What is this land we’re standing on? When we talk about the Berkshires, we’re looking at a range of hills on what is now the Western edge of Massachusetts
— they run along the border with the Taconics and New York state and merge into the Green Mountains in Southern Vermont.
And it’s a rare place. We live in a high green country with a vivid creative life. Up here a choreographer from Brooklyn can walk into a 200-year-old meetinghouse and imagine black American Shaker dance. And then he can create his own movement and perform there.
In some ways it’s an in-between place, across the state from Boston and up the Hudson River from New York, and as a cultural area and as a geographic one, it spills over the state line.
Berkshire County is a long, lean stretch. It runs from Connecticut north to Vermont, 50 miles from end to end. But it’s a beautiful amble. You can take an hour to get from Cobble Hill in Brooklyn to an old friend’s wedding in Manhattan, and here in that time I can cross the length of the county and tool along country roads, watching for wild turkeys on my way to see a play before it opens Off-Broadway.
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