Every summer, I spend a couple of weeks on Martha’s Vineyard—more particularly, on the little island of Chappaquiddick.

The reason is simple.

Chappy has been part of my life for almost as long as I can remember. My parents had a summer house there, and as a child I spent every summer on the island. Now I invite my children and grandchildren to join me.

What began as my childhood tradition has become our family tradition.

There are beaches, swimming, boats, cycling, walks, fishing, kayaking, clamming, musseling and all the other things that make Chappy special. But one family activity stands above almost all the others.

Getting ice cream.

Not just any ice cream, and not from just anywhere.

Our destination is the Ice Cream and Candy Bazaar in Edgartown, owned and operated by Kim.

Getting there requires some effort. From Chappy, we have to make our way to the ferry, wait our turn, cross the narrow channel to Edgartown and then walk another five minutes or so.

This is not drive-through ice cream.

It requires planning. It requires determination. Depending upon the ferry line, it may even require patience—something for which I am not particularly well known.

But good ice cream should not necessarily be too easy to obtain. The journey adds something to the experience.

Edgartown has several excellent ice cream choices: Mad Martha’s, Vineyard Scoops, the Scoop Shack and even Dairy Queen. Yet year after year, we return to Kim and the Ice Cream and Candy Bazaar.

Part of the attraction is the place itself. It has been there since 1975. It has penny candy, an old-fashioned black-and-white tile floor and seating overlooking the harbor. It is the kind of place where grandparents bring grandchildren and memories seem to be passed across the counter along with the cones.

That sounds very much like our family.

There is one other thing you need to know.

I love ice cream.

So do my grandchildren.

And my favorite flavor—by far—is mint chocolate chip.

I always order it.

I order it at Kim’s. I order it everywhere else. I do not study the menu. I do not ask about the seasonal flavors. I do not need a sample.

Mint chocolate chip has never failed me.

Then, during one visit this summer, something unsettling happened.

As I began ordering my usual mint chocolate chip, Kim interrupted me.

“Have you ever tried Green Monster?”

Green Monster?

I had never heard of it.

Kim offered me a taste. She reached into the container, collected a small spoonful and handed it across the counter.

The first thing that struck me was the color.

It was green.

Not ordinary green. Not pale pistachio green. Not the gentle green of my familiar mint chocolate chip.

This was green green.

Bright, startling, unapologetic green.

I took a bite.

It was delicious.

Green Monster, I later learned, is a particularly New England creation. The version sold by Richardson’s Ice Cream—the company that supplies some of Kim’s flavors—is mint ice cream filled with Oreo pieces and a swirl of fudge.

In other words, it is rather like mint chocolate chip after it has put on a Red Sox uniform and decided to have some fun!

Its name comes, naturally, from the famous Green Monster, the enormous left-field wall at Boston’s Fenway Park. Various versions of the ice cream can be found around Massachusetts and New England. Some contain Oreos. Some contain chocolate cookies. Some include fudge, chocolate chips or mint candies.

Apparently, countless New Englanders knew about Green Monster ice cream.

I did not.

There I stood, at 82 years of age, learning that an important mint ice cream had somehow escaped my attention.

Faced with this discovery, I did something almost unprecedented.

I ordered a waffle cone with one scoop of mint chocolate chip — and one scoop of Green Monster.

I had never done that before.

My reliable old favorite occupied one side of the cone. The bright green newcomer occupied the other.

And they were terrific together.

I am not abandoning mint chocolate chip. Let us not get carried away. Some commitments are meant to last a lifetime.

But perhaps there is room in a lifetime—even at 82—for a second scoop.

That may be the real lesson Kim handed me on that little tasting spoon.

We need our traditions. We need the familiar places, familiar people and familiar flavors that connect one summer to another and one generation to the next.

But every now and then, someone may ask:

“Have you ever tried Green Monster?”

When that happens, the right answer may be:

“No—but I will take a taste.”