When I was about 10 or 11, my best friend Allison invited me to spend the night at her parents’ summer home in Westhampton Beach. Because I’d never been away from home without my family before, I was more scared than excited. My parents, in sharp contrast, saw this as an opportunity: an invitation to “summer” in the Hamptons? Who wouldn’t jump at the chance! After a bit of coaxing and a not-so-gentle nudge, my bag was packed and the next thing I knew, we were cruising the Montauk Highway in Allison’s dad’s car. By the time we reached Dune Road, I was hooked on life out east. After a day of boating around the tranquil bay, followed by frolicking in the rough surf, we [&hellip
Islandport Press Archive
When my husband was invited to choose some used books from a colleague’s retired collection, he brought home a treasure trove of reading materials. Among his findings was a well-worn copy of a guide to seashells, one that had yellowed with age and whose pages were slowly losing their binding. While it was the thought that counted, we wound up recycling the book after a cursory look-through–and long before having a chance to consult it on beach excursions with our young daughters. Having practically grown up on the beach myself, I was always collecting the jewels of low tide, but my knowledge of seashell classification never went beyond periwinkles and mussels. This summer, however, we’re going to do things right, thanks to the just-published Seashells: [&hellip
When I was a kid, a snow day meant trekking over to the local country club, squeezing between the fence and sledding until the sun set. Never mind the fact that I was trespassing; I was in plenty of good company, as evidenced by the many sled tracks up and down the hilly grounds. I joined my older sister and brother and their friends, happily trudging up and down that blasted hill, with mittens so soaked I could barely feel my fingers. And that was a good thing. I’m lucky that I can relive fond memories like these, thanks to a charming new picture book from Islandport Press. The Iciest, Diciest, Scariest Sled Ride Ever is a fitting title for an especially active story. Anyone [&hellip
As my family and I wrap up a week’s vacation in coastal Maine, we can head for home, confident in the fact that we’ve completed all the requisite Maine specialties: We visited a lighthouse, sampled just-picked blueberries and, of course, gorged ourselves on lobster (well, maybe not all of us, but my husband was definitely had his fair share). And no matter the destination, what’s a vacation without a good book? My husband and I are happily devouring our selected reads, but I also wanted to make sure that my girls had some fun reading of their own. I was especially delighted when I saw that the picture book I had packed had made its way into area bookstores and gift shops from Portland to [&hellip