Like Walt Whitman, I grew up as a Long Island boy, so it's been a nostalgic return for me today. Three of us are slated to attend a Choate gathering tomorrow on the East End, so we took the ferry from New London to Orient Point, drove down the North Fork a ways and then across Shelter Island, and stopped for a pleasant outdoor lunch overlooking the docks in Sag Harbor. We are being put up in a pretty plush guesthouse on an estate in Bridgehampton and just finished dinner at the summer home of another Choate family.
During the drive earlier today, I realized I hadn't spent time on the island (other than in the city, of course) since my parents moved up to Connecticut three years ago. I miss the geography, the pervasive views of the water, and the feel of this place where I spent my first eighteen years.
