My husband, Paul, and I were excited to get out of state for a few days. We marked our 30th wedding anniversary last month, and decided we’d like to visit the Berkshires to celebrate. Not only do we like that part of the world, it would give us a chance to connect with our friends Al and Judy, who live in Western Massachusetts.
Paul has been friends with Al since their high-school days. We try to meet up with them at least once a year. Our get-togethers were more frequent when Paul’s parents were alive. They lived in the greater Worcester area and so when we visited them, Al and Judy would usually make the hour or so drive to join us for breakfast or lunch.
In the summer of 2014, we visited Al and Judy in their town for several days and had a great time. But our usual holiday get-together (we now meet halfway, in Kittery) was postponed that year because Al threw his back out. They came to Maine to shop at L.L. Bean in December, 2015, but our dog, Martha, was attacked by another dog that day, so we had to cancel. Later, Al and Judy canceled a February, 2016, trip to Kittery.
We probably all had the same thought as we set a rendezvous for April: “Is this going to work out this time?”
Paul and I always have a number of activities to complete before we set off anywhere. We’d already made arrangements to have the chickens looked after—they need attention several times a day. And since our hen-keeper enjoys visiting with our cats, he was also on board to check in with them as well.
The dogs were headed for boarding at their veterinary hospital. They have been doing this for years, but they still get wired when they know they are going to “vacation” for a couple nights. When we arrived at the clinic, both were squealing. I had hoped we were the first visitors of the day, but a car pulled in just before us. We waited as a woman with a walker, a fat, old dog, and (presumably) the woman’s son, made their torturously slow way toward the entrance. It was hard for me to be especially compassionate, as my dogs were now beside themselves at the scene.
That group took the left side of the waiting room—which is divided by the entrance— while we finally made it to the right side. I am not exaggerating when I say Martha bounces up and down when she is at the vet’s. It is an amazing sight.
Of course, the way things were going, the old dog and his people were led to the exam room on the right side of the building, where we were waiting. You can imagine our dogs’ reactions.
By then, I was ready to head home.
Soon enough, though, we were on the road. We had a smooth trip, which delighted us, as we were sure it was going to be “one of those days.” After checking into our hotel and freshening up, we headed to Great Barrington, where we were to meet our friends.
We planned to be there early, as there is a short walking trail along the river we thought we’d check out. Plus, we didn’t really know where we were going.
In these days of ubiquitous GPS, we should always have our bearings. But as alarming news reports of people directed to drive into harbors make clear, that is not always true.
We did reach Great Barrington successfully. We passed by the Barrington Brewery, which is where we were going to dine, and continued on to the downtown, to walk on the trail. We then returned to the restaurant about ten minutes early. No Al and Judy. A few minutes after the designated time passed, Paul started to worry. “Are you sure this is the right place,” he said to me. “Isn’t it called the Berkshire Brewery?”
“They’re only a few minutes late.”
“They’re usually early.”
Paul decided to go into the restaurant to see if there was another brewery in town. Meanwhile, I used my iPhone to determine that while there is a place called the Berkshire Brewery, it’s in the town of Deerfield.
After Paul returned with the same information, I called Al. For some reason, the call went to FaceTime, which scared both of us. Then the picture dissolved into a rainbow of colors. I feared my phone had bit the dust.
Paul called Al on his phone. “Wait,” Paul said. “There are two entrances?” Al then appeared around the front of the restaurant with his phone to his ear. Yup. They had parked on one side of the building and we had parked on the other.
We had a good laugh about that. Another visit almost missed. And my phone hadn’t died. Al had put his phone into the pocket of his brightly colored shirt.
Our next day of vacation was excellent. We headed home on the third day feeling like we had broken our spell of having things go wrong whenever we try to have a good time.
Never think that. We stopped in the town of Greenfield, then had to get back on our route. As we neared the exit, rescue vehicles with sirens blaring swooped by us. This could be trouble. Please go by the exit, I prayed. Nope. The accident was right in front of it.
When two tow trucks zipped down the emergency lane, I knew we were in for the long haul. It turned out to be 45 minutes, which feels like an eternity, but we’ve experienced worse.
We had one more snag: the exit onto to Route 495 was blocked due to construction and there were no obvious detours. Paul handled this setback well, but we were late in picking up the dogs.
By the time we got there, an emergency case had arrived, so I wasn’t able to talk to Quinn’s vet about some issues he’s been having.
But the dogs were well, and we did have a lovely time. Except when fate was fooling with us.
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