Treasure of The Berkshires

Treasure of the Berkshires

Tues. June 13,2006- Amherst, N.Y.

We arose early, at 6:30 A.M. We prepped for the day, packed a bag and set
out at 7:15 A.M. A stop, at Tim Horton's for coffee and bagels, and we continued
on across Clarence and Newstead, to the Thruway entrance at Rte. # 77. The I-90
was busy this morning. Great convoys of elongated trucks rolled along its
length. We darted in and out of the traffic streams, enjoying the sunshine of an
early June morning. The fields and farmland here were lush in their Spring
dressing. The visage along this route is pastoral and restful. The cities of
Batavia, Rochester, Syracuse, Utica and Schenectady rolled on by. Some 290 miles
and five hours later, we exited at Albany and followed the I-90 across the
Hudson River and on into Massachusetts. The weather was glorious and the ride
easy. At exit B-3, we followed Rte. # 22 South to Rte. # 102- East. The roads
were country narrow and the scenery restful.

Near Stockbridge, we turned right onto a small country lane. It led us to
the sylvan setting that houses the Norman Rockwell Museum. It sits on a large
plot of field and farm. Two stories high and unobtrusive, it houses a small
fraction of paintings from arguably one of America's best known and most loved
painters, Norman Rockwell. We parked our car, in the large stone lot, and walked
up to the museum and into the lobby. A central foyer houses the usual amenities,
a ticket counter and information booth. We paid $12.50 each and walked into the
museum, declining the $5 headsets, with narratives. I think people tend to over
think Rockwell, instead of just enjoying the visual and misty-memory visage of
Americana that he so richly portrays. We had been here once before and even had
visited the original museum in its cramped, yet picturesque quarters in
Stockbridge.

The small circular chamber, that houses his "Four Freedom series, attracts
your attention first. The four large murals, featuring "Freedom from Want, a
visage of a fully laden Thanksgiving table, with family smiling around it, first
draws your eye. "Freedom from Fear, parents looking in on their two sleeping
children, after an air raid, is next. "Freedom of Speech, an Abe Lincoln-like
portrait of a man ready to speak out in public is next. Finally "Freedom of
Religion, a montage of many faces and many nationalities finishes up the
Litany. It is impressive to sit and contemplate the imagery that the man
painted. It makes one think of all that he represents here, the full bounty of
the American Republic.

Next, we wander amidst the dozens of paintings along the walls. They
depict an earlier America in its many guises and faces. The expressions on the
faces and the humor of the situations are masterful representations of an era
and a feeling now seemingly far away. Nostalgia wells up in us like a wave. The
artist has captured both a country and a century.

Rockwell was born in the 1890's and live until 1978. During his long life,
he painted over 4,000 portraits like these. At 17, he was named art director
for "Boy's Life a Scouting magazine. Then, he worked as an illustrator for
magazines and commercial enterprises before landing his most noted position.
From 1912 through 1964 he drew the covers for the Saturday evening Post
Magazine. A copy of the 325 covers hangs on a wall in the basement of the
museum. They cover America during that period. His humorous renditions of
Americans, at all age,s shine out at you and makes you smile. During the 1960's
he handled racial strife with delicacy and intelligence. The painting "Problems
we all live with is a classic. Three large and sturdy marshals escort a small
and fragile black girl to her school. It is both poignant and powerful.

We paused, after one pass through the museum, and sat down for lunch on a
covered patio at the rear of the museum. It over looks a farm and field and is
restful. We had sandwiches and designer water while enjoying the beautiful,
sunny afternoon.

After lunch, we again walked slowly past the assembled Saturday Evening post
covers, savoring the facial expressions and the subtle messages imparted by a
master at his craft. We then drifted one more time through the paintings on the
first floor, enjoying as always the many emotions called up by a virtuoso in
oil. Then the "Museum glaze' over took us. We knew that it was time to go.

