Being in the Hamptons in late March—after a stay in Manhattan and a bit of work-related business –briefly reconnects me to the peace and quiet of our home in eastern Long Island. I wake early and take my new-old Mark II Jag out for a morning drive. Only 100 miles from New York City are vast expanses of farmland and ocean vistas, long secured by the Town from developers. The stress of work notwithstanding, the scenery helps me breathe easier–windows down, temperatures in the mid-40s, the sun reflecting off the polished burlwood. I consider how fortunate we are to have settled in East Hampton some 50 years ago. The population has steadily increased perhaps ten-fold over the years and the prices of real estate even more. Winter months have not changed significantly, still quieter than summer. The residential lanes are fully improved now- no more vacant lots– with a few classic shingle style houses, but modern architecture has crept in as new owners demolish and rebuild their houses, many in the oversized “McMansion” style. The route down Montauk Highway is free of traffic going west. I pass the eastbound “trade parade” backed up at the light in Wainscott and find a parking spot in front of Bridgehampton’s Candy Kitchen diner. Inside, the owner Marcello is at the counter bent over his morning coffee, awaiting the breakfast crowds. He sees me and says, “haven’t seen you in a long while” –the usual greeting after I’ve spent several months in Florida. I take the last booth though the restaurant is empty. This is my usual hang-out. I settle in with the New York Times and a large coffee in a paper cup. Absorbed in yesterday’s news, I savor my caffeine fix. I have my solitude here – no office, clients or fellow lawyers to query me about my time away. Afterward, I take the backroads through Sagaponack. The speedbumps intended to slow down the summer traffic are also a warning to me not to test the old Jag’s suspension. The sun glints off the windshield. I try to turn on the old radio but no luck. One more thing to add to my “fix” list. I return home and park the Jag in its garage space. The house is quiet and I start a fire in the library hearth. I ask Alexa to play WQXR and I settle into my cozy chair with the view out on the open field. The deer are not spooked by my return. They feed away, in their usual routine. They know.
