"There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life that he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure." These may be Mark Twain's words, but they are Steve Dunn's memories, and they are sweet like lobster. My summer series continues with this from Oui, Chef. GREG
My early childhood summers were fabulously routine, but never boring. I grew up in a typical New England “beach” town, so for me, summer travel required no more than a 4 mile trek.
Each summer vacation started the same, with Mom packing coolers of food and crates full of our summer duds (really nothing more than a few bathing suits and t-shirts), and loading them all into the Jeep. A quick stop in town for a tide chart, and a brief stint in the barber’s chair for a short, summer crew-cut, and we were on our way to Saquish.
Saquish was, and still is, a little time-portal of a place. A spit of sand jutting into the Atlantic, that while only a mere four miles from the town in which I lived, felt like a world away. It was there that my folks rented a cottage for us each summer, a small 2 bedroom number with no electricity and a rather charming little out-house. And it was from this little cottage that my sibs and I would dart each morning in search of whatever great adventure awaited us that day.
Sippity Sup Continues »









