The first photograph of mine that was published in this paper was, I believe, in 1979. It was on the cover, and it was of Pete Kromer, a haul-seiner and a friend, kneeling on the ocean beach at the end of a giant bag of weakfish while simultaneously tossing two in the air to his truck.
For year-rounders, summer is not generally the time for relaxation. Beaches and outdoor pursuits beckon, but for us working stiffs, the nonstop revelry of July and August feels like an endurance test.
It would be best if I spared our eldest child my emotional confessions, but the house is now very different with her packed off to school in Delaware.
I was thinking of calling the Hampton Jitney to see if I couldn’t get them to wrap one of their buses with a photo of me and fellow septuagenarian Gary Bowen, winners this past Sunday of East Hampton Indoor’s men’s B doubles championship, but modesty prevailed.
He is Jamaican. He is a big man, tall and broad. He gets on in Montauk with me at 7 a.m. We both sit down in front, where there is more legroom. We are riding the 10C.
September brings with it clear skies, open roads, a sense of calm, and peak hurricane season. This year’s official forecast is for a moderately active Atlantic during the period, but records going back to 1851 show that for Long Island, as well as the rest of the coastal United States, from Texas to Maine, now is the time to keep a weather eye out...
Quahog chowder for 100? That’s right. In years gone by, with the bay beach in front of our house, we did things in a big way. The chowder was a hit for a couple of summers and then — oh, dear — we made a bouillabaisse. The latter recipe is lost to history because we wanted to forget about it.
On the eve of my father’s birthday my son arrived with two daughters exceedingly lively and between Pepperoni’s and Sam’s we sported free at the edge of the sea.
I’ve heard it be said that the secret of life is the passage of time. What you do with that time is where the secrets are kept and it’s up to us to find them. For those of us who live here year round, our time will soon be ours again.