My father and friends shucking scallops outside of Remkus Fishing Station-1957

Three gardens graced our acre of land in North Haven. One down near the water where my father grew corn. Another halfway up the driveway where he harvested a perennial asparagus patch and another near the garage where he cultivated every type of vegetable imaginable. Where there wasn’t a garden there were fruit trees- apple, pear, peach, plums. Fruit trees guaranteed the most beautiful blossoms in spring. There was a grape trellis near the neighbor’s house, almond trees and a few rose bushes just for a dab of aesthetics. The side yard housed our scallop shack where we each took turns shucking the bushels of scallops my father dredged- along with clam rakes, eel spears, crab nets, and lobster pots. The garage housed the oars and nets, and inner tubes for clamming.

In the basement there was an old metal cabinet that held all of the canned goods used throughout the year. My father would even can the tuna he’d catch off of Montauk and store it for the winter. I can’t say I was ever very fond of his trips to the basement when he returned with a jar of that weathered, well-preserved fish. He loved making dishes from the old country-borscht, head cheese, tripe soup. Those are the times we chose to get lost in the woods.

Dominic Cilli would deliver fresh milk in glass bottles to our house, well perhaps everyone’s house, a few times a week. We had a metal box on the porch for him to place the milk, but most often he’d come in -sit for a bit- and share the news of the village. Then he’d take out the older bottles from our refrigerator and replace them with fresh ones. My mom would have to persuade him to accept payment. When there was a big snowstorm, he would leave the milk at the end of our long driveway nestled in a snowbank. On truly special days he would surprise us all with some chocolate milk or orange juice. It was always a treat to go down to Cilli’s farm to visit the cows especially when a new calf had been born. Everyone was welcome there and Dominic and his brother John were known by all in Sag Harbor.

When we needed eggs, we would go to Congratiwitzes farm around the corner in North Haven - where the chickens were free-range before the term was coined. Fresh fish and shellfish were plentiful and were most often part of our daily menu. It was rare to see a deer in the yard as there was so much undeveloped land for them to roam. Pheasant and quail marched about our lawn and into the underbrush scratching for food. They seem to have disappeared from the wild here which once was their home.

Fresh Vegetables- Fresh Fruit - Fresh Fish - Fresh Eggs -Fresh Milk- Fresh Air- we grew up at a time when the soil was rich and fertile- seafood plentiful – recipes simple and pure and palates unrefined.

Before I was born, my parents decided to move from our family home on Madison Street and build the home I grew up in off of Ferry Road. Although it was just shy of a half mile from the bridge, the villagers all warned my folks that they were moving way too far out of town. North Haven had acres of untamed land-miles of trails and streams, wetlands and forest. You could easily get lost there on an afternoon hike.

We lived beside a creek that led to the bay. At night, my father would take us all ‘fire-lighting’ - in an old row boat with a kerosene lantern, a crab net and bushel basket. Stunned by the sudden surprise of light in the dark murky water- we all learned how to scoop up blue claw crabs from behind- and have them for lunch the next day with that same round rye with seeds.

Lawns grew natural without fertilizers-clover for the rabbits, dandelions to blow in spring, buttercups placed under our chins- crabgrass just as green. We’d run about barefoot - flying kites, chasing fireflies, catching falling leaves. Tall hedges and manicured lawns were not of our making. We welcomed the neighbor without trying to expunge them.

Sure, there were supermarkets nearby for the essentials, but much of our food was sourced from our backyard, the bay and our neighborhood. This was life in Sag Harbor- humble, healthy and simply beautiful. I don’t think for a minute we ever anticipated what was to come.

Living Off the Land in Sag Harbor