It is Friday, and I’m in North Adams, Mass. It’s overcast, maybe 60 degrees, and my wife, Susan, is still sleeping. This morning I have a cup of Pfeffercorn’s Whole Bean roasted in Baltimore. This morning I’m sitting in our loft, in the same room where men, women and children once operated large, loud textile… Keep Reading
Alright, it was supposed to be “moderate,” my guidebook also promising a trail hiked by Nathaniel Hawthorne, Oliver Wendell Holmes and Herman Melville. Importantly, a trail with an 800-foot elevation gain. But as I studied the large, plastic-shielded map at the trailhead a middle-aged, baseball cap-wearing man approached and said, “Where are you from?” “South… Keep Reading
It is Thursday, and I’m in North Adams, Mass. It is early, temperate (60 degrees) and I’m looking out at the North Branch of the Hoosic River as it flows down from Vermont. The North Branch is, at this point, contained and canalized in a 40-foot-wide concrete trough. This was responsive to a series of… Keep Reading
It is Sunday, and I’m in Lenox, Mass. at a place called Tanglewood. I’m here with 4,000 other people who have gathered together to hear the Boston Pops Orchestra. Some of these oldsters have bought themselves a cushioned seat in The Serge Koussevitzky Music Shed. Others have come with their own folding chairs, tables, baskets… Keep Reading
It is Thursday, and I’m in Washington, D.C. This morning, I’m standing in the semi-darkness of Level C3, “Slavery and Freedom,” in the National Museum of African American History and Culture. I’m here with my wife, Susan, and my friends, Bill and Karen Stansbury. The National Museum of African American History and Culture has been… Keep Reading
It is Tuesday and we’re in Kure Beach, N.C. I’m sitting on the balcony at the Seven Seas Motel — a perch that gives me an unimpeded view of the long, gray rollers breaking just off the narrow beach. Earlier this morning I swam, in the semi-darkness, waiting for the sun to make its North… Keep Reading