Relay: Now It’s Our Time
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.
And what better time to celebrate that than autumn; the word alone fills me with joy. I don’t like to call it fall because fall or falling indicates something bad. Autumn is that sweet time of the year when our place of home becomes quieter, cooler, and cozier. “A good thing,” to quote Martha.
It’s time for us to regroup, clean up our own houses, our town, and start making plans for next year, which I think should include a big gate near Town Pond in East Hampton that will be staffed by us old fuddy-duds to keep the riffraff out. Oh my God, I don’t sound like my mother; I sound like my father!
It’s been a rough summer for those of us who live out here in Montauk. If the people who visited us this summer are anyindication of what our world is turning into, we’re in trouble — big trouble! Twenty-somethings acted like 4-year-old children on alcohol. Now picture that: drunken 4-year-olds. It might seem funny to some, but it’s not; it’s downright ugly.
Some, the younger people in our community, loved the action. You know, more hookups, easy access. “I don’t know why people are complaining so much. I love it,” said a 23-year-old I know, which is my point exactly. Consider the source.
They were running wild in the street, urinating on our lawns, pulling flowers from pots that had been carefully tended, and had no qualms about tossing garbage out their car windows, and peeing in our pond. The effects on the pond of diluted beer are not yet known, but we’ll soon know and that will help make the case for the gate.
When we open the gate in spring, we will have to be very careful whom we allow to enter our glass house. Those with no shirts and shoes will be kept out, as will those with coolers. Camping equipment should be suspect. I learned that several weeks ago when three young men parked on the grass near my driveway and exited their vehicle with backpacks, something that looked like a tent but could have been covering shotguns, and other bulky items.
They may have just been planning a night under the stars near the Montauk Lighthouse, which is a mile through the woods from our home, but strangers don’t and can’t park on my block. It’s too small with only three houses on each side and just enough open space for us and our neighbors to park our own vehicles. So when three guys have the audacity to park there and get out with equipment that is similar to what has been used by terrorists to house bombs, it raises a red flag.
It was a Sunday evening and my husband and I had just sat down in the living room after eating dinner. He saw them first and turned all vigilante on me. When he flung open our front door to chase them, I yelled for him to mind his business. He started spouting words about it being private property and all that, as if this was something I didn’t know already. But he did sit back down. I usually wear the pants in this family, and rightly so, as I’m more level-headed and not prone to a wine-soaked dinner.
But after he went to bed I started thinking: Maybe they were up to no good. My dilemma then became whether or not to call the authorities. After imagining my beloved Lighthouse blown to pieces, I made the necessary call. I had to. I saw something and if I hadn’t said something it would have haunted me for the rest of my life.
Nothing ever came of it, but it gave me one more reason to be glad summer’s over. The kids have returned to school and the Montauk Chamber is already planning a Tumbleweed Tuesday party, so we can dance in the streets. The time is now for us to share our secrets.
Janis Hewitt is a senior writer for The Star.