Driving into Montauk late at night, in a thick fog, is a familiar part of the vacation ritual. This year, we are staying in the same house as last year and the year before that, so finding the house isn't too much of a problem, as long as we have the confidence to cross an intersection that we can't see the other side of. But on the way we recall trying to find unfamiliar houses in years past - the stress and danger of the fog and the dark.

Steve's family has been renting a house by the week out here for about twelve consecutive years. I have been coming out here with them for all six of the years that I have known Steve, making it one of the most regular things that I have ever done in my life. Montauk marks the years by girlfriends and boyfriends, the ages of the kids, births and deaths: the year Jim brought Monica, the year I was enormously pregnant with Aidan, the year (only just this last one) that Steve's father was ill and died.

Montauk is on the very tip of Long Island, thrust way out into the Atlantic Ocean. It is absolutely a vacation community, it is much too inaccessible for any more practical purpose. Many years ago there was a big military base here called Fort Hero, but it was abandoned years ago. Otherwise there are fisherman here, but I think that the economics of fishing makes them a relatively rare breed.

From where Steve's mom lives, about fifteen minutes from Queens, it is a two and a half hour drive to get here. One and a half hours of it is highway, but the highway ends when you hit the Hamptons. It takes another hour (under mild driving/traffic conditions) to get to Montauk along Route 27. The town along the way feature the most astonishing displays of wealth: a Sotheby's real estate office, an outdoor furniture store that seems to sell exclusively teak furniture, exclusive restaurants with cryptic names and parking lots overflowing with luxury vehicles. Amagansett is the last town before Napeague Stretch.

Napeague Stretch is basicly a big sandbar that holds Montauk to the rest of Long Island. There aren't any towns along the stretch, but a couple of odd roadside clam bars that are often overflowing in spite of the broad expanse of nothingness. There are also a couple of condominiums and houses built on the ocean side of the stretch, insanely extravagant for the fact that every few decades, a hurricane wipes out the entire thing.

Next comes Montauk, which is amazingly distinct from the Hamptons that come before it. Though there are wealthy people in Montauk, it doesn't touch the pretentiousness of the Hamptons and there are plenty of regular, middle class people who vacation here and even who live here year round.

The first year that I came out here I had trouble understanding the cult like devotion that Steve's family had toward their annual Montauk vacation. There's very little to do here, save go to the beach, which is beautiful, but often rocky with chilling waters. Steve's enormous family, sometimes 20 people at a time, share a two to three bedroom house with one bathroom. Steve's siblings who are single NEVER get a real bed, couples often share a single bed. Smart couples bring a tent, but the blazing morning sun drives them out of that arrangement at an early hour.

I realize now that I don't come here for the beach, but rather for the comraderie of Steve's family. Aidan gets to spend time with his cousins, who are wonderful. We cook huge meals together and late nights are dedicated to Scrabble. We talk. Casual baseball games are played. We sit around and do nothing, sometimes at the beach.

Montauk has natural charms also. It is sometimes five to ten degrees cooler here than it is at home, which is a tremendous blessing during the inevitable July heatwave. Right on the water at the beach is even cooler. The air everywhere smells of honeysuckle and blooming hedges. There are bunnies at dusk.