Hubby Al and I took a week’s vacation in the beautiful Commonwealth of Massachusetts. As Al grew up in a Boston suburb, and I spent four years at college in Cambridge across the river, we were both familiar with Boston and its environs. We’d done the Freedom Trail, seen Concord and Lexington. But I had never visited Cape Cod, and he’d only made it once — on a business trip many years after we’d left. The Berkshires, in the west of the state were also new territory to me. Al had been there as a Boy Scout, but had not been back in (mumble) decades.
We split our time between the Cape and the Stockbridge area. We went on a whale watching tour that was absolutely wonderful. They should have named our boat Dances With Whales, because the whales showed up, breaching, doing the backstroke while waving their flippers in the air, doing “wingovers” (sideways with one flipper in the air) along the surface, for all the world as if they were auditioning for Sea World.
My decent camera was in California. I won’t impose the horrid whale pics I managed to get with either my brain-dead phone or my iPad 2 on you.
The second half of the week was in the Berkshires. We based ourselves in a miserable little motel in Chicopee. Still, the Springfield museums were more than worthwhile, and I took Al on a hike around a pond near Stockbridge. This was the third week in August, and the leaves were just beginning to turn on the sumac. (Al assures me that it is sumac. It doesn’t resemble what is called sumac in California in the least.) My phone was up to the challenge of capturing an image of a bush, at least.