Digging All That Was The Week That Wasn't

The week after Memorial Day - that no-name span of days that don't add up to anything more than good weather, passable streets, recovering holiday weekend ATM balances and that most coveted of all East End phenomenons, empty beaches on 78 degree afternoons.

It's that magical time before beach attendants, parking stickers and "that was my spot" altercations on Main Street -- when herb gardens are on the climb and the return of that pre-summer notion that this year you will manage to maintain a semblance of casual order in the vegetable garden. Bikes are rolled out of the basement, potting soil freed from the dark damp recesses of the shed, unfinished watercolors returned to an easel perched in the upstairs loft ready for idle inspiration to find its way back to your yard.

These are the weeks we cherish like raindrops after a long drought before the minions arrive, cars packed with their own summer- 'field of dreams' -type yearning for something gone missing since grade school.

Soak it up while you can for it is a fleeting time of choke cherry and rose hip blooms, June bugs and strawberries. Come month's end we'll be counting fireflies and avoiding parking tickets to see the mad drummers at Sagg Main, cursing the traffic on the Fourth of July.