It was sunny and warm out. The temperature was in the mid seventies. We
saddled up the chariot and drove Rte. #102 east on into Stockbridge, that
storied New England town made famous by Rockwell. It is small and prosperous,
with many well kept "New England style, clapboard houses with neat trim. On a
main corner, sits the most venerable structure in the area and perhaps all of
Western Mass., The Red Lion Inn. First built in 1773, it had endured any number
of calamities and rebirths in it history. Fours stories tall and a block long,
the wooden structure has a large and roomy verandah that runs the length of it's
front. Rocking chairs, replete with lounging guests, fill its length. Parking
was non existent, so we circled the Inn and found a spot out back. The Inn had
spread out over the centuries. Several large outbuildings, containing hotel
service, are spread out behind the main building. Across the main street,
several small guest cottages, behind St. Paul's Epicopal Church,
are also part of the Inn. An outside restaurant filled the rear of the Main
building. We dragged our bags around front, passing the portico and entrance to
the Lion's Den, a basement Tavern and night spot. Workmen were seemingly
everywhere, scurrying around fixing things. The nearby Tanglewood Season, summer
home for the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, was due to open in two weeks. All
businesses in the area were making preparations for the coming season. Workmen
were laying in stone edging, sod and flowers for the front of the hotel. The
place was undergoing a reconditioning face lift.

We walked up the main stairs and on into another era. The small lobby is
filled with over stuffed chairs and a large fireplace. We had stayed here once
in the Winter. The Christmas decorations were right out of a Rockwell painting.
The Main restaurant sits across from the entrance and is large and elegant in
size. Just off to the side, The "Widow Bingham's Tavern provides lighter dining
fare.

We checked in at the front desk and were assigned room #338, at $148 per
night. It is a decent price in this area. We dragged our bags over to an old
elevator. It was of the wire mesh and see through variety. We had to ring the
bell for service. A porter came out and escorted us into the elevator for the
ride two floors up. If you closed your eyes here, you could revert back a
century or so in a mind blink. The hallways are lined with ancient portraits and
pictures from many eras. Fine China tea pots line the edges of the doorway
lintels. All manner of antique bric a brac are everywhere placed. You could
spend hours just enjoying the many things on display.

The room was small, but well equipped. It is on the Rte/ #7 & #102 side, so
it was noisy from the traffic just below us. We turned on the room air and that
seemed to help out. We unpacked and settled in. We were tiring from the day. A
glass of cabernet went well. We settled in for a thirty minute conversation with
Ozzie Nelson (Nap). Later, we showered and made ready for dinner. We had 7:00
P.M. reservations in the main dining room at the Inn. The dining area is large
and was not that full this evening. We were seated at a nice table, artfully
laid out. Mercedes, our waitress was pleasant and helpful. We started with a
glass of Pinot Noir, then enjoyed some delicious New England Clam chowder. The
Lobster and Scallop cakes, in a cream sauce with asparagus, were exquisite. We
had decided to pull out all the stops and celebrate out thirty fifth anniversary
tonight. An awesome hazel torte cake, with honey, and an apple pie ala mode,
with great coffee, finished off this exquisite
repast. At $130, it was pricey but well worth it.

After dinner, we sat on the outside verandah for a time, enjoying the
evening air and watching the traffic. I could picture guests doing this very
thing some two hundred years prior. It gives you a sense of timelessness that
is hard to explain. A short walk, up and down the business section of the town,
and we turned in for a welcome night. I was reading "The Testament by John
Grisham. It had been a long and interesting day. We were happy, but bone tired.
We slept like dead logs in a swamp.

Wed. June 14th- Stockbridge, Massachusetts

We were up early, at 7 A.M. A light rain was falling. The air was misty
and filled with the early damp of the mountains. We dressed and walked through
town, to the old cemetery at town's edge. The homes along the way were stately
and well kept. It would take a fair amount of change to buy something here. The
cemetery was neat and well ordered. Many of the slate, head stones had been
wiped clean, by time and the elements. It is a commentary on our length of time
on this coil.

