Copyright berkshireeagle
RICHMOND — People From Chicago (PFC) — very special people — came to visit last week for the first time in several years, anxious to do same-old things again and ready for new places to go. So they spent five days and five nights being atypical tourists because they had local guidance. One of the repeats was the lovely Parsons Marsh walk from Undermountain Road in Lenox to the Berkshire Natural Resources Council’s lookout over the marsh. Many of the trees had shed their leaves, but it was still colorful, and mid- to late afternoon is the best time in the fall. A stranger with binoculars lent them so I could see the colorful heads of the two cruising wood ducks — and then the couple at the lookout quickly elevated from unknown to acquaintance when the town of Richmond was mentioned. They’d already read Jeannie Maschino’s selection for The Eagle’s Oct. 16 This Story from History about a unique monument in Center Cemetery for Page 2 in The Eagle and wanted to know how to find it. That was easy, although I disputed the former cemetery superintendent’s 1970 assertion that it was the most photographed gravestone in the country. But the PFC are intrigued by all cemeteries, so we went to the Route 41 graveyard. When the PFC was turned over to a high school friend for one day of the visit, they went to the town cemetery in Stockbridge — and they missed the legendary Sedgwick Pie because it wasn’t included in their shared Pittsfield High School education. We spent close to an hour at Center Cemetery where the obelisk in question bears a tiny sculpture of a train accident with the victim’s arm stretched from under the wheels — quite gruesome. We also stopped by Cone Hill Cemetery where ancient, acid rain-damaged stones marked the burial of Revolutionary War veterans, plus members of the Cone family. Our circumnavigations were not all related to burials, but death — and life — were certainly involved in Mary Zimmerman’s play called “Metamorphoses,” now at the Unicorn Theater in Stockbridge. It was a marvelous performance with emotional and funny moments, and we became aware of a practical fact: If you purchase a seat in Row E, the last row in this compact theater, you walk in from the lobby and don’t do any stairs. My knees liked that, as did the PFCs’ — they’re younger, but not young. My husband used to say first-timers’ top three things to do in the Berkshires were Tanglewood, the Norman Rockwell Museum and sitting in a rocking chair on the Red Lion Inn porch. While in the care of their Friday guide, the PFC walked all over the Tanglewood grounds, had lunch in Stockbridge (no walk-in room at the inn), then rocked. In Lenox, the main stop was The Bookstore, where they loaded up, despite traveling by plane. (Between the two of them, they read hundreds of books a year in book form, Kindle and audio; I try to reach 50.) They are enamored of all bookstores and actually met in one. We chortled over the sign near the door announcing that “Matt is not here today.” That saved the man behind the desk a lot, since owner Matt Tannenbaum is a major reason to stop by. The rest of our wanderings were not typical of the weekend visitor here, although PFC and I agreed that they should be. They bought the incomparable vanilla extract at Charles Baldwin’s store in West Stockbridge. They consumed a batch of Bartlett’s apple cider doughnuts and hinted at a craving for more the next morning (I went and got them). They with pleasure walked the little dog, except when it was raining. They meditated on the patio and on the front steps with Berkshire hills as a backdrop. They read by the fire on a rainy afternoon. They briefly visited a misty view at Perry’s Peak because they’d heard a lot of stories about Hollow Fields. They browsed the Dare wine shop in Lenox and loved it. They puzzled over our jigsaw puzzle. They (one vegetarian, one pescatarian) enjoyed the choices at Yao’s, including a tower of shrimp. The zoo factor in our backyard was a favorite. As many as seven bluebirds at a time waited in line to get inside the bright blue feeder and enjoy the ugly mealworms and, in the weedy vegetable garden and blueberry bushes, five turkeys poked and pecked as they made their way in a leisurely fashion. No bears were spotted. Most nights, despite an unfamiliar bed, the niece and nephew (PFC) went to bed early and slept late. They credited nights without without sirens and street lights, although they assured me Chicago was not in an uproar of any unusual sort. Nothing beats dark silence.
