Waiting for 'Tumbleweed Tuesday' on Fire Island
Michael Cohen and his wife Margaret on Fire Island. Credit: Michael Cohen
Those fortunate enough to own homes on Fire Island — that 32-mile sandspit of paradise — know the meaning of Tumbleweed Tuesday. It speaks to the transformation that the mystical place undergoes between Labor Day and the following day when the “tumbleweeds” take over.
Labor Day historically stands as the last day of reverie when the vast army of renters crowds the markets, restaurants and clothing stores before returning to “reality.” They push their way onto the late ferries, seeking to extend their day as long as possible.
To me, as a renter and young educator in the early ‘80s, that last day meant even more, as the ferry ride took me from a mindset where time vanished like the morning mist back to a new school year. The next day would be filled with a sea of familiar faces — some new ones — and seemingly endless meetings. The opposite of a Tumbleweed Tuesday!
After my brother and I enjoyed the good fortune to buy a home in idyllic Dunewood in 1986, we heard the few hearty souls who lived on Fire Island year-round speak wistfully of Tumbleweed Tuesday as a day when they could begin the solitary joys of September and October. Seemingly overnight, the markets trimmed down their array of gourmet delights to the essentials: milk, eggs and only plain and everything bagels.
We heard the stories and longed for the chance to participate in this annual celebration of solitude. As my wife approached retirement from her life’s work as a special-education teacher 10 years ago, I planned meticulously for our first Tumbleweed Tuesday on Fire Island. We would start the day with mimosas, everything bagels smothered with cream cheese, and sliced fresh tomatoes abetted by a few shakes of everything seasoning. After that, we would stroll around our community — and neighboring ones — looking for tumbleweeds along the ocean.
An impending major storm changed our plans, and we headed home to Brightwaters on Monday night. But the next year we experienced the magic firsthand . . . and it was worth the wait.
