Finally, it is a beautiful summer morning. After days of record-breaking storms and flooding, the sun is shining, the humidity is gone, and the grass is only wet with dew. We are dancing outside. Our modern dance class from Berkshire Pulse, filled with eager dancers of a certain age, is being held at Chesterwood in Stockbridge, home to sculptor Daniel Chester French, who created the Lincoln Memorial. In fact, a contemplative sculpture of Lincoln stands over our class.
Bettina, instructor and owner of Berkshire Pulse, comes equipped with bug spray, a boom box she can control from her watch, and red flags to place in the ground by exposed dangerous rocks. Gathered in the shade of the early morning on a day Chesterwood is closed to the public, we are barefoot or in waterproof footwear on uneven ground with no mirrors to check our form.
“This is a perfect Berkshires moment,” I think. While I’m not dancing at Jacob’s Pillow, I am surrounded by everything I love about living here: art, nature, music, and creative peers. I am Julie Andrews at the start of “The Sound of Music”—minus the Alps.
We dance in a circle; we dance across the lawn. Bettina comments how freely and broadly we dance, without the confinement of four walls. I think about the summer ahead.
Already, I visited the sculpture exhibit at The Mount in Lenox, where I also attend my weekly French conversation group on the terrace. I got drenched sitting on the lawn at Tanglewood, eagerly awaiting James Taylor’s annual concert. Also at Tanglewood, I moved to the music of Bruce Hornsby and Steve Miller. I was entranced by a performance of “Ragtime”, backed by the Boston Pops.
Dirty Cello, a San Francisco cello-led blues, Americana, and rock band, killed it at the Becket Arts Center. The Dutch National Ballet at Jacob’s Pillow reminds me why I love to dance. I am eager to check out the Edvard Munch exhibit at The Clark Museum in Williamstown. And swimming at nearby Queechy Lake in Canaan, N.Y. provides a perfect place to cool off and read on a lounge chair.
I constantly meet people who share my interests and possess unique talents in music and writing. Sharing a meal with them on my deck rounds out my summer experiences.
Back on the lawn at Chesterwood, sweating, but invigorated, the midday sun is creeping across the lawn. The little gnats are swarming by our noses and mouths. Bettina asks us to hold out our arms and look up at the sky. How often do we dance looking up at the sky? I breathe it all in. Abraham Lincoln looks on approvingly. The world continues to struggle in too many ways. But, in my precious neck of the woods, I dance to the music and feel grateful my body can freely move, surrounded by green, lush life.