The fields around town were lush and green. It must have been a prosperous
farming area in centuries past. We enjoyed the chill of the early morning air,
as we walked fast-paced, trying to make up for a few of last night's calories.
In town, we stopped by a small place called the Market Arcade. It is newly
renovated and quaint. Two women served up some great food and good coffee. The
bagels and lox were excellent. ($23)

We walked more after breakfast. Then, we took our ease, sitting in rockers
on the verandah of the Red Lion Inn, watching the busy traffic flow by. Rte.# 7
is the main North/South artery in this part of New England. It runs through Ct,
Ma. and Vermont. It seems like the trucks keep getting bigger and bigger. We
repaired to our room to shower and prep for the day. We were headed up to
Williamstown, about 35 miles up the road. There, as part of pricey Williams
College, sits one of the finest collections of Renoirs and Impressionist art,
this side of the New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Rte. #7 North was busy, as it traversed the hilly country side. Pittsfield
is a substantial town with heavy traffic on the narrow lanes. It looks like it
had fallen on hard times. We drove through Pittsfield and continued on to the
upscale college venue of Williamstown. It appears as a Princeton in miniature.
We found and drove into the small parking lot of the Clark Art Institute. The
founders were heirs to the Singer Sewing fortune. They had bought up
Impressionist Art in Paris, during the late nineteenth century, when you could
buy the works for the price of a meal or a loaf of bread. We have been here
twice before and will come back many times in the future.

The right side of the museum is a white-marble and Greek Classic temple,
replete with doric columns and polished marble facade. It connects to the darker
brown and brick faced eminence of the main museum, by means of a second story
glass solarium. The main museum is subdued and elegant looking like the Norton
Simon Museum in Los Angeles. We walked into the central foyer and paid our $10
admission. For much of the year, admission is free. The Clark family was and are
philanthropic by nature.

The exhibit starts out with some nice paintings of the family and an
explanation of the museum and its contributions. We walked through it to the
second story exhibit. It was a first time showing of the works collected by the
two Clark Brothers, Sterling and Stephen.

Renoir's still painting "Onions first strikes you. Then, several great
pieces by Edward Hopper catch your eye. Van Gogh's "Night in a cafe and a
wonderful painting called "Card Game are next. They are both famous and
intriguing. A few Degas announce themselves with bright swatches of pastel,
depicting a series of dancing studio portraits. "La Petite Danseuse stands on a
small pedestal, his most famour work in clay. Several others oils are of
interest, but they slide by our eyes in the face of the those named.

Next, we head across the glass atrium of the bridge, to the permanent
collection. Here lies the museums treasures. The outer walls are lined with
interesting pieces from many wonderful painters. A small enclave, by an artist
named Stephens, picture four women in different, late-nineteenth century dress,
entitled Summer, Winter, Fall and Spring. They are eye catching and remind us of
James Tissot, who also has one piece here.

A few more rooms hold elegant collections of silver plate and period
furniture, like the Old Getty Museum in Santa Monica, Ca. We see and enjoy an
Italian artist named Goldini, whose tiny pieces are caricatures and amusing. The
names fly by us like a dictionary of the masters in oil.

Then, we enter the center room. It is here that most of the Renoirs are
hung. Painting after painting demonstrate the deep blues and satiny ebony of
this Impressionist Master. Three pieces have women with bright swatches of
orange in their attire. I could sit and look at the Renoirs all day and never
tire of him. As many Impressionist collections as we have visited, we always
discover some new work of Renoir's that inspires us.

We break for a time, to sit in the first-floor lobby and sip coffee. Bands
of school kids, and other aging cultural warriors like us, wander amidst the
splendor of the works around us. A small legion of suit-jacketed security guards
wander through the collection, reminding all of the value of the hundreds of
millions of dollars of art works here on display.

Thus fortified, we retrace our original path, enjoying again the afore
mentioned works, trying to burn the colorful images into our retinas for

enjoyment over and over again. "The Clark as locals call it, is a place well
worth visiting. We linger and then leave reluctantly, glad that we had come
again and pleased that something as common as sewing machines had made this all
possible for us to enjoy.

