Opinion

I had a feeling that Tuesday morning was going to be weird. When Weasel, the Lab mix, rousted me around 4:30 to go outside, the peeper frogs in the swamp were especially worked up and a whippoorwill sang from a tree in the driveway so close that I could hear a clicking he made between choruses. Click. Whip-poor-will. Click. I went back upstairs and put my head down on a pillow.

Have you seen the commercial for Extra sugar-free gum, set “sometime in the not too distant future,” in which — as Celine Dion sings “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” — citizens freed from lockdown rush giddily into the streets, pop a spearmint slice into their mouth, and leap into the arms of strangers to make out?

A soaring vertical space broken up by horizontal catwalks, railings, and landings. This is what preservation can look like . . .

Time spent on the beach with a father, and the details a daughter remembers.

Sag Harbor Mayor Kathleen Mulcahy put it well during a public forum last week when she said that the village has the power to control the use, size, and character of development.

A fellow tennis player said the other day that he assumed I’d not been very busy lately, though I assured him I had been inasmuch as the high school teams had been pretty much in full swing since the end of February.

Nothing screams “suburban streetscape!” quite so loudly as Belgian block.

My son, bless his cotton socks, is of a scientific mind.

We can only hope that the more than 1,200 people who signed a petition demanding fast action for the eroded Montauk ocean beaches now begin to understand the folly in waiting for the federal government to save the day.

The East Hampton Independence Party’s support for a slate of candidates this week is important because it instantly injects a hearty dose of democracy back into the race.

History runs deep on the South Fork, and well recorded is the spelling Noyack, not Noyac. With the all-important K.

I think my interest in history, as in the history of the Presbyterian churches in Springs and Amagansett, is an extension of looking into my history. Who am I?

When East Hampton Town first floated the idea of running its own vaccination clinics, we were skeptical the town could pull it off. And now we are happy to have been proven wrong.

This may not be the best advertisement for the book of “Point of View” columns I intend to publish, a book to be known as “Essays From Eden,” but Mary nearly keeled over in proofreading them this past week.

This is a good time to bring up the longer-term question of sharing superintendents among the South Fork’s smaller districts.

A volcanic eruption on the Caribbean island of St. Vincent highlights the difficulty of living without electricity.

The only good use for a fence, in my opinion, is for leaning on while watching your kid play team sports in the sunshine in a field behind a school.

Once more unto the darkened theater — for escape or togetherness?

Science can’t prove or disprove God, but I nevertheless believe that its findings can contribute greatly to our quest for meaning.

Early on in an effort begun by a Star intern to document the history of slavery in East Hampton, one of the project’s advisers said he could draw a direct line from omission of enslaved people of African heritage from the American founding story to police killings of Black men today.

And so, we too have acceded — inevitably, it would seem — to the fact that Afghanistan is “the graveyard of empires.”

For the first time, there is a baseline on nitrogen levels from which the several mandates can be evaluated. Before now, sampling for nitrogen was inadequate, when it took place at all. This created a situation in which policy got out ahead of science.

The Montauk Hammerhead Building team trounced the Amagansett Fire Department in Little League action on Monday. I should know; I was among the spectators at Lions Field trying to keep warm as a chilly westerly wind blew in off the ocean. In an email to parents earlier in the day, the Amagansett coaches had told us to dress warmly. No one dressed warmly enough, especially on the visitors’ side of the field.

Linguists and writers of a certain pompousness (ahem, me) like to debate the relative euphoniousness of words at dinner parties. Have you heard this thing about the most beautiful phrase in the English language being “cellar door”? What about "defenestration" or "lollygag," "twilight" or "jubilee"?

Not a lot seems to be scheduled here for Earth Day, which comes next Thursday and marks the 51st anniversary of the first Earth Day. It is the pandemic no doubt that has prevented organized activities, but that does not mean that individuals cannot step outside to pick up litter, support an environmental group, or cut back on fossil-fuel use and nonrecyclables.

Some thoughts on the coming gentrification of Sag Harbor’s mini strip mall, the Water Street Shops.

Lessons from a tumble down a flight of stairs, a hospital stay during the height of Covid, and 90 isolating days in a less-than-desirable care center.

On Long Island, Covid-19 numbers have fallen since their peak, but they remain surprisingly and stubbornly high. Deaths from the virus have also declined, but even so lives are lost that should not have been. The 3,300th person in Suffolk County died from the disease between Monday and Tuesday this week. More than 41,000 New Yorkers across the state have died from Covid-19, which is still taking the lives of more people of color and Spanish speakers, by population, than whites.

Recently, I was asked to retrieve from The Star’s attic contacts and negatives of Troy Bowe, the former Killer Bees’ point guard, in action. The request set my head to spinning like a leptoquark, for, as I told Carl Johnson, who had made the request, “It’s a black hole up there, a bottomless pit from which it has been said nothing escapes.”

At the risk of offending my friends from Sag Harbor, what is up with those people? Most of the time that I run into someone I know in that village, the first thing they say is, “What are you doing over here?” with the emphasis on “you.”

“I wanted to go to Persan’s for a clam knife,” I protest. They tilt their head ever so slightly, suspicious