Say You Did And Stow Away

There's a new psychological state emerging from The Hamptons this summer in a mash up of over stimulation and waning desire as event signs propagate along our back roads announcing the must-see-must-do fab event of the weekend. Even the most willing of circuit-going minds tires along the circuitous route from Seven Ponds Road to Hands Creek in search of farm stand and cell tower, texting missives to the posse gathering outside Round Swamp Farm stuffed like sardines on the grill.

Even if you wanted to take a gander at Escape To New York, with their quirky campsite village outpost behind the Elks Club on County Road 39 or trip once again into the ever-expanding Hamptons Designer Showhouse, take in a producer's chat at John Drew Theatre or make your pilgrimage drive to Rushmyere's in Montauk, there's plenty of opportunity to talk yourself out of it while stuck in the bumper to bumper traffic getting through Water Mill, Wainscott and Amagansett.

Yet, at 10:20 p.m. this past Saturday night I actually counted five empty spaces on Sag Harbor's Main Street -- which had me wondering what was awry with the universe. I know that they've discovered what they think might by a sludgy water on Mars but parking spaces in Sag Harbor is an entirely other matter... one to raise an eyebrow or two as August turns the calender her haughty direction. For this is the month we must pack it all in, whether we are particularly in the mood or not because with Labor Day goes the fanfare of party tents and the casually clad summer set looking perfectly disheveled for an evening of hobbing and nobbing.

Luckier to find one's self lost among the simple pleasures of an afternoon's dip in the ocean come mid-week, digging clams in Northwest Harbor as the sun sets down, taking an idle walk through Green River Cemetery in search of Frank O'Hara and looking up old friends in the backyard of youth. See the beach plum begin to turn its bluish blush plumping on Long Beach and sit idle for a time as the terns make ready their sandy beds.

If we're luckier still, no hurricane will come to wash away all but what is elementally essential and bring us back to our colonial senses for ours is a cyclical pact to keep balance here on The East End as the world rushes in and the lighthouse bears down on eroding rock to even the keel.