Weather Is Everything

Here we are again, at the point where summer begins and Sagaponack doesn’t seem ready.

There is Sagaponack, the designation, the zip code, and then there is Sagg, the microclimate, the place — the place that is 10 degrees cooler than its Harbor, not five miles away.

Sagg has a few ways of remaining unpleasantly cool. The ocean, churning nearby, is a big, cool bath. It breaks up thunderstorms, and it blows damp breezes through the cocktail party’s scrum.

Then there are the fogs. Fogs here are common and severe, especially at this time of year. Day after day, a serious fog lays in. There is no difference in the light; passing hours are indistinct, dreamlike. The consequential occluded vision in a fog allows for occluded time, which is rare. So just remember to bring a sweater.

People complain. They might stand in front of their thermostat and try to decide if they need heat or air conditioning. The potatoes, however, love Sagaponack’s off-kilter “summer” climate. They drink this sort of air, each leaf a plate, collecting moisture, sending drips and miniature rivers to the roots. They are bolstered by “fogfall.” Their deep green canopies spread, their blossoms reach yet higher and open in a haze above.

Weather might be small talk for most, but for a farmer what the sky is doing is all-encompassing. Weather is everything.

Similarly, traffic — taboo chit-chat, a boring reason for delay or outrage — holds a farmer’s rapt attention. Farmers, in tractors, going from one field to the next, are likely to view traffic differently, because it is not simply a nuisance. It’s something inevitable but alarming, like hitting the rapids on a rafting expedition.

There are strollers, there are big trucks, there are sports cars and families selling lemonade. Traffic is not one thing. It has trends, and each cultural element, like rollerblades or a Hummer, presents the tractor and the farmer on it with a different sort of observational hurdle.

Right now, it’s e-bikes. By calling them bikes, and making them hybrid bicycles, their manufacturer belies the truth that they can do things bicycles can’t. The availability of speed and the absence of adequate training mean that many operators are unaware of the hazards they create.

As was the woman who sailed past my periphery. I glanced to see her on my right, zooming past my disc harrow. I held my breath, as I was already being squeezed by a car passing me.

The woman was inches from my tire. I got a glimpse of her blissful smile.

While we both escaped what could have been the worst day in both of our lives, I, unfortunately, was the only one who knew.