Agriculture

Last week I told of my observing my elderly neighbor in Sag Harbor, Mrs. Thayer, waving a white flag for help during Hurricane Gloria, only to find, when I ran across the street, that it was in fact a dust rag I had seen, which she was using to clean her living room. Within hours after sending out the bulletin I got a message from my sister, Jolie, in Pittsburgh. She herself remembered the event vividly, she told me. There was just one detail I got wrong. It was not my partner, Peter, I had consulted before running out. He was not even there. It was Jolie and I who debated whether I should brave the storm to come to Mrs. Thayer’s rescue. As Jolie reminded me, she and her husband (this was before the arrival of any niece or nephew) were vacationing at the house while Peter and I had gone back to the City. Hearing the hurricane predictions, I had decided to go back out to Sag Harbor to help Jolie and Doug batten down the house, while Peter stayed behind in the City. I was embarrassed by my slip, though re