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The Wenzel Report: After Tumbleweed Tuesday, Finding Joy In The Off-Season Hamptons
When I first started coming out east in the 1980s, I was like every other wide-eyed newcomer — 1000% smitten. I promised myself I’d retire here. Then life happened. I met my husband in New York City, sold my little slice of Bleecker and Charles, made a tidy profit, and after two decades of renting, I finally put down roots in East Hampton.
After 9/11, I moved here full-time, joining the early wave of city folk seeking safety, fresh air, and, let’s be honest, fewer sirens. Years later, the pandemic brought another surge of year-round residents. Suddenly, the Hamptons was no longer just a weekend getaway; it was home, and we were having a baby.
But let’s face it: autumn out here is strange. We crawl into September, tired and with thinner wallets from summer’s high prices (East Hampton’s cost of living is over 18% higher than the rest of the country—yes, we checked). While we dream of quiet beach walks before the chill sets in, our to-do lists keep piling up. The season that was supposed to be “ours” often turns into a scramble over slowing business, shorter days, and a never-ending cycle of “I’ll get to the beach next week.”
What I miss most isn’t just the weather. It’s the farm stands buzzing with tomatoes and corn, the long beach days, and the chance to embrace the joy of this place. If you’re not living here year-round, I made much more effort to get to the beach. It’s like living in NYC and never going to visit what the city is actually famous for. By the time summer arrives, I’m too busy to really enjoy it—maybe one or two beach visits, usually for work. The guilt of lying on the sand while emails stack up is very real.
Yet, after Tumbleweed Tuesday—our local “holiday” when the last tourist car heads west—we still live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. So why not actually enjoy it? Fall brings bonfires on empty beaches, pumpkin picking without the Manhattan crowd, hikes where the only traffic is a squirrel or doe, and dinners at restaurants where you can finally get a table without knowing the hostess. It’s the Hamptons without the show—less white linen, more cozy sweaters.
So yes, I’ll miss summer. But if we allow ourselves the time, the off-season might just be the best-kept secret of all.
