SATURDAY Oct 7, 2017
We’re staying at an Airbnb “suite” – not a full apartment. This suite has a private bathroom down the hall and a small alcove (formerly a closet, maybe) off the bedroom where there’s a half fridge and a microwave and an electric kettle that sits on a small desk. Soon after we arrive, as I unpack some food from my freezer bag into the fridge, I complain to my bestie B that there is an acrid smoke smell. I set up my computer on that desk and then go into the bedroom to unpack my clothes.
The house was built in 1810 with an addition that was built much later – and the seam between the two is a rather awkward connection of uneven stairs and sudden low ceilings. We’re in the old part of the house. It’s tasteful, but there is the usual tangle of extension cords that ageing houses with one outlet per room sport.
Eventually I want a cup of tea and put some water in the kettle in the alcove. When I click on the kettle there is a startling huge burst of stinky dark smoke that envelopes the alcove and nearly overwhelms me. I yell for B who drops to his knees and starts pulling out all the plugs that are in the jumble of extension cords and multipliers under the desk. As he is down there, he sees that the extension cord with the smoking plastic power strip has ignited the carpet and the flames are trying to crawl up the wall.
I grab the kettle and dump water directly onto the flame and extinguish it. Later B says that it’s a good thing that my aim is so clean because if I had doused the power strip we would have had even more trouble. The host is not around and I leave him several messages. Soon he calls back and is freaked out, knowing that we’ve saved his massive 1810 home. He was very lucky that we were around. We were unlucky that no smoke alarm warned us.
We go off to see the Shakespeare & Company’s season-closing play, God of Carnage, and it too is a disappointment. It is a rather dated play about two sets of parents who meet and argue over the fact that their young sons have been in a brawl. The gender roles are old-fashioned; fueled by alcohol, the disagreements too often get hysterical; but worst of all, at one point, out of the blue, with no context or reason, one mother screams at the other: Your son is a faggot! No, that’s not the worst. What bothers me most is that the audience laughs at this jarring slur. A lot.
We are starving after the play, having been unable to eat as planned when the fire intervened, so we stop at an open pizza joint and order. They’re closing so we can’t dine inside, but we find a picnic table in the rear and eat under the stunning autumn moon.
The Airbnb host is waiting up for us, having rushed home. He has removed the faulty power strip, but understands that we can’t sleep in that hideous smell. He offers us his own bedroom or a guest room, and we accept the latter. Unfortunately, it is tiny and airless, with no TV, no cotton sheets (I do hate those slippery microfibre sheets), no chairs and tables like the original room, and a couple of dangerous steps to access the bathroom. Our food is still in the fridge in the reeking alcove way down the hall. The host is generous about our using the rest of the house freely, but the rest of the house is down a rickety set of stairs and our stuff is increasingly scattered everywhere.
SUNDAY
The night is difficult as the tiny room has an exaggerated level of humidity and for some reason there are flies buzzing around. In the morning we must go up and down in order to eat at the host’s table. He has insisted that we can use any part of this not inconsiderable home, but we would’ve preferred to be self-contained, as we contracted for.
We take off for a drive to Bash Bish Falls which is set in an ice age gorge in the Taconic Mountains, the highest single-drop waterfall in Massachusetts. It sits on the border between New York and Massachusetts, with a hiking path from each state. We’ve been warned to take the New York path and avoid the treacherous, slippery one on the Massachusetts side. The day is incredibly warm and humid and the walk is about a mile on a muddy path – it had rained all morning – full of rocks and other obstacles. I’m not a walker, but this is just why one goes leafing: to be immersed in foliage. Once we arrive at the waterfall, we view the Falls from a platform before deciding to descend the irregular stone steps that bring one much closer to the gorgeous Falls. I sit my sweaty ass down on a big rock that has been generously placed there for me by a glacier and relax.We have dinner reservations at Chez Nous Bistro on Main St. in Lee. I like this restaurant because they offer half portions of their entrées, which not only makes them affordable, but suits tourists who really don’t want to deal with leftovers. I have the yummy lamb ribs. B has the sirloin, anointed with a flavorsome sauce.
MONDAY
It is going to pour all day, so we decide to pig out on breakfast and then beat the crowd on the way back to Boston after the long weekend. The Starving Artist Gallery and Café in Lee specializes in crepes, but I have an egg and bacon sandwich on a croissant. There is some wonderful art on display including a triple piece about the women’s march and the pussy hats. The elder using a walker on the left and the ecstatic little girl on the right are separated by kittens knitting the hats in the middle. I push my way into the image like this. [photo]
We stop on the way back to Boston at Tafts Farms in Great Barrington – we had already shopped there before going to our lodgings – in the hopes of finding their scrumptious biscuits, but they only bake them during high summer. Their scones are nothing to snort at, so I pick up a couple of those and somehow manage to resist their incomparable frozen mac & cheese. A mile down the road, my quick glance around the local Goodwill is a total disappointment – where are the discards of the fancy people?
In the end, our annual leafing trip has brought us lots of lovely yellows, but virtually no reds or deep oranges. The Berkshires, though, are exquisite all year round and we are satisfied with the foliage. We can’t help but notice a rash of homes on the market. I am struck by the waves of For Sale signs and wonder what the hell is going on.
Back in Boston we are in touch with the Airbnb host who is going to return our money. The missing smoke alarm turned up in a drawer in the guest room where we stayed and he explains that the previous guest had apparently taken it down to stop it from chirping. I turn on the TV back in town and am horrified by the news of the fires in California. We escaped unharmed from this individual spark, and I can only think what a nasty autumn so many around the world are having – the floods, fires, and machine guns. I’m so grateful to have had this time in beauty, but feel for the millions without such privilege.
I had to laugh aplenty. Your vacation reminded me of one I took in PA where it rained 3 days out of 5. Exercising in the gym of the hotel and eating in the hotel restaurant was the only excitement. Meant to be kayaking for 5 days. Boohoo!
Posted by: Patricia Hilliard | 13 October 2017 at 17:05
Very cute photo on the bridge overlooking the falls. You look like a leprechaun! Glad you are not toast.
Posted by: Marj | 14 October 2017 at 18:59
Spike sweetheart: you ARE the fancy people!
Posted by: Mike Evans | 15 October 2017 at 15:22