Columnists

Before we say goodbye, a quick nod to Marley, once a presence of furry serenity along Montauk Highway in Bridgehampton.

For all the boats in the harbors here, very few ever appear to slip their lines.

What rains down upon the head of a mother delivering a student to college.

The street-level art of a high-end Tiffany man.

The Star has been hosting a pair of student writers who are taking part in our summer program for high schoolers.   

For your entertainment, here are some everyday things that have disappeared from this world Since I Was a Girl.

Wild action at the Riverhead Raceway.

South Fork traffic is so bad that no one bothers to say that this summer is the worst ever.

Two gifts drew me out of the hermit cave of my bedroom on Saturday evening, the hard clams and the opening of the hard clams.

In praise of Betty Gilpin. (And the characters she plays.)

Judging from the number of bright, green lawns, maintaining the right emerald color is considered an absolute necessity, despite the drought we’re in.

Memory is a mystery. Why do certain mundane moments linger?

Roll the tape . . .

I have been studying East End slavery for close to a decade now, but that has not diminished the shock that accompanies many of the documents that turn up.

Prince Edward Island, the island of my dreams.

Adventures with my father, beach-bannering and landing hard at the Foster Farm’s au naturel runway in Sagaponack.

What if visitors here were not being entitled jerks but rather were doing the best they could with the cerebral horsepower they had?

My career in the theater was not illustrious.

A showman for the ages deserves his due.

This season, late-model Range Rovers are the leading contender for the most annoying kind of car on South Fork roads.

Raise your hand if your mood is forcefully impacted by the weather.

Flagging over the Pledge of Allegiance and the national anthem.

Whale stink is something of a Proustian madeleine for me.

Despite my recent, mild interest in birds, I remain an indefatigable mis-identifier of them.

Finding success, of a sort, and camaraderie with the run-walk-run method at the Shelter Island 10K.

Scarcely is there a moment that I can step outside the office and not hear something other than the birds.

This broken toe is my excuse for having an empty head this month. It’s impossible to have a new idea without walking.

Summer’s tough on year-rounders. But at least there’s humble Long Beach.

There is an honor system of sorts. Star letter writers are expected to be self-policing. But artificial intelligence has made our job a lot more difficult.

A family romp at a Dartmouth graduation.