The Rhode Island Coast surprised me. It probably shouldn’t have. I grew up in New England where you can discern the differences between summer towns by their white picket fences and clapboard ship captain’s houses, gingerbread cottages, ice cream flavors, rosa rugosa and beach plum bushes—and the way the wind blows in from the southwest. From Edgartown to Gay Head, Nantucket to Osterville, Duxbury to Marblehead, Sagaponack to Shelter Island, I have listened to the crashing and lapping of the sea...
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