The bad-luck schooner Alice May Davenport spent the two weeks following Thanksgiving up on the sand near Smith Point.
The bad-luck schooner Alice May Davenport spent the two weeks following Thanksgiving up on the sand near Smith Point.
I never quite got over hearing how Silicon Valley developers and programmers who worked ingeniously to hook kids on social media would turn around and send their own kids to no-tech Waldorf schools.
A brief snowfall triggers memories of Vermont and an uncle’s life there as a potter.
We, the Rattray family, have a tendency to get lost in time, to misplace ourselves in its flow.
Presumably I have returned to work now, and am thus to some extent re-engaged in East Hampton’s life, and am feeling once again at least somewhat useful.
Leafing back through five months’ worth of “Shipwreck Roses,” I chuckle at myself as I realize exactly how much of my brain space is filled by thoughts of handsome movie actors.
After eight months of social distance, I think isolation is getting to me.
Fallen leaves. Is there anything in the world less satisfying to deal with?
We’ve made cardboard cutouts of family members so that Mary and I can be infused with the familial glow that has been so much a part of this holiday over the years.
Southampton's Dr. George Schenck returned to his practice Thanksgiving week in 1918 after being ill with influenza for nearly a month. A 25-year-old whose parents lived in North Sea died at Roosevelt Hospital in New York City.
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