Before food became such a phenomena that there were magazines devoted to it, before cooking shows, way back before locavore was even a word, the potato was king in these parts. We get a glimpse of those days around this time each spring when farmers begin seeding new crops. And it is right around now when passers-by cannot help but reflect on how wonderful it is that any land is left to plow. Thanks to the devotion of a small number of local farming families, there are still people living on the East End who know how it is done.
It was an otherwise quiet spring day, and a resident dog owner and lover, morning cup of java from Mary’s Marvelous in hand, was standing near the water’s edge at the ocean at Georgica enjoying the quiet and taking in the view. Then, out of nowhere, a small purebred dragging a leash appeared at his side, barking angrily as if the dark shadow itself were at hand. After what seemed like and an inordinate length of time, a woman called the dog over, and without so much as a wave of apology, they walked away. So much for serenity.