We drove out through Williamstown and retraced out route down, rte # 7,
stopping in Lennox, to walk the streets and enjoy the period piece architecture
of yet another charming New England Town. The sky was heavy with rain and the
air was muggy and wet. A belly washer was coming in soon. We drove back to the
Red Lion, in Stockbridge. We bought some good coffee, from a bakery across the
street, and then sat with the other oldsters in rockers on the verandah of the
Red Lion Inn. Soon enough, a torrent of rain spattered the streets around us.
Workmen and walkers scurried for cover. We sat and enjoyed the rain falling
around us. It is a timeless pleasure that I never tire of. We read our books and
enjoyed the late afternoon, as the busy traffic flowed by and around us. The air
was cooling, so we retreated to our room, read for a time and then chatted with
Ozzie Nelson for an hour or so. (nap) We had 7:00 P.M. reservations in
the "Widow Bingham's Tavern at the Inn.

We showered and prepped for dinner, then walked down to the lobby to sit
and enjoy the ambiance of people coming and going. There are stories here just
waiting to be told. People were here from all parts of the country. In a few
short weeks, the place would be SRO. At 7:00 P.M. we were seated in
the "Tavern. It has a low ceiling, old, oak-wooden paneling and floors. It has
the look and feeling of an 18th century colonial tavern.

We had a glass of Cabernet and then ordered the New England Clam Chowder.
I had a -sword fish club sandwich and Mary, the turkey club. Both were of good
quality. We passed on dessert , mindful of the coloric overload now building.
($65) The Tavern was filled tonight. The nearby main dining room was also
buzzing with acitivity. A local garden club had commandeered one of the small
sitting rooms, for a private dinner. The Lion's Den below us was active too. The
Inn was a center of activity and dining for the entire area.

After dinner, we sat again on the verandah watching the comings and goings
of diners and guests. The air was cool and it was time for us to pack it in. It
had been a long few days on the road. We enjoyed a glass of a special
Valpolocelli in our room and read for a time, before surrendering to the
sandman.

Thursday, June 15th- Stockbridge, Mass.

We were up early at 6:30 A.M. We dressed and headed down for a walk. It
was cool and damp out this early in the morning. We walked across the street
from the Lion and headed up a steep hill. Several of the Inn's cottages are
located on this street. They appear neat and tidy. We followed the road to the
crest and then saw signs for a "National Headquarters of the Marian Fathers. It
is a religious retreat of some sort. We walked up the hill, admiring the lovely
surroundings and the retreat/estate. A small collection of outbuildings, from
what must have been a huge estate, now comprise a working place of some sort.
Maybe they send out all of their holy cards from here? We walked further, to the
main edifice, and into a small chapel of classic proportions. Inside, it is wood
paneled, with that dim elegance that only stained glass windows and an empty
church can create. We admired the surrounding and said a prayer, enjoying the
quiet of the church.

Outside, we saw but one man of middle age. He reminded me of one of those
middle eastern, orthodox priests from the movie the exorcist. It made me
wonder what transpires here. Perhaps it is a retreat for the clergy who need
help of some sort. We walked by another large, open-air shrine and then past a
small tent for outdoor masses. We lit a votive candle, in a small shrine, and
prayed for those who needed it.

The wind was blowing through the high pines and the sun was shining on a
beautiful day. We walked down the hillside, towards town, enjoying the quiet of
the countryside on a beautiful day. In town, we dropped into the Market Arcade
again and had a wonderful breakfast that was a twin of yesterdays. It was
comfortable and pleasant, as we read the local paper and enjoyed the good
coffee.

We returned to the Inn next door and packed up our bags ready to check out.
It was time to head on back to the "Big B. Rte. 102- West took us to Rte.#22
North and the New York State Thruway. We headed West, retracing our route from
the other day. It was sunny and nice out as we sailed through the Mohawk Valley,
West of Amsterdam. Usually this North- South Valley is a teeming tunnel of rain
and bad weather. We made but one stop, for Star Bucks coffee, and then sailed on
into Amherst and home. It had been an enjoyable excursion to the Berkshire
Mountains of Western Massachusetts. We will return as often as fate allows.

-30-

June 19th, 2006

Joseph Xavier Martin