There are many more dandelions in flower around East Hampton Village this spring than I can remember. This may be in part due to Village Hall’s decision to switch to no-toxin landscaping. But I also like to think it is in part the legacy of Matthew...
“Physically, I’m in decent shape, it’s my mental condition that worries me,” I said to my doubles partner the other day, and she, concurring, said that tennis was indeed “a mental game.”
There is perhaps a bit of good news to follow up on my lament about the missing snakes of eastern Long Island. Joanie McDonell, who lives up the beach about half a mile west of me, has sent word that a two-and-a-half-foot-long rat snake had been...
Soon all will unravel, as we who live here the year round well know, though there’s still time to revel in the heady indolence and promise of spring.
On Saturday, the East Hampton Historical Society celebrated the arrival of the Hedges-Edwards barn at Mulford Farm, where it is, we hope and expect, to remain forever and ever.
May or June was when the toads used to appear. On warm days they would be on the brick path in the sun. Now I can’t remember seeing one for years.
Last year around this time, when Trump’s so-called tax reform act passed, I remember saying that no one, at least no one from out here, should vote for a Republican, not one.
This weekend I participated in a beach cleanup, and once again I am enraged by the balloon debris that accumulates around here.
Shelter Islanders seem to somehow carry with them a sense of place that sets them apart. Have you noticed that?
There’s no eelgrass to speak of anymore. Baymen and researchers have been saying this for some time, but it is nonetheless strange to think about.
I’ve finally gotten to the Bible my mother gave me at long last, but as yet have found no salvation in it, perhaps because I’ve not advanced far beyond the psalmist’s prayers to the jealous Old Testament God to smite his enemies.
At this time of the year, my yard is awash in yellow flowers. I’ve never known exactly what they are — or if someone once did identify them for me, I’ve forgotten — but they look a bit like hardy buttercups. They create a bright, sunny carpet that...
Readers this week will notice a fresh focus on travel in The Star. Two projects, a culinary tour of Greece with Florence Fabricant in September and a brand-new Travel quarterly are in this week’s issue. How and why we are taking this new tack here...
As constant readers, those of a certain age at any rate, undoubtedly noticed, when I wrote two weeks ago that I was paying $65 a week to rent a one-room apartment in Alphabet City in 1965, I was wrong.
A funeral service last weekend, and the reception afterward, seemed the embodiment of community.
The word is out about a pair of eagles nesting near the water in Springs.
The other night, as we talked of Joe Biden’s predicament, it occurred to me that I, a diffident WASP not programmed to show much emotion, was at first bemused when men began hugging men in America — about 40 or so years ago, I think....
How could I possibly have fallen for it — me, of all people, who’s been editing the Star’s police reports for more years than I care to remember?
Does anyone still chant this nursery rhyme? Once upon a time, I think, everyone knew which child they were: Monday’s child is fair of face Tuesday’s child is full of grace Wednesday’s child is full of woe Thursday’s child has...