Intervention
After five weeks at "camp", the summer camp exhibit at the Adirondacks Museum was entertaining. Children singing songs around the fire played in the background, while visitors looked at khakis and dresses, banners and badges embroidered with the names of vaguely Indian or Hebrew settlements (at one point in the 30s, one of the lakes had more than twenty Jewish camps). The sight was enough to inspire me to continue my planned collection of camp songs.
I don't know how I climbed the Blue Mountain when I was small, though with a lower center of gravity, it must have been easier to scamper up the glacial boulders. It wasn't too challenging yesterday; I was able to run up the fourteen percent grade rocky straightaways using the low-and-slow technique. The view was menacing and wide, though I thought the indian pipes growing along the path were just as interesting as the uniform blueness of the area. The woods were filled with huge birches at the base, but became a deep and dark green that smelled of spruce, and were more enjoyable than any other part of the hike.
I was on the defensive at Williams, expecting meanness to come at me from unexpected directions. Fortunately, it did not. The tour guide, Joanna, was enthusiastic about all aspects of campus life. I had to share her excitement about the "monkey" carrels in the library, which were double-decker. "These are chill," another student said. I agreed. The library was not as cool as Oberlin's, but it was close.
The tour guide appreciated my Moscow Metro shirt since she is pursuing a Russian certificate. This grew into some kind of conversation toward the end of the tour. As the tour ended back at the admissions office, I asked the guide about Wiliams' language programs, which she assured me were stellar, despite the presence of the "900 pound gorilla" of languages, Middlebury, down the road.
"We're not isolated, we're off the beaten path," the guide repeated. Looking around at the coffee shops, bookstores, and ethnic restaurants, and later as I sat in the Thai restaurant, eating Choo Chee curry and drinking Thai iced tea, I wondered what this really meant. Williamstown, with its Clark Institute, combined with North Adams down the road probably have more "culture" than Lexington. And yet, it is still just miles from the Appalachian trail.
The Clark Institute, with its Monets, Renoirs, Cassatts, Caillebottes, Goyas, Courbets, and Degas was incredible. And yet, Mass MoCA was the museum that won me over. Every installation, from the ground level Proposition Player, which involved playing cards (I got a joker, covered with a mysterious symbol) and communicated something about the nature of the universe, to the Interventionist exhibition on the second floor gave me a feeling that I can barely express even by grasping at the air with both hands. Some of the devices, like the birthing room (a massive sphere with a basin in the middle, where your friends can watch the labor and delivery of your baby), or the can collecting nomad vehicle, were the kind of contraptions that almost merit the often unearned name "granny trap". The Corpus installation was incredible (and I took some of the paper that flew out of the ceiling devices) as were the upside-down maple trees.
I don't know how I climbed the Blue Mountain when I was small, though with a lower center of gravity, it must have been easier to scamper up the glacial boulders. It wasn't too challenging yesterday; I was able to run up the fourteen percent grade rocky straightaways using the low-and-slow technique. The view was menacing and wide, though I thought the indian pipes growing along the path were just as interesting as the uniform blueness of the area. The woods were filled with huge birches at the base, but became a deep and dark green that smelled of spruce, and were more enjoyable than any other part of the hike.
I was on the defensive at Williams, expecting meanness to come at me from unexpected directions. Fortunately, it did not. The tour guide, Joanna, was enthusiastic about all aspects of campus life. I had to share her excitement about the "monkey" carrels in the library, which were double-decker. "These are chill," another student said. I agreed. The library was not as cool as Oberlin's, but it was close.
The tour guide appreciated my Moscow Metro shirt since she is pursuing a Russian certificate. This grew into some kind of conversation toward the end of the tour. As the tour ended back at the admissions office, I asked the guide about Wiliams' language programs, which she assured me were stellar, despite the presence of the "900 pound gorilla" of languages, Middlebury, down the road.
"We're not isolated, we're off the beaten path," the guide repeated. Looking around at the coffee shops, bookstores, and ethnic restaurants, and later as I sat in the Thai restaurant, eating Choo Chee curry and drinking Thai iced tea, I wondered what this really meant. Williamstown, with its Clark Institute, combined with North Adams down the road probably have more "culture" than Lexington. And yet, it is still just miles from the Appalachian trail.
The Clark Institute, with its Monets, Renoirs, Cassatts, Caillebottes, Goyas, Courbets, and Degas was incredible. And yet, Mass MoCA was the museum that won me over. Every installation, from the ground level Proposition Player, which involved playing cards (I got a joker, covered with a mysterious symbol) and communicated something about the nature of the universe, to the Interventionist exhibition on the second floor gave me a feeling that I can barely express even by grasping at the air with both hands. Some of the devices, like the birthing room (a massive sphere with a basin in the middle, where your friends can watch the labor and delivery of your baby), or the can collecting nomad vehicle, were the kind of contraptions that almost merit the often unearned name "granny trap". The Corpus installation was incredible (and I took some of the paper that flew out of the ceiling devices) as were the upside-down maple trees.