Postcards from the South Coast

Editor’s Note: These South Coast scenes were reported by The New Bedford Light’s 2025 summer interns, who are part of the South Coast Internship program, designed for local students.

The cool night hasn’t worn off as the sign for the Goulart Square Bakery glows beneath a jet-black sky and twinkling stars. It’s four in the morning, and the intersection of Bolton and Rivet Streets has an eerie calm. But the Goulart Square’s bakers are already hard at work — as they have been for 40 years — without one moment to spare before the early morning customers arrive.

The scent of fresh dough fills the air. Heat blasts from the massive oven, with its internal ferris wheel-like structure that rotates a medley of baking breads. Behind the storefront counter and into the kitchen, soothing melodies play from a Portuguese radio station. The kitchen isn’t the only thing that’s warm; the sanguine bakers within are friendly and welcoming as they work.

Each piece of equipment and every baker hustles to keep the New Bedford bakery’s doors open and its customers satisfied. Dozens of steel racks hold what will become fresh papo secos, and two large steel tables covered in flour allow the four bakers to keep things moving.

The bakers communicate without much conversation. They know exactly what needs to be done. Days earlier, this well-oiled team was battle-tested by the Madeira Feast. Now they are back to their regular routine.

Fryers next to the primary oven crinkle and sputter as the oil heats, preparing a quick bath for the malassadas stretched out just above. Each disk of dough is placed into the oil until golden brown, then flipped. After a quick nose-dive into a bowl of sugar, they’re ready to snap up.

A large cart parked in front of the oven has been crammed with papo secos, a culmination of hours of work. Bakers push the cart down the ramp and into the back of the storefront for packaging. Each plastic package, with the store’s blue branding, is headed for one of many local businesses.

Just before the clock ticks toward 5, a fifth worker arrives to add the finishing touches: displaying the massive loaves, counting the cash, and laying out the Portuguese Times on the counter. When the clock finally strikes 5 a.m. — and sunrise is still half an hour away — the bakery’s doors are unlocked and the hanging sign is flipped to open. Within three minutes, a customer arrives for a quick exchange —  both parties already know what the other wants.

— Brenton Jackson

On a summer night in August, the parking lot of Handy Hill Creamery is full. Families line up to study the various ice cream flavors, ranging from classic chocolate and vanilla to cherry moose tracks and rum raisin.

Some wear wet hair and bathing suits, fresh from the nearby beaches.

Inside, workers in blue shirts zip back and forth from the windows to the tubs of ice cream. Every few minutes, they call an order at the last window, and a customer rushes to collect their sweet treat. 

Picnic tables dot the lawn and three lamps light the walkway from the ordering windows to the sitting area. A classic red and blue neon sign shines from the Westport creamery’s window to catch the eye of those driving by. Crickets and birds chirp in the trees when a worker yells out, “Last call for hot food!” 

The workers are always on their feet, some refill napkin containers while others deliberate who should be doing what task on the inside, trying to be as efficient as possible.

One truck pulls in but finds no open parking spots. A father and daughter settle for a patch of grass near the picnic tables. After they claim their cup and cone, they return to sit in the bed of the truck with the tailgate down. Chatting and laughing, they swing their legs in synchronicity with full attention on the melting towers in their hands. 

— Avary Amaral

The Mattapoisett Diner bustles at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday. Five families sit at its eight tables, while seven people occupy the counter. One middle-aged woman juggles bussing, orders, and checks; she’s occasionally assisted by a high schooler collecting dishes. 

This morning’s crowd reflects the people of the seaside town. More than half of the diners are over 50 years old, just as more than half of Mattapoisett’s residents are that age. Only one out of the 20 diners is a person of color, like more than 90% of the town is white. Three are kids under 14, which almost exactly mirrors the town’s youth population.

At the end of the bar, friends are reciting Massachusetts native Bill Burr’s comedy routines to each other. Their thick New Bedford accents carry across the room as conversation roams into their working and dating life. Across the bar, patrons silently enjoy a coffee or listen to voicemails at full volume. 

The diner’s walls are just as busy as its floor, with photos of the coastal community, and nautical flags on the windows. Four golden plaques, nearly obscured behind coffee machines, commemorate the diner’s first place wins at the town’s annual chili cook-off. 

