Scuffs where horseshoe crabs had made love during night covered the sand at Lazy Point. Their fevered trails crisscrossed the beach. Plovers and turnstones probed for eggs along the edge of the water.

One of the recurring themes of this column that I keep returning to — like a dog that annoys its master by wearing holes in the living room rug by habitually turning circles and clawing at the carpet with its paws before lying down — is the incontrovertible truth that people used to have more fun.