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SPEND A WEEK OR FOUR this August living the beachy life in my idyllic modern rustic/Bohemian chic summer house in East Hampton (Springs), N.Y.
Built in the 1940s as a fishing bungalow, with a c.1970 addition, the house is 1,400 square feet on half a landscaped acre. Share with friends or another family — it’s ideal for two couples with a total of two or maybe three kids.
- Swim in Gardiner’s Bay, at unspoiled, never-crowded Maidstone Beach, a 5 minute stroll from the house
- Walk the scenic ‘loop’ through Maidstone Park, or along nearby Gerard Drive with Gardiner’s Bay to one side and Accabonac Harbor to the other
- See egrets and ospreys, wild turkey and deer (not on my property, however; I’m fenced:-)
- Nap on the deck, watch the sun set over the jetty, picnic at Louse Point, make bonfires on the beach or in my fire pit, shower outdoors, grill on the brick patio, hang out on the porch at the Springs General Store
- Paddleboard or kayak in the bay
- Do yoga at one of several nearby studios
- Surf or swim in the ocean at Amagansett (10 minutes by car) or Montauk (25 mins.)
- Farm stands, greenmarkets, nurseries
- Yard sales, antiquing, shopping
- Art shows and galleries, live performance at Guild Hall, music at Stephen Talkhouse, historic house tours
- Garden tours + garden visits at LongHouse Reserve, Madoo, Bridge Gardens
- Restaurants and bars galore
- Explore nearby Sag Harbor (20 minutes), Shelter Island (30), North Fork, Block Island (day trip)
The house sleeps 6, officially — there’s a master bedroom with comfortable queen bed; guest room with two twins; as well as a separate 14’x17′ guest cabin with double bed and space for additional cot or crib (bathroom is in main house). There are also sofas comfy enough for overnight guests and a queen-size air mattress.
There are two showers, one indoors and one out, and plenty of room to spread out — there’s a dining/sitting room with sofa, chairs and fireplace, in addition to a great room with three sofas, and a home office with a partner desk, if you must work.
Live like Jackson Pollack and Lee Krasner in (whose home and studio is a mile away) in the 1940s… no TV, no air conditioning, no dishwasher.. but good Wi-Fi and fans in each room. (*TV and DVD player on request)
Flexible rental schedule, August through Labor Day, $3,000/week.
Contact me for more pics and info: caramia447 [at] gmail [dot] com
THERE’S A SENSE AROUND HERE (in my head, that is) that my Long Island garden is already peaking at this early stage of the game. Memorial Day and the week following are spearheaded each year, I now know, by the pinkish-purple blooming of four massive, gasp-worthy rhododendron shrubs I inherited when I bought this place three years ago.
The rhodies were not in great shape when I arrived, but three years of mulching, extra watering and Hollytone-ing, along with some judicious pruning, made this year’s flower show the most profuse yet.
Up to fifteen feet tall, they surround my deck, are the main sight seen through the windows along the front of the house, and act as a magnet to draw people into the garden for a closer look. (My yard sale last Saturday, a non-spectacular affair mounted with three friends, became equally an unofficial Open Garden Day, with would-be yard sale customers meandering through my half-acre, and coming out praising my skills as a plantswoman, which was very satisfying.)
A week into June, however, helped along by a couple of hot days and a couple of pounding rainstorms, the rhodie’s blousey blossoms are already beginning to fade and fall apart, heralding a load of mushy-petal raking to come, and later in June, the chore of deadheading the finished flowers to make room for next year’s all-too-brief display.
Is it worth all the toil and trouble? No doubt. Will I be satisfied with the garden’s subtler pleasures to follow? I’ll try.
Sensational though they are, late May/early June is not all about rhodies. Check out the foxgloves I’ve got going this year. True, I took a shortcut. The property next door has been vacant for a year or more, and in a wrong-headed effort to make it look more “buildable,” the owner clear-cut dozens of mature trees. That was horrifying — the woods turned into a forest of tree stumps in a day — except that some dormant digitalis purpurea, a whole great stand of them in the sunny center of the lot, burst into bloom a couple weeks back. I stole a few and replanted them wholesale in my front beds.
Digitalis (foxgloves) are biennials, and they bloom in their second year, so whether they’ll reseed themselves and carry on, or whether this is just a one-shot pleasure, I have no idea. I certainly hope it’s the former.
My irises are nothing to sneeze at, either. I have several different kinds and know next to nothing about them. A few weeks ago, I was sure they didn’t like the soil, or I had planted them too deep — but lo, another brilliant showing. I’m postponing cutting off the faded flower stalks because I fear there’s nothing much coming to replace them.
There are still gaps and holes and huge areas of bare mulch in the beds, and even huger areas of wooded wilderness where I’d love to plant flowering shrubs and small flowering trees (magnolias, cherry) but haven’t committed the resources.
