Taking a trip to Western(er) Mass.

This past weekend was Memorial Day Weekend, one of my most favorite weekends of the year (ranks right up there with Labor Day Weekend). Doug and I always seem to do something fun on Memorial Day Weekend (and yes, it deserves to be capitalized). One year we went down to Newport and visited some of the mansions on a day that was picture perfect - blue skies, warm sun, a light ocean breeze. Last year my family came up to visit - we went into the city, took a tour of Charlestown, hiked up the Bunker Hill Monument, and had the first official Perrino Family Band concert, among other things. And this year Doug and I had an impromptu cookout with friends (but didn't take photos! Gah!), went to the Wrentham outlets for the first time (and will likely never go back, because we don't like crowds and would never stand in line to get into one of the stores, like all those nutty people outside of the Coach store), and took a day trip to the Berkshires. I can safely say that we'll go back there.

I love that Doug and I explored our state, and I love that we consider it our state. I was remarking to Doug while we were driving (and driving, and driving...) clear across Massachusetts on Saturday that Massachusetts finally feels like home to me. I can go to Connecticut and visit my parents' house, or my sister's house, or Doug's parents' house, and I don't feel at home. The scenery is familiar, but it is not comforting in the way that it's comforting (and, more accurately, comfortable) to get off of our exit on the highway and pass the familiar landmarks as we approach our little street and pull into the driveway of our little house. Given this emotional connection, it's ironic that whenever I visit a cool place like the Berkshires, with its mountains, green spaces, and picturesque Main Streets and general stores, I want to move there. Leave our home and our town and move. I wanted to move to the Berkshires when I was there on Saturday. But maybe you can see why.

We experienced so little of what the area has to offer, but we also did so much. We visited Arrowhead, Herman Melville's Pittsfield home during much of his writing life. Doug enjoyed his time there, rediscovering his enthusiasm for Moby Dick (which he's been "reading" for a year now), and I had a good time, too, enjoying all the whale references. Melville spent all of, what, two years as a "whaler" and somehow whales and Melville have become synonymous. Fittingly, Melville's writing studio in Arrowhead features the room as it would have looked when he wrote Moby Dick, and as much as I find that book to be a chore to try to read (which is why I've never made it past the first page), I found being in his studio to be somewhat energizing. Moby Dick is a classic, after all.

And so is Norman Rockwell a classic, a classic of Americana, and we also visited his museum. What a great museum. Just like the Portland Museum of Art, the collection here is not overwhelming so you can visit the whole place in about two hours. There were some very famous paintings on display, such as Freedom From Want and The Problem We All Live With, and a fascinating exhibit on the photography behind Rockwell's works - how he would photograph his scenes before making a charcoal or painted representation. Rockwell's last studio is also on the museum's grounds, and what lovely grounds they are. Here's a photo of Doug and I standing near Rockwell's studio: I could definitely get used to that view.

And I could also get used to the quiet, little downtowns throughout the Berkshires, like Rockwell's Stockbridge. In Stockbridge is the historic Red Lion Inn, a wonderful old inn reminiscent of the Publick House. The food is really fine here, though; the menu moves away from the traditional turkey and yankee pot roast to things like pan-seared scallops with a dollop of caviar and a salad made of local greens and goat cheese with toasted almonds and mandarin oranges. So good! We'd go back in a flash.

The problem is that getting back home from the Berkshires is a bit of a trek. Almost three hours. Which shouldn't be that bad, but after a long and tiring day it's not something that either Doug or I really wanted to do. So next time we go there it will be for an overnight, and we'll do more than a couple of museums and driving across the New York state line (Because why not? It's right there. Literally.). Maybe we'll catch a performance at Tanglewood. Or maybe we will just drive around and enjoy the greenery. Just being there with the trees and fresh air was nice, and we don't need much more than that.