Day 24: Deerfield, MA
Welcome
Yesterday we played a show in Deerfield, Massachusetts.
Mr Bus had driven us through the night, a southerly course that took us down through Vermont, skirted along the border with New Hampshire for a time, and then crossed into the short and wide state of Massachusetts, where we would be playing very near a town on the Connecticut River called Deerfield. Blue Paradise was parked behind an impressive outdoor stage when I woke up, and Mr Bus had long since clocked off and left for his hotel.
We were at the Tree House Brewing Company, a brewer famous for their IPA styles, and a formidable craft beer powerhouse in this region of the country, with several of these huge taphouse locations scattered around the northeastern states. This particular one is housed in a particularly striking building, a recently acquired structure that was formerly home to Channing Bete Co., a well-known publisher of informational pamphlets. Why am I telling you this, you might ask? Because it is a spectacular and unusual piece of design, a triumph of 1970s futurist architecture dominated by a beautiful garden atrium that is a haven for airflow and natural light. Our greenroom was on the top level, and we could look down over the balcony at the patrons enjoying two of the joys of life, beer and pizza, in these tranquil surroundings.
I took myself out for a run late in the morning, beginning a long a rural road that had all the trappings of an idyllic country lifestyle. It was an orgy of old tractors, rustic barns, freshly-harvested hay, and wildflower meadows, and I couldn’t take enough photos to explain how handsome it all was.
The heat of the day was just beginning to arrive and thankfully, I spent most of my time hidden under the tree canopy on the nearby Sugar Loaf Mountain (also known as Mount Sugarloaf), a butte-like mountain famous for its geographical interest and natural beauty. Trails criss-cross this monadnock, and although the paths were faintly marked and strewn with fallen leaves, I managed to follow a route south which took me towards the southern summit, where I hoped to find a scenic lookout. I jogged through woods of Oak, Hickory, and Black Birch, and was accompanied by squirrels and chipmunks who would bound through the underbrush and dart up tree trunks as I passed. There is nothing as rewarding as a hard acquired view and I basked in the glory of the surrounding landscape once I had strained and sweated my way to the top of the lookout tower. The Connecticut River stretched out into the distance on its journey to the Long Island Sound, and overhead a solitary raptor circled, riding the thermals while it spied the ground for prey.
There was catering on offer when I returned to Tree House Brewing and I eagerly headed upstairs to fulfil a hunger that had been steadily building over the course of my exercise. I piled up a plate with falafel panzanella, coleslaw, watermelon and mango salad, and BBQ tempeh with peaches, and enjoyed my first meal in the comfort of a converted office space on the top floor of this former publishing house. It’s not often that I forget to take a picture of my breakfast, but yesterday I somehow slipped up. All I have are the photos I took of the menu written on the back of compostable plates, and so that is what I will provide, a sumptuous collage of handwritten meal names and ingredients so you can imagine the appearance of my plate of food.
We soundchecked with a blazing sun bearing down on the stage, and spare pieces of equipment cases were used to provide shade for our pedal boards preventing the poor electronics from getting fried inside their metal housings. While Princess Chelsea soundchecked we played cricket in front of the stage, a game that enlisted the hands of some puzzled but enthusiastic venue staff, keen to learn the ins and outs of this cryptic sport, a distant sibling of their beloved baseball. Our spirits were heightened from this afternoon outdoors in the sun and we happily retired to the green room to rest before the show.
The sun was just beginning to retire when Princess Chelsea took the stage. They performed to the approaching twilight, and to the hundreds of guests who were arriving with folding chairs tucked under their arms and picnic blankets at the ready. There was ample space at this venue, on this fine piece of lawn, and it was filled by hundreds of wooden sun chairs provided by the brewery, as well as more than adequate picnic space, and standing room up close to the stage. They sounded just as good outdoors as they did indoors, and this seven-piece ensemble were warmly received by the people of northern Massachusetts.
It was dark when we went out on stage and the lines of festoons were hanging prettily over the beer garden. Playing an evening show outdoors in the dregs of summer is a wonderful thing and we went out ready to continue enjoying ourselves after a day of pleasurable pastimes. The air had cooled down significantly, but it was not chilling, just perfectly refreshing. It was a sold-out show, and fifteen hundred people had made the trip to see us; we seem to do quite well in the state of Massachusetts for some reason (a moderately corroborated statement that I’m happy to post here on this uncited website). Our set was another great one, a perfect sounding stage which made playing our instruments easy, and it was a most perfect setting to enjoy the thrill of music making.
We packed down quickly afterwards and the trailer was loaded with the utmost efficiency. I boarded the bus to find that DJ Lizard was tearing up the decks, a masterclass in song-blending which I greatly enjoyed as I passed my final minutes of awakeness.