As another scallop season approaches, I find myself thinking back to the days when the tables at Southold Fish Market overflowed with Peconic Bay scallops — and realizing how much we sometimes take our local abundance for granted.

There was a time not too long ago when the start of scallop season felt like a true celebration. On opening day, the market tables would be piled high with glistening shells. Shuckers stood shoulder to shoulder, their knives flashing in rhythm as the scent of the sea filled the air. Customers lined up with coolers in hand, eager to take home their share of the season’s first catch.

I remember taking photos in 2018 — baskets brimming with those gorgeous bay jewels, their pink-and-amber shells shining in the autumn light. They seemed endless then, a dependable gift from our waters, as much a part of the North Fork rhythm as pumpkins in the fields or grape clusters on the vine.

But that abundance has faded. The once-thriving Peconic Bay scallop population has suffered devastating die-offs in recent years. Though the scallops still spawn each spring, few survive to adulthood. For baymen who have fished these waters for generations, the losses have been heartbreaking — a collapse not only of a fishery but of a way of life.

Marine scientists, local fishers, and environmental groups — including the Cornell Cooperative Extension Marine Program — have been working tirelessly to restore the population and understand the forces behind the decline. Some point to warming waters, others to low oxygen levels or changing ecosystems. Whatever the causes, the die-offs have left a deep mark on the East End’s economy, its culture and its collective spirit.

As the new season nears this November, many of us wait with cautious hope. Few expect a strong harvest, but no one has given up. Each year brings renewed efforts to reseed the bays and nurture the fragile young scallops. Each year, we hope nature will surprise us.

I often think about how easy it was to take their abundance for granted — to assume the scallops would always be there, sweet and tender and ours. Their loss is a quiet lesson about the fragility of the local treasures we sometimes forget to cherish.

This fall, as I write, I’m enjoying another local gift: fresh-picked corn from Lewin Farms, its kernels crisp and sweet and perfectly in season. It reminds me to savor what’s before us — the farmstands overflowing with late tomatoes, the boats heading out before dawn, the vineyard hands pruning the vines, and the small family-run shops that give our coastal life its heartbeat.

These are the everyday miracles of the North Fork. They deserve our gratitude and our stewardship while we still have them. Because one day, like the scallops, they may become memories of how it used to be.

So as scallop season returns, may we pause to celebrate all that remains vibrant and alive here — our bays, our farmlands, our community spirit — and may we never forget to protect what makes this place so special. Hope still floats on the tide, waiting for the day when the waters of Peconic Bay glimmer once again with the promise of a new beginning.

(Sunita Narma photos)

Sunita Narma is founder of the lifestyle brand NOFO Style and is also co-host of the podcast NOFO LIVE, airing Friday mornings at 9 a.m. on Instagram.