Memories Abound Along Route 27 East
Memories Abound Along Route 27 East by Rebecca Victor Baadarani Years pass, so many years, and things change in the universe. A lot changes in my tiny world too, but the wonder of the Hamptons always remains the same. I remember, almost twenty-five years ago, when the dawn would break over the horizon line to the east, I could literally see for miles from my parents home, located right off of 27 East, not far from Flying Point Road. I could see wide open fields, the well known potato farms of the South Fork. The sky would start to fill with colors like a painters canvas starting to take shape with design. Slowly the colors of blues, light pinks and subtle yellows would coat the sky, in the early morning light. I used to be able to see the ocean’s edge, ever so slightly. I feel transported when I’m visiting out east, far away from the normal pace of life. Once, a long time ago, I have a memory of an autumn visit to the pumpkin patch, the one right on Rt. 27 East, almost directly across from the recently finished Parrish Museum. Now, after picking pumpkins, I can visit the Parrish Museum too. I love sitting outside on the veranda, after eating my fig and brie sandwich and sipping a glass of red wine with my husband, in the late afternoon, while looking out at the vineyards. The grape vines are so beautiful, rooted next door at Duck Walk Vineyards. Back to the pumpkin patch, where was I? Some fourteen years ago to be exact, my son was almost one year old, we perched him atop the largest pumpkin I’ve ever seen. The pumpkin was the size of ten soccer balls put together. It was so orange, like the harvest moon that rises over the eastern horizon. How often I await the moon rising into the night out east, don’t you? The moon, I believe is saying to any onlooker, try to cup me in your hands, if only for a moment, and delight in me. It rises over the fields that have offered us corn and wild flowers all of summer. Pumpkin picking gives way to my daughters love, visiting the horse farm right after Watermill and just slightly off of 27 East. She feeds them peppermint candies and fresh carrots and spends time frequently, with my husband, in the early morning, to say hello to the horses of the Hamptons. I spend time at various farms stands after visiting the horses or picking pumpkins to bring back to our home. I continue on 27 East, and to my right I buy fresh peaches and strawberry jam, cauliflower and squash and then further down to my left, I purchase pancake mix and honey sticks, or tomatoes and corn. Nestled between the various farms stands, remains the Hampton Coffee Shop. It’s the perfect place for me to order my egg sandwich with cheese on a wrap to go, fresh brewed coffee in one hand and freshly squeezed orange juice in the other. I end my visit and my day, at Flying Point beach, where I collect rocks and sink my bare feet into the sand. How I love to watch the countless waves, lap after lap. The time at the beach, reminds me that I am mortal, it humbles me, the ocean that is. I put the small rocks in my pockets and keep them as reminders, that I am only here on this earth once, make the most of it. So many worries wash away when I’m at the ocean. Jump! I take a short swim in the cold waters of the Atlantic. Those few precious moments of sea, salt and sand between my toes, leave me feeling refreshed and ready to return to my daily routines and life. As I start to leave the beach, I take a turn around, just once, to see the deep, very deep blue of the ocean, and the horizon line, that seems eternal to me. I ponder, for a moment, I would like my ashes to be thrown out to sea when I am gone, right on this beach, at sunset. I see myself, as a memory then to my loved one’s left behind. But I would hope, that they remember me, as dancing still in the waves, just as I do now every year, and they would smile, and then jump in for a swim.