It’s Tumbleweed Tuesday in the Hamptons. Lots of folks have left to go back to wherever they came from. How did it get to be the end of the summer? I don’t know. On this early morning after Labor Day, I wake at 6 a.m. determined to take my rescue Lab puppy, Bodhi, to the beach to play with my neighbor’s golden retriever, Captain.
Before we even had the dogs, my neighbor D., a fisherman, has been talking to me about the wonders at the ocean in the early morning hours. “Eagles, porpoises, whales — they’re all there before sunrise, Kate.” For 20 years, I’ve smiled at his stories. For 20 years, he leaves his house next door at 4 a.m. to fish on the beach. For 20 years, I hear his truck take off in the dark, as I pull up my bed covers.
This Tumbleweed Tuesday is different. I find myself in the car with my puppy in the backseat heading to Two Mile Hollow Beach. Already, as I drive down the road, there’s a family of deer — two fawns and two females. Farther down, I spy a large male with his rack of horns. Beauty abounds, taking my breath away.
At the parking lot to the beach, I don’t see my neighbor’s truck. Damn. Is D. somewhere else today? Just my luck.
Then, his partner, J., gets out of her car. I’m relieved to see her.
“Where’s D.’s truck?” I ask.
“It’s on the beach. Remember? He drives it on the beach. He’s got all the fishing gear on the truck.”
“Of course.”
“He and Captain are about a mile down. Let’s go.”
I kick off my sandals where the parking lot ends and the beach begins and turn to J. She’s holding a sturdy walking stick. I don’t think I need one. Then, she walks on at a quick pace as I follow behind.
Meanwhile, I keep Bodhi on a leash, not completely trusting him. I adopted him only five months ago from the local rescue shelter. And we’ve never been on this beach before.
“Can’t he be off-leash?” J. asks. “After Labor Day, there aren’t other dogs around.”
I think about this. Technically, yes, I could let him off the leash. But I don’t know if he’ll follow us. I glance at J. She nods to me. It’s not a full-blown “What kind of overprotecting mother are you?” nod. It’s not a “How stupid can you be?” nod. It’s an understanding nod. It’s an “It will be okay” nod, as though either way would be fine.
I let him off the leash. And, to my surprise, Bodhi doesn’t run off. He saunters alongside us, nose to the sand. He’s not even looking for delicious crab claws or other snacks. He’s sniffing each imprint.
“Look what he’s doing. It’s weird, no?” I say.
“It’s not weird. He’s getting a lot of information from the sand prints — humans, dogs, birds.”
“Like what sort of information?”
“What they ate for dinner, how they’re feeling today. There’s lots stored in feet and paws. It all shows up in the sand.”
We walk on. I think about all Bodhi is getting by sniff. Just sniff. We humans have no idea. I think about J. — how wise she is.
As we look down the beach the sunlight pours over the ocean. There’s a truck and D. with his fishing rod at the shoreline. Captain is crouched on the sand, looking in our direction, waiting.
Bodhi gazes down the beach and spies Captain in the sand. He turns to me. “Go see Captain!” I say. Only then does he take off down the beach to his pal. J. nods to me approvingly. I smile back.
Though we haven’t yet seen any eagles or whales, it sure is a glorious Tumbleweed kind of Tuesday.
Kate Hearst lives in Amagansett and is working on a memoir about marriage, divorce, and raising a puppy. She teaches film history and was featured in CNN’s series “The Movies.”