The walls are crowned with murals depicting local landmarks. The eastern wall shows Marion’s village; the west has Fairhaven center and West Island; the south is Buzzard Bay teeming with sail boats; and the north wall features Mattapoisett’s harbor, Ned’s Point, Salty the Seahorse, Shipyard Park, and the nearby stone bridge where the annual Rochester Memorial Day Boat Race ends. 

Beneath these painted scenes are the people who live in them. Two grandparents sit with a granddaughter more interested in her iPad than pancakes. Another elderly couple discuss their diet and finances, while two parents sit in the corner with their two young kids in pajamas who chow down breakfast. 

As soon as this family of four leaves, a pregnant mother with a toddler in-arm takes their place. As she’s seated, she tells her son, “Once you get your French toast, we’ll be ready to start our day.” 

— Zakary Sarkarati

It is that time of year again: the Festa has returned to New Bedford.

The first weekend in August brings nearly the entire city (and more) to the Madeira Field, which is crammed with food and drink booths, performances stages, souvenir stands, and carnival rides. Here, the annual Feast of the Blessed Sacrament takes root.

On the first night of the Feast, the lines on both sides of the entrance are already wrapped around the block. Adults wear 2024 Feast shirts bought last year, and children and teens pace the sidewalk impatiently. Once the gates open, people flood into the venue.

Visitors are bombarded by the smells: the sweet scent of fresh malassadas in one stand; the savory aroma of linguica and cacoila cooking in the next one; and the smoky whiffs of the barbecue pit tucked into the corner. The food tastes as good as it smells – just ask those in the ever-growing line.

At the beginning of the night, Stage One showcases the magic of the cover band: crowds always form when they can sing along. For those who want to rock out, Stage Two is the place to be. A high-energy cover act performs a Jimi Hendrix song that can be heard across the field. The lead singer ties a Portuguese flag around her mic stand, while she wears the Cross of Christ on her shirt.

What truly makes the Feast is the people who share it. Two avós sitting under the flower arrangement in the pavilion share a traditional Portuguese meal and converse in the language. A mother holds a young boy’s hand as he swims through a T-shirt three sizes too big, which reads: “got madeira?” A group of teenage girls burst into laughter as they dance along to the music in the air. The energy that the Festa creates is infectious and is itself cause for celebration in New Bedford.

— Kristina DaPonte

The musical ensemble at Davoll’s General Store tonight is composed of four men with glasses on the tips of their noses and grays in their hair. They’re set up in a nook surrounded by bookshelves, laughing as they tune their instruments. Three of them play acoustic guitars, while their percussionist whacks a kit consisting of a tin can, a plastic bottle, and a misshapen cymbal made from ancient-looking copper. 

Most people who grew up in Dartmouth know Davoll’s as a spot for penny candy after a trip to the beach. Since Ben and Will Shattuck took over ownership in 2021, they’ve added a bookstore and pub to the general store — which was founded in 1793 and is the oldest still operating in Massachusetts. They host trivia nights, author readings, a knitting club, and, on Thursday nights, jam sessions.

The musicians banter between songs. One flips through a binder of sheet music. The others pluck stray notes, negotiating which tune to play next. “Edelweiss?” one suggests. “Early Morning Rain?” When they finally agree, the songs of Jason Isbell and Bob Dylan fill the store. They sing a three-part harmony as their fingers glide up their fretboards.

People cross from the pub to the store while the music plays. A toddler deserts her family after locking eyes with the stuffed animal rack. A tween leaves another table to check out the books. Titles on the shelves range from “Portraits of Old Dartmouth: Local Heroes in the American Revolution” to Ocean Vuong’s newest novel. 

Meanwhile, the tween’s mother strolls over to the general store, where patrons can buy everything local: honey, tomatoes, blueberries, candles, greeting cards, and fabrics made by area artists. Not an inch of this store goes to waste. Beyond those items for sale, there are board games for the diners, antiques and knickknacks on display, and framed newspaper clippings telling the store’s long history.

A few remnants from the store’s past include an old sign that used to hang outside. It’s now fastened to an interior wall, weathered by years of nor’easters. Saltwater taffy still goes for 15 cents a pop. But for all the colonial quaintness, there’s also the newest trendy seltzers in the fridge and Brooklyn-based ice cream in the freezer. Alongside all the customers wearing linen button-ups, it’s a reminder that New England is rooted in poshness as much as tradition.

— Annica Dupre