Anyway, it’s Open Garden Day on casaCARA. Take a look, and come away praising not my garden skills (which leave much to be desired), but the wonder of ephemeral nature.
HERE’S HOW MY LONG ISLAND, N.Y., GARDEN looks now, with the trees nearly all leafed out for the season, following a night and a day of blessed rain.
As recently as two weeks ago, it still felt like very early spring. Now we’re in it. A few warm days, and the rewards start coming.
The irises I thought were planted too deep, or didn’t like the acidic soil, suddenly shot up their flower stalks. The beds around the front deck — now a tad less shady, thanks to the removal of five or six more trees last March — are filling out, though plenty of bare spots remain.
I’ve been planting like a maniac, all in a spirit of experiment. I’m no longer making any attempt at design in the four raised beds in the sunny center of the property, where I’ve variously had dreams of starting flowers from seeds or growing edibles. Now it’s just a fertile place to hold the odd things picked up at nurseries in Philadelphia and Dutchess County, at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden’s annual plant sale, and at community garden sales here and there.
I’m making repeated trips to the local dump for free compost, mulch and wood chips, a scene that never fails to remind me of Monica Vitti in Antonioni’s Red Desert, walking through a post-apocalyptic landscape in a pencil skirt and stilettos.
See nature’s progression below:
Back to front: an ilex ‘sky pencil,’pagoda dogwood, two ninebark ‘Coppertina,’ a couple of lavenders, an acanthus and some annuals in their Brooklyn staging area, awaiting transport.
Variegated Solomon’s seal, planted last October and doing spectacularly well.
Golden bleeding heart and ferns as they looked two weeks ago.
An old azalea, here when I bought this property in 2013, thriving as a result of pruning and Hollytone.
Stuffing the raised beds with bulbs only worked for a year. My Costco alliums and even the daffs failed to come back. Only the Pheasant Eye daffodils from a catalogue company bloomed this season, weakly.
Still early times, as of two weeks ago, in the bed above.
A car full of compost.
A few native dogwoods on the property blooming better now — must be the Hollytone.
Signs of growth abounding this week:
Weeping spruce putting it forth.
Purple violas, gift from a friend, in a gorgeous hunk of driftwood, gift from another friend, in a spot where I had to remove a failing boxwood.
Watch this space…
Silver ferns around three rocks, an attempt at artistry and restraint.
Happy smoke tree.
I have high hopes for my Pagoda dogwood from the BBG. May be 12 feet tall some day.
Mystery plants appropriated from vacant lot nearby, where property was clear-cut for development. Digitalis? Remains to be seen.
Rodgersia — a first for me — and lady’s mantle in front of a rhodie about to burst into bloom.
Irises blooming after all.
My only stab at agriculture this year: a single Sun Gold tomato plant in a whiskey barrel.
IF THIS HOUSE HAD COME UP when I was in the market a few years back, I would have seriously considered it, even though Sotheby’s is advertising it as a teardown. (The address is 110 Old Stone Highway, East Hampton, NY. You can Google it.)
The house needs work. So what else is new?
But what an upside this property could have: it’s a 1950s cedar-shingled cottage with great interior spaces (as seen in my through-the-window shots, below), on a flat, sunny .6 acre that would be terrific for gardening.
There are two outbuildings: a freestanding summerhouse (screened porch) that looks to be in good condition, and a guest house that reeks powerfully of mildew and needs to be gutted ASAP. That’s the one potential deal-breaker, as far as I can tell from my trespassing, if the house itself smells the same (only the guest house was unlocked).
It’s located on the historic Springs-Amagansett Turnpike, AKA Old Stone Highway, where a number of avid gardeners and high-profile people make their homes.
See the full listing here, with a photo of the pool in season.
It won’t last long. Don’t say I didn’t tell you!
I’VE STARTED SPENDING TIME “OUT EAST” AGAIN. Though I can’t stay in my own un-winterized bungalow just yet, I’ve been able to bunk nearby and do a bit of garden clean-up on my half-acre property, and begin to catch up with friends I haven’t seen since last fall.
This past week was mostly sunny, but there was one all-day deluge. One evening I found myself in the back streets of Sag Harbor after the rains had let up, with a little time to spend before meeting a friend at the bar at Baron’s Cove, a new and very pleasant hang-out I’ve discovered (fireplace, great cocktails, nice happy hour menu).
Here’s some of what I saw in a 15-minute stroll: the delightful cottage, top, landscaped almost entirely with hinoki cypress; a Victorian farmhouse backlit by the clearing sky; cloud-reflecting puddles; and vistas of low-key properties that don’t scream Hamptons, but merely whisper spring in the country.