The first Saturday night of each month, I go contra dancing in Water Mill. The word “contra” always arouses curiosity. Typically, it goes like this:
“You do what?”
“I go to contra dances.”
“Is that some sort of Central American activity?”
“No, it’s North American country dancing.”
“Oh, then why contra?”
“The first New Englanders called it contra, maybe their slang for country.”
Imagine Paul Revere galloping through town on an average evening, lantern in hand, shouting, “Contra dance tonight!”