Authentic American Art
Although home is still over the horizon, today marks our criss-cross of the continent. Out, from the Maritimes to the Wet Coast, then south to Oregon (where I dipped a toe, symbolically) and back east to here. That is, on the coast in Connecticut. As early as this morning, we had planned another water fall, but our plans evolved during the day. I’ll get back to that.
We left Woodstock (and I did find out the dichotomy between there and Bethel) and decided to check out some actual American art. Rockwell; about as wrapped in the flag and virtues as you are apt to find. There’s a lovely museum in Stockbridge, MA, filled with paintings and prints and knowledgeable folks who love to expound on the life of the man with friends. I say that, because it turns out that he used family and neighbours as his models, while creating those images. The security guards, circling like hungry wolves, prevented any long term loans to my living room, but I did get a jigsaw puzzle. Winter is coming, right?
There was also a display dealing with Woodstock (the festival) although I couldn’t afford a reproduction poster at $200 US. I did learn that the original Alice’s Restaurant was here, in Stockbridge. That’s important trivia, for one who knows the song AND the movie.
We had other chances to enjoy the lush vegetation through the Catskills, before the rain started. After that, we simply drove to our destination; a KOA in Niantic. I have to admin that my admiration hasn’t lessened. The brand means good camping. The staff do take the time to chat, and that little “follow me” routine with the golf cart is reassuring. No wandering up and down the rows looking for your assigned spot.
