I have been reading people’s earliest memories of Stockbridge in the Stockbridge Updates and it brought to mind my Stockbridge memories that date back to 1974. My husband, Peter and I were attending Stockton State College in south Jersey and met a professor who had a summer place in Lanesborough, he referred to it as “the land”, complete with a pond. Actually, the pond was better established than the outbuildings where we would sleep on beautiful summer evenings. We explored the area, intrigued by the Berkshires.
One day we stumbled into Stockbridge and from then on Stockbridge became a magical refuge for us. At our professor’s land we would help him build a house during the day, learning various skills and at night we spent hours reading political history and discussing the future of our nation. We did this over a couple of summers – that was the way it was in the 70s. On the weekend we would drive down route 7 through towns until we reached Stockbridge. Excitedly we would park and walk on Main Street always happy when we got to see Officer Obie directing traffic, as we walked by him quietly singing Alice’s Restaurant, like probably thousands of others who listened to Arlo Guthrie’s story on an album or on NPR later.
Our second stop was the Norman Rockwell Museum located on Main Street back in the day. We would spend several hours in town before heading back to Lanesborough.
By the 80s we were a large family with five children and our days in Lanesborough were long past. However, having two children then adopting three others, a weekend away each spring, for Peter and I without the kids became life-sustaining. It was a big endeavor; it took months to plan, making sure that whoever was staying with our children and pet dog would be able to handle the responsibilities and chaos that would undoubtedly ensue.
We knew where we would go, back to the magical town of Stockbridge! So, in 1984 we began a new tradition of coming back each spring for an adult-only weekend. Typically, we would stay at the lovely Stockbridge Inn just outside of town off Route 7. We would spend the day walking around Stockbridge and going to iterations of Alice’s Restaurant. Happily, we would drive home to our love-filled chaotic life and think about next year…
The kids are long gone and just about five years ago I attempted to retire from my academic professorship but failed. One weekend I was up at Kripalu, training with Kristen Neff, in mindfulness self-compassion when I decided to go to see a house for sale across the Bowl from Kripalu. I had begun collecting social security and was now called back to work because I’d been awarded a large federal grant that the university could not get without me. So, with a full-time salary again, my social security, and a nest egg that we had begun saving, I decided to find a vacation home in Stockbridge. I called my husband to tell him I found the house in Stockbridge that I wanted to buy. He was supportive and I was again hit with that Stockbridge magical awe.
Today we spend about a third of our time in Stockbridge and it continues to feel magical. In fact, it has become more so, and we may have found out the secret magical elixir, it is the people that live in Stockbridge, work there, and want to be there – even for a day. We also read SU and become more enamored reading Carol’s essays.
So that’s my story of Stockbridge that began 50 years ago and continues to flourish as we hike, kayak, shop at the Co-op and Guido’s, eat at the most amazing restaurants and walk down the streets of Stockbridge.
Thank you, Stockbridge.
