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We dweebs go into the city about once a decade.

Down where I live, within feet of the marsh, the buzz is constant from about the end of May until early October.

Making like a trucker, hell-bent on Myrtle Beach.

So, what did I learn this week? That Audubon “more than once described birds that almost certainly never existed,” and that the L.V.I.S. didn’t have any pants with a 35-inch waist.

Among the plant-related projects that I have gotten into, none is as challenging as grafting apples. Now, in the second year, I have one survivor out of a dozen attempts, a scion cut from a Quail Hill tree.

You, too, may have found yourself wondering about the staying power of even the best of “prestige television.” A nun to the rescue.

It’s been a long time since I owned any shoes that felt worthy of a Polaroid or that seemed to reflect anything in particular about my character or my autobiography.

I wonder if it’s all right to wear warmup pants and a Bonac hoodie to the Press Club of Long Island’s Hall of Fame induction ceremony.

Think what we may about the yearly climate cycle on the East End, some kind of seasonal calendar is needed to anticipate when to take the dahlia and tomato seedlings outside.

How Yondr pouches remade one school’s lunchtime.

If it weren’t for the moon, we wouldn’t be here.

Cold spells, baseballs, and pesky small birds notwithstanding, an osprey’s life seems a good one.