Urban Homesteaders in Bucolic Berkshire County?

Now why would a couple, originally from NYC, deliberately select a downtown condo in a restored paper mill in Pittsfield,MA of all places?
Berkshire County in Massachusetts, for those who don't know it, has traditionally been a weekend or vacation destination of city folk from Boston or Manhattan. It's a down-home kinda place where urbanites can kick off their shoes, dress in their latest country togs from Gucci or Ralph Lauren and take long strolls down country lanes.

They may have first ventured into the region to enjoy the colorful fall foliage, or maybe a summer concert at Tanglewood. In the winter, there is family skiing, snow shoeing or boarding. For many, like me, it was love at first sight. Blessed with ample means and high pressured jobs, these city dwellers would drop $225,000 on a weekend cottage or (if they work on Wall Street), a million dollar, Mc-mansion with views of rolling hills,waterfalls and real, live cows. Remote, isolated, surrounded by trees and pastures--living the American dream in the Berkshires.



Been there, done that.



Back in the day(1986), I was working in Manhattan, divorced with a young daughter, and no where to take her on weekends. So I bought a three-story, four bedroom house on top of a hill on a dead-end dirt road in Hillsdale, NY. My door mat read "Go Away". My daughter, Jackie, loved it (until she entered the terrible teens)and so did I. B-B-Qs, skiing, sledding, plenty of local kids for sleep overs on the weekends, it was really as good as it gets.

I worked in finance and travelled a lot around the world so I looked forward to crashing in the country whenever possible. In the back of my mind, as I made the drive back to the city on Sunday evenings, I fantasized about making the move to the country permanent. You know the story: chucking the whole globetrotter thing, doing something "meaningful", throwing away the suit and tie, finding a reasonable job that didn't require my heart, soul and 16 hour days, maybe even get a dog.

In June, 2000, I married a wonderful woman named Barbara from Brooklyn on the top of Catamount, the local ski resort, where we both taught skiiing and snowboarding on winter weekends. We then went on our honeymoon in Africa and got married again among the Masai tribe - but that's another story for some other time.

After the marriage and 9/11, both of us began thinking seriously about the life we were leading. Barbara too, was a global warrior and the constant travel was wearing us both down. The country life looked more and more appealing. In 2003, we made the leap from city mice to country mice just like so many other couples have done and are doing. We did it with out eyes wide open, since we knew job prospects were slim at best and we would be required to do a lot of adjusting.

It took us several years to pick up a new rhythm and start swimming again. What we found was that you can only kayak, ski, snowboard, jog, square dance, swim, etc. for just so long before that old itch to "DO Something" begins to return.

We both landed jobs and found out two things: you work for a lot less and you commute long distances to do it. Oh, and we did get that dog, a chocolate lab named Titus who is now just over a year old and can be a real handful at times but we love him to death.

Now we work together in a small, highly entrepreneurial money management firm in Pittsfield. We count ourselves lucky that we really love what we do. We also co-host a radio show once a week in Pittsfield, which is a hoot.

Back in the day, I would avoid Pittsfield like the plague. Pittsfield, to me, was a factory town gone bad, even the name was "the pits". GE had been the main employer before it closed most of its facilities down leaving a polluted landscape, high unemployment, a scary crime rate and drug problems. I had enough of that back in New York City and I didn't want or need that kind of reminder on the weekends.

Things change, however.

Over the last few years, Pittsfield has been reviving one street at a time. I have changed my mind about the place. I feel an excitement here; its the same feeling I have experienced in other places on the verge of new beginnings. Exotic places like Santiago,Chile Sao Paulo in Brazil and Buenes Aires in Argentna back in 1989. Less exotic and closer to home - when living in Manhattan, I had the same feeling walking through the East Village or SoHo many years ago or more recently in newer, hip homesteads like Williamsburg or Greenpoint in Brooklyn. Locally, Hudson in Columbia County, NY, has a similar feel.

To me, Pittsfield is unmistakebly another Phoenix rising from the ashes. Change is in the air. It has my blood flowing again and Barbara feels the same way. Things are happening here. There is an excitement that calls to you, makes you want to be a part of it! We have discovered that all you have to do is get out there and make it happen. Sure, there are the reactionaries, those who "know best" and what to preseve the status quo for their own beenfit but hey, you get those types everywhere. Every day I meet new people, some older, some younger, some who are locals with a vision and a dream, some like us from somewhere else who share the same dream.

The difference here is I can practically put my arms around this entire town and that feels, well, like home.

North Street, which is the main thoroughfare, seems to sprout a new shop, restaurant or other activity by the week. Culture is once again alive in Pittsfield and anyone can participate.

So is it any wonder we want to live here, right here, within walking distance of the big city excitement we miss without the stress and hassle? We are in on the ground floor of something truly momentous. Rarely do individuals get the chance to make a difference on a daily basis. I'll trade that for all the cows in Hillsdale.
So why a condo? I mean, there are wonderful, tree-snuggled blocks of fabulous, reasonably-priced homes that look like they came straight out of your grandparent's favorite movie. Gorgeous Colonials, Victorians, Arts & Crafts and much more. In most other places they have long-since appreciated in price to the point only the extremely wealthy could afford them. But not here, and that will be the subject of my next story.