The hummingbirds are twisting like hula dancers in the foxglove. The flowers I expected to bloom next June, with their spires of bright bells, invite the miniature birds. Lost among the dragonflies, he lifts across the field to the gladiolas. His emerald torso glints, his wings are invisible; the jewel thus levitates and darts. The field is what protects me from the real world.•
Dear Sagg Scene,
I heard there is a blog where you can report obnoxious behavior in the Hamptons. I decided to write to you instead, since you are partially responsible for this offense.
There is a farm stand that thinks itself so exclusive that it commands something called the “egg list,” and you have to be on it to get eggs there. I have witnessed people willfully give up their personal information so they can be “texted” when their eggs have been laid.
When I approached the farmer on this point, she sparred rudely with me, basically refusing to raise her price in order to equalize supply with the demand—which is what, I explained, an economist would recommend. I’m a banker—I know you don’t keep the price low and portion it out to those who are patient. That’s sharing, and way too much like Communism for me to be comfortable.
This naïve, idealistic farmer explained how the egg list is a way of using current technology to be “fair.” She claimed further that this way more people can get a tiny taste of Sagg’s precious terroir (as processed and manufactured by free-range chickens). What a crock! She thinks this scrambled experience can help save this place, or what is left of this place. Well, not at my expense, anyway. She insisted on sunny-side, when the reality is more hardboiled.
So, in the end, the farmer and I agreed that I would receive no eggs. But is that right?
Egg on your face!
Dear Egg on Face,
That sounds like a good resolution.