cross the street –without looking much– and get a pint at the Kinsale Inn, then sit for a blessed moment on their screened-in porch and watch the ocean and the promenaders go by. We did. Come with us.