Summer in "The Farms"
Life in Beverly Farms is slow-paced in the winter but becomes increasingly active when the warm weather arrives. The summer is full of activity for residents and visitors alike. Many of those activities are based at the local community beach, West Beach: this is a private beach, owned by the residents of Beverly Farms and Prides Crossing; current and former residents of the areas are entitled to beach permits, allowing access to West Beach (non-residents must apply for an access permit; their wait typically is six to ten years, because of the limited size of the facility).
Beverly Farms is busiest at the Fourth of July holiday. A private organization of residents annually raises upwards of $60,000 through fundraisers to enable a weekend-long agenda of activities, including community dances, children's events, softball games, and the well-known "Horrible's" parade . Celebration of the holiday culminates with fireworks at West Beach above a crowd that averages about ten thousand.
Read more about this topic: Beverly Farms
Famous quotes containing the words summer in the, summer and/or farms:
“The Roman rule was, to teach a boy nothing that he could not learn standing. The old English rule was, “All summer in the field, and all winter in the study.” And it seems as if a man should learn to plant, or to fish, or to hunt, that he might secure his subsistence at all events, and not be painful to his friends and fellow men.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)
“Back now to autumn, leaving the ended husk
Of summer that brought them here for Show Saturday
The men with hunters, dog-breeding wool-defined women,
Children all saddle-swank, mugfaced middleaged wives
Glaring at jellies, husbands on leave from the garden
Watchful as weasels, car-tuning curt-haired sons
Back now, all of them, to their local lives....”
—Philip Larkin (1922–1986)
“Look. And the dancers move
On the departed, snow bushed green, wanton in moon light
As a dust of pigeons. Exulting, the grave hooved
Horses, centaur dead, turn and tread the drenched white
Paddocks in the farms of birds. The dead oak walks for love.”
—Dylan Thomas (1914–1953)