Scott Brinton
10 results total, viewing 1 - 10
Upon hearing the news, my thoughts immediately turned to Chapter One of Rachel Carson’s famed 1962 book “Silent Spring,” which is said to have singlehandedly launched the environmental movement in the United States. more
Amid all the mind-numbing debate over the impeachment inquiry into President Trump’s Ukraine doings in recent weeks, somehow the Mueller Report got lost — or at least its findings did. Why, I must ask, do the cable pundits keep treating it as if it were all for naught? more
Slap yourself. Pinch yourself. Douse yourself with cold water. Do whatever it takes — short of consuming illegal substances — to stay awake. We must all pay very close attention to the frenetic doings in Washington, D.C. Our democratic ideals are at stake. And do not dare tell me that I’m overreacting. more
Stereotypes of Texans had swirled in the back of my mind for the longest time. I never confronted them. I never had to. I can’t recall ever meeting a Texan until last weekend. Now that I have . . . more
The black bear suddenly appeared as if it were an apparition. It was tugging on a rope that suspended our duffle bag full of food high in a tree, a good distance from our lean-to. All at once the line snapped . . . more
I hadn’t intended for my words to be prophetic. They were meant as a warning. In my June 1, 2016, column, “Note to media: Stop sleeping with Trump,” I urged the national media . . . more
I remember hiking in 90-degree heat on a dusty but paved road, past fields of fruit trees and vegetable plants. Suddenly, my father-in-law pointed and said in Bulgarian that we should turn into a thicket. more
I remember an expanse of scrubland with massive saguaro cacti stretching out to a ridge in the distance. The sun was setting, and the evening light crept over the rocky outcrop before me. From behind the cacti, ragged-looking men suddenly appeared . . . more
The decisive moment came on July 21, 1969, according to NASA’s flight log. The Apollo 11 lunar module . . . more
There I sat on a stool at the end of the lunch counter at Brookhaven Memorial Hospital in Patchogue, awaiting word on my grandfather, who had suffered his first or second heart attack of three. more
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