where the writers are
Driving through the Berkshires in August

 

August 8, 2010

 

Traveling through the Berkshires in Massacheuts now, Johnny Cash playing on the CD player, (last night it was Simon and Garfunkel),  Dad is cleaning the front of the car with a wet wipe as Sami, (my youngest sister) drives.  The Berkshires are so incredibly beautiful. The highway is cut through these gently rolling mountains, all covered in forests of trees. 

 

One thing you really miss in England is seeing nature like this, completely wild, (okay except for the highway and the occasional string of powerlines) but if you look above it, all you can see is rolling hills of trees growing wild and occasionally things will open up and you’ll see a little bit of marsh full of cattails with a few white skeletal trees poking through the black, brackish water.  Trees everywhere so thick you can barely see their trunks, from far away it looks like the hills covered in broccoli.  It’s easy to forget that even in the oldest states in the U.S. there are still these large pockets of wild nature.     And you look down from the highway which is up on the hill and see the Mohawk River (yes named after the Mohawk Indians where the name of Mohican and the hairstyle come from) snake through, with the little colonial houses dotting the banks and imagine canoes with Native Americans and Corriers du Bois gliding elegantly through the smooth river’s snaking bends. 

 

The Mohawk river is absolutely gorgeous, so smooth and placid like a perfect liquid mirror of the trees around.  We see deer by the side of the road just standing there, peering out from between the trees watching the cars go by.