The bloom of these mountains is beyond expression delightful.
— Herman Melville, describing summer in The Berkshires
The Berkshires really are delightful. The hillsides and mountains are covered with trees so thick they look like a solid mass from a distance, and roads are lined and often canopied with trees more than a hundred feet tall. All that green makes everything look cooler than it really is.
Before I arrived here five days ago, I had only a vague concept of The Berkshires. For some reason I had them in New York instead of Massachusetts. (I know, my geography sucks.) Which is why I offer this map.
One of the things I found interesting about The Berkshires, and about New England in general, was a visceral immersion in US history. I’ve driven through the South and have felt the haunting aura of the Civil War, but this was my first real trip — my first road trip — to New England, to the Original Colonies.
At the entry into each town is a small sign stating the year of incorporation. The towns that I saw in The Berkshires had incorporation dates ranging from 1726 to 1775, references that hark back to the Revolutionary War and earlier.
I was reminded of being in Williamsburg, Virginia years ago on a very foggy afternoon and seeing a soldier dressed in a blue uniform and three-cornered hat emerge out of the fog. He was coming from a performance at the living history museum, but it seemed as if he was walking toward me straight out of the past.
In The Berkshires, I could picture real soldiers similarly dressed riding horseback down the dirt road — now paved — on which I drove.
West Stockbridge – Incorporated 1775
I stayed at the Shaker Mill Inn, a small bed & breakfast in West Stockbridge (population 1,267), because all the hotels I had called were booked for that weekend.
The Inn was cozy, my room homey and fully stocked for breakfast — orange juice, slices of quiche and fruit cups in the fridge; coffee and tea and bagels and sweet roles on the counter; and even a little welcome basket for Annie.
Behind the room was a small patio where we sat in the evenings until the mosquitoes drove us back inside.
The downside was, I could hear every sound made by the couple upstairs, including actual words when they talked. Fortunately, they didn’t talk all that much and went to bed early (and quietly).
But I felt isolated in West Stockbridge. I spent most of my time driving to the other villages for lunch and dinner and various attractions.
So on the third day we moved to a hotel in Pittsfield.
Pittsfield – Incorporated 1761
Hotel on North is a small, contemporary hotel housed in a circa-1880 building on North Street in downtown Pittsfield (population 42,591). It was my second favorite hotel on the trip, my favorite being the Hilton in Burlington overlooking Lake Champlain.
The restaurant next door — Eat on North — provides room service to the hotel. It was so good I ordered room service two of my three nights there.
I wanted to stay over the weekend but that hotel and every other one I tried were full. That’s just summer in The Berkshires, I was told.
One of the attractions in Pittsfield was Herman Melville’s home, Arrowhead, where he wrote Moby Dick.
Pittsfield was an ideal location from which to visit the other towns in The Berkshires. So, in no particular order, this is where I ventured.
Lenox – Incorporated 1775
I drove through Lenox (population 5,025) on my way to West Stockbridge the afternoon I arrived in The Berkshires.
A two-lane road connects the two towns, which are about five miles apart. Tall trees on either side of the road form a canopy, which made me feel as I were driving through a green leafy tunnel. The road passes by Tanglewood, summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. A concert had just ended and traffic clogged the road, turning a 15-minute drive into 45 minutes.
But I was so excited to be there that it didn’t faze me. I was road-tripping with Annie and we had all the time in the world.
But I’m afraid I gave Lenox short shrift.
I had breakfast there twice, once at Shots Cafe and once at Haven Cafe and Bakery, both very good. As always, I chose places with patios or sidewalk seating so I didn’t have to leave Annie in a hot car.
There were places to go and things to see that will have to wait for my next trip. Dayle told me I should spend a week in The Berkshires. I would argue it should be two weeks minimum, and in the fall.
Stockbridge – Incorporated 1739
Stockbridge (population 1,947) is home to the Norman Rockwell Museum, but I didn’t even try to go. I actually remember his Saturday Evening Post covers as a child; it was the only magazine my grandparents subscribed to. But I wasn’t a big fan, then or now.
After lunch at Once Upon a Table — I had a delicious vegetarian ravioli — I walked into The Red Lion Inn next door to inquire about a room for the weekend. They actually had one available and they accepted pets. Yay!
Then the desk clerk told me about Simon, the resident cat who “wrote a book” about the hotel.
Simon doesn’t like dogs. Hides on a perch and leaps onto their backs, the clerk said.
Simon, who was sleeping peacefully on a sofa in the lobby, looked to be only slightly smaller than my 20-pound Annie.
I approached to take his picture and he opened his eyes.
Annie gave a little yip and Simon stretched to his feet and I picked up Annie and scooted out the door.
That’s how we ended up at Hotel on North in Pittsfield.
Williamstown – Incorporated 1765
Dayle had told me about the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown (population 7,754). A Renoir exhibit had just opened there (Renoir: The Body, The Senses), and I really wanted to see it.
So on my last day in the Berkshires I drove the 40 minutes to Williamstown.
At the museum I played the “service dog” card with Annie — some places accept it, some question its validity — if the latter, I don’t push it since some consider the Emotional Support Animal concept a bit of a scam after the infamous peacock incident on a plane.
But the docent at The Clark smiled at Annie and gave her a pass.
We walked around for a bit, but dirty looks from some of the visitors drove me outside where I discovered the extensive walking trails that wind through the museum’s 140 acres.
Most — at least the one I took Annie on — are shaded and lovely. So we spent the better part of an hour on the cool, tree-shaded trails.
When we got back to the museum, I ignored the dirty looks and took Annie downstairs to the Renoir exhibit.
It was worth it.
If I could have slipped a painting under my shirt, I would have walked out with the “Young Boy with Cat.”
Postscript
I spent five days in the Berkshires and barely brushed the surface.
I will go back — in the fall, and perhaps with a friend. Seems to me, that is a place that needs to be shared with someone.
Next time I’ll do MASS MoCA and perhaps attend a concert at Tanglewood.
I’ll spend another afternoon at The Clark and visit Edith Wharton’s home in Lenox, maybe even take in the Hancock Shaker Village in Pittsfield.
I’ll find a doggie daycare for Annie and check out more of the excellent restaurants I know are there.
I’ll look up the friends Dayle wanted to introduce me to.
Next time I might find a VRBO and live there two weeks, or three.
But next time? I’ll still skip the Norman Rockwell Museum.
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