It’s June in Great Barrington once again, a time when the year-round population—like the peonies—takes turns bursting forth in ecstasy and drooping in despair. We, representatives of the Liaison of Concerned Ladies (or LOCaL), sense in the warm/chilly/perfect/much-too-hot air an opportunity to respond anew to your questions.
Dare I ask, how are people are doing with the roundabout?
It’s complicated. While it seems that many drivers of all license-plate origins have acclimated well to the quite simple rules—first yield and then signal to exit—for this bit of circular infrastructure which world dwellers have been using with zero online whining since the days of horses and buggies, there does appear to be a persistently significant portion of the driving public for whom the idea of a circle in the middle of the rectangular road simply does not compute. (Signaling left as you merge into a right-oriented roundabout is kind of like telling your restaurant host as he seats your party, “Hi! We’re here to eat a meal in your restaurant!”)
LOCaL, in its weaker moments, believes this sort of driving behavior just goes to show that some people may be better off not leaving the house.
Are you still allowing bears to roam your countryside?
Indeed we are, and they seem to be taking their reproductive cues from the rabbits. Bears, bears are everywhere. At this stage, the LOCaL response to videos of bears prowling backyards and upending manmade food containers is, “Yawn.” Interestingly, though, the bears seem to be gaining in dexterity year on year. One LOCaL member came out of her house in the morning to find that her resident bear had left five of her driveway’s 12 car doors wide open and catalytic converters intact. Another has figured out how to open the garage door with his snout. Bear school, in other words, is working. Maybe by next summer, they will have learned to ring the doorbell and announce, “Candygram.” (IYKYK. But ICYMI.)
I am finding some folks in town look askance at my 42-ounce hot pink Yeti drinking apparatus. What beverage accessory should one use to blend in in GB?
In South Berkshire County, the most approving looks and supportive nods are to be achieved by drinking, whenever possible, out of a mid-sized Mason jar. This behavior signals a few things: your environmental friendliness, your counter-cultural bona fides as regards mainstream America, and the likelihood of your participation in the country-friendly activity of canning blueberry preserves. If you are really looking to turn heads, ensure that your jar sports a pleasant hibiscus-y color that captures sunlight just so, and when folks ask where you got that gorgeous drink, adopt a WTF-are-you-talking-about face and say, “I made it myself with produce from my own vineyard. Duh.”
Great. Any other advice on blending in?
For Guidos-style blending, one should be on the low-key lookout for Meryl Streep. For Berkshire Co-Op blending, bring your own water, oil, honey, vinegar, soy sauce, and wine bottles for refill. For Big Y blending, you just need a reusable bag and air of resignation which will lessen once you remember that they sell alcohol. Blending in at Fuel requires accompaniment by a MacBook and a don’t-distract-me-I’m-working-and-my-work-is-very-important demeanor; at Westerlind by a bank official who can vouch for your credit score; and at SoCo Creamery, of course, by three overstimulated children. For Rubiner’s blending, be sure to leave the kids at home, but an encyclopedic knowledge of French cheeses will earn you a smile. Shop at Dollar General after dark and in disguise to prevent detection.
I’ve been in the area for 96 hours now. Am I eligible to join LOCaL?
Sure, why not? Everyone gets to be a local! You’re a local! You’re a local! You’re a local!
(Please note, however, that we have recently recalibrated the tiers to LOCaL membership. “local” is equivalent to Tier 1, which entitles you to refer to yourself as local regardless of the word’s veracity. Tier 2, or capital-L “Local,” gets you a, “Hey, man, how’s it goin’?” from the tradespeople you hired last fall. At Tier 3, “Local” status, which you may reach with 20 years of at least .6FTE residence, you are entitled to such perks as friends and family discounts, under the table drinks, fondly recalling the time when you could get a good eggs Benedict and coffee for under $15 at Martins, and the knowledge that the Green River is the most beautiful water source on Planet Earth.)
Where is the hottest new place to go out to eat in the Berks this year?
We’d be happy to make you an updated list of our favorite spots, if you promise to never, ever use the word “Berks” again.
I am hoping that by now you have installed dog-poop-bag-disposal sites on your nature trails?
Sigh. I thought I was so clear on this point in 2023. While you will find a few more trash receptacles this year than last, we remain unable to place one at every single possible entrance and exit to the dozens and dozens of grassy and unpopulated areas where people might possibly take their dogs to relieve themselves. This means that our former rule still applies. Finding no receptacle in the immediate trail vicinity, your option is to find an actual garbage can elsewhere, rather than to leave your colorful bag of shit for someone else to discard.
Why aren’t you waiting on me right now?
LOCaL realizes that responses here are complex and will vary, but here is our Standard Operating Procedure for one possible scenario: When one wants to talk to, say, an employee at the Farmers Market, but one finds her in deep conversation with another customer who appears to be a long-lost friend, one should not assume that one’s own question or comment takes precedence over this human interaction. Yes, one has ascertained that this is the woman to whom one must speak. Yes, this woman is an employee, and is therefore obliged to be responsive to one. Both true facts. Yet post-COVID LOCaL rules dictate that the work of interpersonal relationships is more important than anything else and will sometimes interfere with the imperative of instant gratification. If one is retired and does not have children or animals waiting in one’s car, one can afford to be a little patient, can’t one?
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Plumber, ma’am.
Plumber, who? Wait a minute. Why, there’s no plumbers within a 50-mile radius of Great Barrington. You are one of our clever bears, aren’t you? Nice try, bear. You are not getting the location of my preferred swimming hole out of me this time. Maybe next year.
(Superfluous disclaimer: This is a joke. A joke is “a thing that someone says to cause amusement or laughter.” If you find that your response to this joke is to take offense, you may be suffering from TUSHY, or The Unfortunate Syndrome of Humorlessness this Year. If your offense-taking symptoms persist for longer than two 24-hour news cycles, may I prescribe this medication?)
