That summer, we'd finished the first leg of our trip, leaving
Vermont
and Geoff's parents behind. We were on our way to the Berkshires. We
arrived in Stockbridge, at the house where I'd spent so many bits and
pieces of summers. Stockbridge was different from when I was a child.
The town had changed. But the house and the lodge, in Glendale really,
were still the same. The big house was rented out, but the lodge was
where we stayed. It was always damp and a bit musty and even a little mildewy, but
it didn't matter. After all, what were a few sneezes when we were in
the woods, in the mountains that were rife with childhood memories of
mine: Teddy planting the garden across the stream, venturing into the
dark pine woods that always made me think of the words "the Black
Forest" like in German fairy tales, the damp ground covered with moss, the
house perched on the edge of the ravine, making ratatouille with Nora
using the wild thyme that grew near the stream, huge prehistoric ferns everywhere, Teddy getting us
tickets for Joni Mitchell at Tanglewood, grilling steaks and steaming
corn with the parents and aunts and uncles, all now long dead.
Geoff and I set ourselves up in the house. There was the ancient turntable, and
the amazing collection of old records. There were the books, old and
moldering and on every subject you could think of. It was always
preferable not to bring any reading material to Stockbridge, since
you'd do much better to find some great old book from the shelves
lining the huge fireplace.
There was the big poster of a
dancing Fidel on the inside bathroom door, where it had been for decades, ever
since I was a child. It said "Castro's Cuba, Cuba's Fidel," which was
the title of a book. Since it was directly facing the toilet, I always had to wonder if everyone who was ever there
spent some time ruminating on Cuba and Fidel as part of their bathroom activity.
The kitchen was one of those kitchens in the country, where you might
find something as esoteric as a cherry pitter, because someone had once
decided to make pie, but you wouldn't have something as necessary as a
vegetable peeler, because no-one had ever thought to buy one or bring
one. But it didn't matter, because there were knives and cutting
boards and frying pans, and that's all you really need for summer
cooking. That, and a big pot to boil corn.
Geoff was looking
forward to having corn and steak cooked out on the grill. Living in a
small city apartment, grilling is always a treat for us. But first, we
were going to go to the quarry and swim. Teddy had given me directions
for how to get to the quarry. It wasn't the same quarry I
remembered from the summer that Lisa and Joe and Teddy and I all went
skinny dipping together late one night.
That other quarry was in a pasture; it was next to
a big field of cows -- and it was a long, long time ago.
