Letters

The Hampton Bays beach community on the Great Peconic Bay is a congregation of sunset worshipers and beach walkers. When I returned in July, I could not wait to plunge into the bay. I spontaneously pulled off my shirt, dropped it in the sand, carefully removed my wedding band and placed it on my shirt. In my shorts, I barreled into the surf and dove into the water.

For 10 minutes, I just floated on my back, before returning ashore to air dry, dress and return to our home. Only I forgot about my ring: I must have launched it when I pulled on my shirt.

My wife and I rooted around in the sand for a week before I gave up.

Then, this afternoon, as I sat on the deck, I saw a young man wandering up the beach with a metal detector. I freaked him out when I flagged him down: “Hey, could you check over here, where I lost my ring?” I gestured to a few spots. Nothing was detected.

But, a while later, the beachcomber waved and returned to the deck with a crooked smile — and my ring! I erupted with joy. My neighbors heard the celebration and this story of our serendipity.

The hero-of-the moment accepted a gratuity, and my neighbors smiled brightly at a small bit of precious unexpected good news.

The sunset, orange, pink, wide and lazy, seemed a little more miraculous.

Ted Anderson

Hampton Bays