Wedding Weekend: 48 Frenzied Hours in the Berkshires

Last weekend my yin and yin-in-law picked me up at work, 4pm sharp, so we could swoop away for a wedding in the Berkshires. Isn't amazing how just saying the word 'Berkshires' makes you feel like a Carnegie or Mellon?  Almost as if the ghosts of the great industrialists are never far away, just waiting to reclaim their estates from the hands of Kripalu and vacationers and newlyweds.

But this is beside the point.

The point is that we connected through Detroit, which I had never been to and, for that matter, have still never been to.  However, I can attest to the fact that they have one hell of a festive people-mover connecting Terminals A and B:

And a tram that provides one with exceptionally picturesque views of the mile-long main terminal:

It was a long walk through the airport, followed by a short flight to Albany, followed by a long drive to Stockbridge, Massachusetts.  By the time we got to the Red Lion Inn, it was well past midnight, and we walked into the lobby only to find this terrifying hobby horse:

Luckily, it didn't look so scary in the morning:

Check out the date. This Inn was established under British rule!

And got breakfast with my yin's cousins in the dining room:

 

I ate malted buttermilk pancakes, which were not only delicious, but also gave me the energy to keep up with Baby Elijah:

 

  Who I hadn't seen since my yin and I visited Boulder in May:

Anyway, after visiting with our Boulder cousins, we went to peruse a gallery with our Atlanta cousins.  There was all kinds of funky glass:

Including Humpty Dumpty sitting on a giant phallus:

And a crystal ball:

That detached one's head from her body:

It was cosmic:

 

So, to keep from getting overly mind-blown, we decided to balance it out with a dose of Norman Rockwell's realism:

But, not wanting to waste the opportunity to enjoy the cool weather, we decided to walk around outside rather than wandering around the museum with the Governor of Massachusetts, who crossed our path in the lobby.

Plus, my yin couldn't wait to blow her own horn:

Anyway, this is Rockwell's studio, which sat in downtown Stockbridge up until the Museum was constructed 30 years ago:

Inside, they have it set up to look like it did in 1960:

 

After speaking to the docent for a while, it was time to go.  We had a bus to catch:

 

On the hour-long ride to Arcamdale, I noticed that my knees were hitting the seats.  (My yin's knees, too, but this isn't that unusual considering the fact that she has giant knees.) Big knees aside, I started to wonder if school buses had gotten smaller since grade school.  Then it occurred to me that the seats had probably been just as narrowly construed even back in elementary.  Me = supergenius.

Luckily, my yin and I sat with our Homestead cousins, which gave me a chance to catch up with my favorite ranting madman, whom I hadn't seen in far too long:

the ranting madman and his cousin, my yin-in-law

Fortunately, the ranting madman's wife was there to balance him out, and she told us before the night was through that we were having Thanksgiving at her house, for which I had been secretly hoping for months now.  Why?  

Remember this amazing cake from this amazing day? That's why.

Anyway, this wedding was at a gigantic barn from 1799:

my yin and yin-in-law

And everyone was looking pretty sharp:

us and the Atlanta cousins

Especially Morris, who jammed out to Florence and the Machine with me:

"The dog days are over..."

My yin and I ended up seated with a bunch of Australians, who had met the bride and groom during their time abroad.  It was quite a boisterous table, and our spirits weren't dampened in the least when the skies let loose with a tremendous cloud burst.  Water was pouring down the grass embankment between the barn and the dining tent so we all counted to "1... 2... 3..." and lifted the 20-foot long four feet to the west. The festivities resumed, speeches were given, and we caught the 9:15 bus back to Sotckbridge, where we closed down the downstairs tavern with the rest of the wedding party.

The next morning my yin and I were up early and took a walk to the edge of town so I could get a better look at this skinny church I had seen on the way in.  According to the plaque, this is the spot where some minister started preaching to the town's citizens way back in 1733:

After our morning constitutional, we headed back to the father of the groom's house, where we were all gathering for a delicious brunch consisting of lox and bagels and babies:

Elijah and Casey

Apparently one of the key parts of child-rearing nowadays is called "floor time," which, as far as I can tell, mainly consists of laying an infant on the floor and staring at it until, inspired by nothing more than the expectant spectacle of adults gawking like turnip-truck yokels, the baby manages to flip itself from back to belly.

What do they have to look forward to once they accomplish this inane task?

Wild-eyed men in pink shirts playing patty-cake.

And impromptu photo shoots with their great grandmother:

Eventually we had to say our goodbyes, stopping on the way out of town to stroll the main street of Great Barrington, birthplace of W.E.B. DuBois and home to disco mirror Buddhas:

 

By the time we made it back to Albany airport, we were starting wind down from such an amazing weekend.  We had a few minutes, and I was delighted to discover the Albany Airport has a meditation room for weary travelers:

 

By the time we passed through Detroit again, retrieved our car from economy parking, and dropped of my yin-in-law, it was well after midnight.  We got home and went to bed, thankful for all we had seen in the previous 48 hours.