Goal one: The annual 5K Cannonball road race in
We awoke early to a quiet Brown House on Shabbat morning. Lilly Rakia was up with her son, playing in the kitchen and we talked briefly with them before heading out for the Village. The walk was nice, but really cold. In town, we checked in at my hang out – Toymakers, and they offered to have my favorite waffles ready as soon as I returned. Morale up, but still freezing, I set out for the course.
About 60 people were there. A small registration table and finish line were set up outside of town hall, but there were only a handful of spectators. The barbecue at the finish line smelled of hamburgers, urging us to hurry up and finish the race quickly. . . . grilled incentives! We lined up, braced ourselves for the boom of the cannon, and began running.
The first mile was awful. I was freezing and couldn’t feel my hands, it was uphill and the people seemed to be streaming behind me - young and old. Once I warmed up however (with the help of some gloves from fellow a runner) I started enjoying myself more. The scenery was beautiful, and the whole second mile brought us along a flat road with a view to the north and west of the Berkshires. I kept pace with a group of 4 women and just kept on running. BY mile 3, I felt I could have done 2 more mile, albeit slowly, and when I turned into town, Eli had run back to meet me and cheer me on. I gave the last ¼ mile everything I had and was welcomed into town by a group of 8 or so cheering hippies. Who could they be? (On a side note, it’s always hilarious to venture into civilizations with fellow Tevaniks – we seem to make quite the spectacle sporting costumes or simply a mix of outdoor gear and Goodwill vestements.) I smiled huge when a fellow runner congratulated me on the size of our cheering section and was truly touched by how many people had come out for the cold Shabbat walk to town.
It would seem to end there, but someone quickly learned that we were up for awards. Yes, it’s true, in spite of my nearly 10 minute splits, I had earned a place in the awards ceremony. It seems that the two red-headed Jews from Teva comprised the entire 20-29 age group in the race. We won some rockin’ t-shirts and I even received a beautiful milkweed flower from my roommie, Miriam.
A day could not get much better, could it?
But it did! Back at Toymakers, I finally got a grand tour of the old book conservatory in the Village. It’s an amazing old bilding built as a church that would be ideal for a haunted house. I was hoping to uncover some secret passages, but found only Tiffany stained-glass window, an old organ, and a lot of dust.
On the way back to town, we passed a crew of fire engines set up alongside a mowed field. Here, too, was a smoking grill and refreshment stand. We had seen some people setting the field up on the way into town, but only found out later what the hoopla. November 4th was no one-event day in
So how does a cow chip contest work? The rules are simple: A cow is let loose in the field. The square upon which her first poop lands is the winner, with the surrounding squares designated as places 1 through 9
Intrigued, excited and ready to seize a moment in our country lives, JD, Eli and I stuck around to join in the festivities. Before us was a plot of grass marked with 1200 squares – a giant grid. A state official was there to ensure that all cow-chip rules were followed and a sign explained all the finer details of judging the cow’s “performance.” The organizers were equipped with a scale – in case they needed to compare the size of cow chips.
Then we met the cow. She was huge, and I stared into her eye as it peaked our from behind the slats in the truck. She had no concept of her task and as the day wore on, she proved quite opposed to it. She was lead to the field. (In picking a number out of a hat, I had been awarded the opportunity to choose the official starting gate as the eastern side of the field!) At one point, we asked how long it would take – “Could be minutes, could be hours.”
Well, it seems hours were in the cards – we waited and waited for the poor old heifer to poop, but she resisted, and not without providing entertainment and exercise for her caretakers. She broke through the orange fencing several times, once making past the fire engines and into the streets. As the farmers reinforced one side of the fence, she went hopping toward the other, headed for the woods. “Just poop, poor thing, and you’ll be done!” I thought. It seemed cruel, or just invasive. L-rd knows I could not do it in that big of a crowd.
After an hour or so, we gave up, disappointed to have missed the big moment, but exhilarated from our day in town. We were the only Cow Chip rookies there – it is common fundraiser in these parts. And filled with the smell of autumn and the brisk breath in our lungs, we headed back to Freedman for a song session and havdalah.
After a quick dinner of amazing pizza in Great Barrington, we joined the Adamah and Dorot reunions in the dining hall for some Contra dancing. This was my second time in 2 weeks and I loved it. We were a lively crew, even for the usually vibrant sport, and the caller had a blast making subtle jokes about our clothing, sexuality and religion. Instead of saying male or female, he would refer to the “taller of the two dancers” and would invite us to chose partners of the gender of our choice.
The night went very late. We sang and played music until very early. There was the usual drum, guitar, mandolin circle and even an accordion. I did not last all night, but long enough to dance awhile and warm up.
An interesting story: I found myself talking with a Dorot alumna in the lounge and we both felt that we had met before. In fact, we both know Noam, but he was sure that he had not been the connector. We briefly listed our life’s paths, but could not find a link. Until suddenly, I had a thought. “Where did you go last December for vacation?” I asked her.
In addition, boom. I had met Melissa and her husband on the roof of a church in
Thus, I am ever more convinced that Freedman, second only to
