Opinion

Tick season is upon us again, and so are conversations about the East End’s public enemy number one.

The other day, when looking into family history for a column, I read a New Yorker magazine profile of a charming rustic character by the name of Everett Joshua Edwards: my great-grandfather.

It is increasingly accepted that alternative ways of getting around, ones that do not require fossil fuels, can help reduce planet-warming gases, but there is another direct benefit: money.

It’s the simplicity, stupid.

Rediscovering basketball on my street in Springs, I began to lose myself in the joy of just being in my body and rekindling my relationship with my younger self and a ball.

In Springs, the school board may very likely seek voter approval for increasing taxes above a state-mandated safety valve for the first time.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez said that in Latin America, the completely fantastical was reality.

A heartbreaking story in The New York Times this week described in detail some state legislatures’ disastrous ideological rejection of federal Medicaid payments.

I will be in the 60-plus demographic by the time the new East Hampton senior citizens center opens; I have to get my 2 cents in somehow.

I’m more than a little susceptible to seasonal affective disorder, but my outlook brightens as soon as the big hand on the grandfather clock is wound forward an hour on daylight saving time and the afternoons begin to lengthen.

A tip of the hat goes to Lou Cortese, a member of the East Hampton Town Planning Board, for calling out a certain flexibility in the way land-use laws are applied.

We interrupt raging March Madness to wonder when the Jets’ Aaron Rodgers waiting game will ever end.

In a newly unstable banking environment, American depositors can thank William H. Woodin of East Hampton for the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation.

From here, it is difficult to understand what the holdup has been on saving Plum Island.

Unlike Dante, we began our trip in Purgatory at the federal building on the city’s Lower West Side.

Members of the East Hampton Town Board are correct in asking the question once again about the commercial use of beaches. A conversation they had recently about capping the number of guests at some events may not have gone far enough.

There was a time when I paid close attention to what it said on the backs of seed envelopes. Now I know enough to make my own decisions about the timing of when to plant.

This week’s column is the personal-essay equivalent of a very bad odor. Prepare yourself, reader!

The surprising end result of all that construction work at La Guardia.

How did we get to this precarious situation with Montauk’s water quality? The problem, in a word, is overdevelopment.

Since ex-police chief and current East Hampton Village Mayor Jerry Larsen first started his campaign against the Village Ambulance Association, the main public reaction has been if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.

The East Hampton Village Board again seems intent on handing over its modest Sea Spray Cottages at Main Beach to a for-profit hospitality management company. This is a bad idea. The land should be open to the public, if anything.

Is heaven some sort of club, a fraternity? If so, its population may be sparse.

Foul weather is just the way it is here in the month of March.

My somewhat critical attitude toward cats — my less than all-embracing affection for all pets, all the time — is a character flaw, I’m aware.

When the basements of about six shops, a cafe, and a gallery in East Hampton Village flooded on Feb. 26, it was bad news at the toughest time of the year.

It is no coincidence that just as damaging and embarrassing revelations from a lawsuit by a voting machine maker against the Fox television corporation are released, the network’s Tucker Carlson has gone all in on a false retelling of the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol.

At last, the legendary Washington Heights home of the Millrose Games, “the fastest track in the world.”

As Jimmy Carter is now in hospice care, I wonder what might have happened had his prescient words on conservation and self-sacrifice been heeded.

I am interested in the mixing and remixing of ourselves, and there’s no better feeling than when we’re in tune.