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Welcome to Stockbridge,
a splendid New England town
by Eric H.
 It's
hard to remember staying in a community for only an hour, and
leaving with a lifetime of memories.
That's the feeling last summer
when I visited my father and uncles in Stockbridge, Mass., a
popular summertime vacation community in western Massachusetts'
gentle Berkshire Mountains.
At 42-years-old and a lifelong
New Englander, I had never been to Stockbridge. I thought it
might be a good town gone bad-- perhaps, Norman Rockwell's popular
renditions of the lifestyle here had developers transforming
the community in one big souvenir shop.
Nothing could be further from
the truth, and proof that preconceived notions sometimes stink.
Stockbridge represents New England at its best. From the alternatingly
sunny and shady tree-lined streets to the locally-owned, small-town
center , Stockbridge is indeed Norman Rockwell come to life,
but with very little of the overly commercial by-products.
Having lunch at a luncheonette
-- complete with stools and counter -- in an old time market
harkened back to a previous generation. This is not an unusual
feeling in Stockbridge where the pace seems slower and the air
smells sweeter. After lunch, a chance to sit on one of the rocking
chairs at the famed Red Lion Inn porch was everything as advertised.
From the slight elevation, you can seem true America at its best
--the charming little shops, the wide sidewalks and street, kids
riding their bikes, the lovely churches, and the splendid diverse
New England architecture of the town, to name a few. Touring
the Red Lion Inn inside created a mental note to definitely come
back to stay -- this is the blueprint for what people perceive
as a classic New England inn -- lots of wood, dim lighting, antiques,
china, a reserved but friendly staff and a restaurant with lots
of New England fare.
Because of scheduling constraints
-- a nighttime minor league baseball game in nearby urban Pittsfield
and seeing my uncle's nearby lakefront summer home -- I made
the most of short walk back to the car. It was like one of those
awkward moments where you find it hard to say goodbye to someone
you're not going to see for awhile -- you stall and stall and
stall, as you want more meaningful time together. Despite walking
at a normal pace, it seemed like the longest 300 yard walk in
history. Who wants to leave a slice of Americana that is so absent
from America today?
On the ride back home, I though
about what makes Stockbridge so special. I didn't spend time
shopping or visiting myriad tourist attractions. And that is
just the point. Much of the appeal of Stockbridge can be attributed
to just being there. All it takes to become a fan of the town
is to open your eyes and look around. You can feel the spirit
and serenity in just one blink. I plan on blinking many more
times in Stockbridge.
For mor information on Stockbridge,
visit www.stockbridgechamber.org
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