I awoke to a hot day in Williamstown with a plan to make my way through western Massachusetts, known primarily to me for the consortium of renowned colleges that are located there, many of them dedicated to the education of women. Williamstown is the home of Williams College, but it was a hot summer day, and since I spend part of my professional life on a college campus, I did not make a stop to see it.
I had eaten too much at the motel breakfast, so I took the opportunity to walk along the town, stopping in a bookstore until my cough forced me outdoors.
My aim from Williamstown was to stop in Amherst and take in all the sites related to Emily Dickinson. I had not given any thought to my drive, letting the navigational app tell me how to get there. This is how I found myself in the very beautiful Mohawk Trail State Forest. It was an accident which turned into the most beautiful part of my day. I stopped a few times to take pictures by the side of the road/trail. As I consider
it now, I can see how being without cell phone coverage was a liability that day because I would have made the trail–and its wealth of picturesque small towns and museums–the focus of the day had I know about it. Instead, I pressed onward toward Amherst and Emily Dickinson.
Unfortunately, I got there only to discover that the whole of the Emily Dickinson Museum was closed for renovations until the following summer, with not even the bookstore open for tourists. To make matters worse, the town was experiencing considerable construction, so I was challenged to find parking and food. I found a sandwich place that seemed a bit too commercial to be a campus favorite, and sat outside in the hot sun to eat my lunch. Two gentleman who seemed to live on the street passed by me chatting, then politely raised his head to me and said he intended no disrespect. I had not been listening, so none was taken. My bad luck continued as I learned both the independent bookstore and campus counterpart were closed, so for the second day in a row I managed not to buy any work by a classic American female writer, something I typically do when visiting their stomping grounds. The parking meters demanded coinage and I had very little on me, so I moved forward.
Springfield was next, primarily for the Dr. Seuss Museum, which the internet told me would be closed on a Monday. I had a work meeting to call into, so I stopped in the parking lot for consistent cell phone coverage assuming I would not get in. However, enough people were walking out to indicate that I might
not be disappointed. So I headed in and was delighted to find the internet wrong. The museum is charming. Of course, it is designed for children, so I started with the top floor, which described his life in adult terms. Then I began working wmy way through the other brightly colored floors, which feature his characters in murals on the walls. After the adult floor, a docent walked up to me with advice on the adjacent (adult) museums because he presumed that I would be bored there without kids. I did not know you had to be young to be a fan. I headed outside to the Dr. Seuss National Memorial Sculpture Garden, which includes statues designed by Seuss’s step-daughter. I was delighted to see old friends like the Grinch and Lorax. Unfortunately, the bookstore offered what I could find at a normal bookstore, so I left
empty handed. From the museum, I headed into town for a late afternoon Coke, but found no place that looked appealing for dinner, so I spent my time there searching for a place a place to stay for the night.
A bit further southeast was Sturbridge, home of Old Sturbridge Village, a historic park and attraction popular for school visitors. A very quaint inn, the Publick House Historic Inn had rooms available. I did not know what to expect, but it turned out to be a unique and interesting place to stay. By the time I arrived, I had missed dinner, so I went down to the bake shop and picked up a turkey salad from the nicest lady on my trip so far, who offered up tips on breakfast the next day. I was sharing an annex building with a bunch of kids on a field trip and a guy singing country music to all in the parking lot who wanted to listen. My time in central Massachusetts had not gone the way I had hoped–and I hope to return to just poke around on the Mohawk Trail and visit Emily Dickinson’s home–but I felt grateful.