Columnists

Close and not-so-close encounters with bears.

The ospreys are back for the season, and I’ve spent more time than usual watching the show.

We’re having a potluck lunch on Sunday at Ashawagh Hall, following the 11 a.m. memorial gathering there for my mother, Helen S. Rattray.

Willie’s Roadhouse has a new fan.

A feisty young Jewish woman from New Jersey, Helen S. Rattray became the editor and publisher of The Star after her first husband, Everett Rattray, died in 1980 at the age of 47.

A tale of intense culture shock, of seeing America anew.

The mysterious pull of a struggling Southern Tier downtown and its one-of-a-kind hotel.

I have always been a do-it-yourselfer, even about food.

Pondering this week where I’d stash my cash, apropos of the possibly pending global financial collapse, the strategy of parking money in companies that manufacture small indulgences seems about right.

The pleasure and practicality of a loaner.

Zaire had attracted me for what I perceived as its perch on the knife edge between order and chaos. I had sought a challenge.

All the way to Florida and back it was my daughter, Nettie, who led me in the right direction, not the other way around.

At the Byron Young Fish Passage.

The Washington dipsticks who discussed apparently classified United States military planning on an unsecure chat app before a March 15 attack on Yemen’s Houthi militants must not have been familiar with teenagers.

One of the superstitions I have acquired with age is that I do believe houses and belongings acquire something from the generations who have been there before.

Behold gastronomic glory — the Rochester garbage plate.

At long last, the East Hampton Town Board is expected to reduce the cap on houses relative to the size of a given piece of land.

The Bouvier Beales of Grey Gardens had raccoons in the parlor but they also had certain pretentions. They floated in time in a rather detached fashion, losing track of its passing days, weeks, months, years, decades, and centuries, and I understand and sympathize, especially when it comes to yard maintenance.

Thoughts from someone who hated daylight saving time. Until suddenly he didn't.

Almost 250 years ago, an enslaved man was sold not far from this newspaper’s office.

My favorite meal is an inter-meal that comes around at 4:30. I love tea.

A governor plays tit-for-tat with the White House.

The strong-arming to remove a street mural in the District of Columbia is part of a push by the right to erase Black Americans’ legacy and humanity.

Hyper-nostalgia may be a foolish game to persist in playing in 2025, but it is an ingrained part of our local culture.

Adventures in vacation week skiing.

For years, I have believed with a fervor that clothes with signs of wear, if not tear, are cool.

It really is too bad for the teenagers of 2025 that thrifting has devolved into such a sad affair, slim pickings and executive prices.

Staring through the plate glass at T. Anthony’s pizzeria in the middle of the Boston University campus and seeing a 19-year-old idiot — me.

If the South Fork of Long Island could have a unifying motto, it might be bigger is better.

The world is a much more mysterious place than you thought it was when you were young and certain.