SALISBURY — Jumpfest 2025 attracted thousands of guests to Satre Hill for a weekend of ski jumping, traditional treats, bonfires and brews Feb. 1 and 2.
Typically a three-day event, Friday night’s festivities were canceled due to rainy conditions, which made for slick slopes on Saturday and Sunday.
Saturday was bright, clear and on the cold side in the mid-20s, with an irregular wind that the jumpers had to be mindful of. Snowflakes were flying when the action kicked off at about 9 a.m. with the youth competitions on the K20 jump.
Youth ski jumpers gather at the landing zone to recognize the national anthem before the Eastern U.S. Ski Jumping Championship began at Satre Hill.Lans Christensen
“It’s very winterlike here at Satre Hill,” said WZBG Radio’s Dale Jones, who once again assumed announcing duties for the competition. Gusty winds had fortunately mostly abated for the jumpers of smaller stature, with windows of sunshine intermittently breaking through the flurries and illuminating the paint-streaked landing hill.
SWSA’s own Caleb Bodwell, who placed 2nd last year, put down a sizable 10-meter jump. Shortly after, Catherine Chor flew 11.5 meters, the furthest of the day so far.
Henry Loher flew farther than any other competitor at Jumpfest 2025, gliding 71meters on Sunday, Feb. 2.Randy O’Rourke
Larry Stone, a ski jumping coach in winter sports mecca Lake Placid, New York and Chief of Competition for the weekend, said that Catherine’s sister Caroline would be one to watch later in the day in the older age group. The sisters train together at their local jumping facility in Hanover, New Hampshire, Stone explained: “They’re a good twosome.”
Temperatures dropped as the day went on, and in response the two bonfires flanking the landing of the big jump kept growing. Lakeville local Fisher Rydingsword was stoking the flames with scrap wood, a picnic table and seemingly infinite pallets. At 16 years old, this is his eighth year tending to the fires, and he likes the work: “It gives me an excuse to play with fire,” he said as he heaved another pallet atop the blaze.
Youth cross-country skiers depart.Alec Linden
The Cook Shack was busy around mealtime, as was the food truck offering pulled pork and mac and cheese.
To wash it down fans could choose between craft beers or hot toddies made with bourbon or rum as the main ingredient. The action was steady here too.
Some fans coped with the wind with tent-like shelters, but most were content to be bundled up and rely on the sun to stay warm. If that failed, there were the usual two bonfires on either side of the main jumping hill and a number of smaller fires in buckets and portable fire pits.
Hot toddies remain a staple treat at Jumpfest, plus SWSA bratwurst from the Cook Shack.Lans Christensen
Salisbury Central School eighth grade students Bryce Salmon, Quin Sheil and Tommy Downey prowled the crowd selling baked goods and handwarmers. The boys were raising funds for the annual class trip to Washington, D.C.
A little before 1 p.m., a well-prepared group were getting in the mood. Steve and Adrienne Fayette from Newtown and Rich and Amy Ferrari of Brookfield had comfy chairs and were well and warmly clad. They were fortifying themselves with salami, cheese and crackers and a bottle of red wine to start. Rich Ferrari said after that they’d get to the sandwiches.
“We love this event,” he said.
Ski jumpers pack into the shuttle truck for a lift back up to the K65 jump on Sunday, Feb. 2.Randy O’Rourke
At about 2 p.m. fans were still coming into Satre Hill. The parking lot was completely full, and people were sticking their cars wherever they could and hoofing it.
Sunday saw less wind and grayer skies for the Eastern U.S. Ski Jumping Championships with temperatures remaining more solidly in the mid-20s. These were good, fast conditions explained Jones, and the jumpers took advantage, putting on a spectacle of flight for the crowd.
The tone of the afternoon, though still joyous, was less boisterous and more focused than on Saturday. As skiers dropped in from their perch high on the tower, a hush would fall over the crowd, broken by cheers and the clang of more cowbells once the skis returned to snow.
Caleb Bodwell lands a jump on the K20 hill.Tom Brown
Salisbury’s own Islay Sheil surpassed 40-meters on her best Sunday jump. Sheil, who is 14, is the first SWSA youth athlete to have jumped the K65 since SWSA coach Seth Gardner jumped it in his early days, Spencer Taylor said.
Colin Delaney, who described himself as the “official/unofficial” coach of the Eastern Ski Jumping and Nordic Combined team, said that Jumpfest is a vital component to the national circuit. “It’s a really important hill size for training,” he said, emphasizing that the event “brings together athletes with different goals in the sport.”
Bonfires keep guests warm on crisp winter days.Lans Christensen
While the Eastern Championship is a wrap, jumping season is far from over. Loher, who emerged from Jumpfest highly decorated, will be competing at the Junior World Championships on Feb. 11, while other jumpers on the team will travel to Park City, Utah for the Junior National Championships on Feb. 22.
Jumpfest 2025 was well attended with an estimated 1,600 guests on Saturday and 1,500 on Sunday.
See 99th Jumpfest competitors soar to great heights for official Jumpfest results.
The SWSA crew maintains the slope at Satre Hill.Randy O’Rourke
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Dan Baker, left, and Daniel Latzman at Barrington Hall in Great Barrington.
The partnership behind Barrington Hall began long before the building itself. Both Baker and Latzman grew up on Long Island, spent more than a decade in New York City, and eventually found their way to the Berkshires, drawn by the desire for something different. What they didn’t realize at first was just how closely their lives had already mirrored one another.
They were born in the same hospital, a year apart. Their families had distant connections. They even played on the same soccer team — never meeting, but moving through the same spaces. It wasn’t until they became neighbors in Egremont about five years ago that those parallels came into focus.
“In hindsight, it feels inevitable,” Latzman said. “But it was actually extremely random that we ended up here.”
From the beginning, Barrington Hall was meant to be a place people return to, not for any one event, but for the experience of being there. On any given week, the space might host a jazz performance, a dance party, a songwriter circle or a children’s event. Some nights bring in touring acts. Others highlight local creatives. The variety is intentional and so is the atmosphere.
“It’s about people,” Baker said. “It’s about being present.”
Inside Barrington Hall.Provided
Baker and Latzman are keenly aware of the world outside with its constant barrage of information, political conflicts, a culture that pulls people deeper into their screens. Barrington Hall offers a way out of that noise.
“A little bit of a bubble,” Latzman said. “A place to step away from everything else.”
During a recent event, they noticed something telling: a full room of people dancing, talking, engaged — and almost no one on their phone.
“That’s when you know something is working,” Baker said.
Taking over a beloved local space comes with responsibility, one Baker and Latzman have met by honoring the building’s traditions while also expanding them.
“We didn’t feel obligated,” Latzman said. “We felt honored.”
Part of what makes the space distinct is its versatility. Large enough to host more than 250 people, yet intimate enough to feel personal, it fills a gap in the local landscape, serving a wide range of people and bringing different groups together in the same space.
“We want people to feel like, if something’s happening here, it’s worth checking out,” Latzman said.
They are carefully balancing community access with the realities of running a business, with an eye toward the long term.
“We want this to be here in 20 years,” Latzman said.
Inside Barrington Hall.Provided
That vision extends beyond the building itself — future collaborations, expanded programming, a growing role in shaping the cultural life of the Berkshires. But at its core, the mission remains simple: to create a place where people can gather, a place that feels alive.
And perhaps most importantly, to create a place where, if only for a few hours, people can step away from the noise of the world and enjoy being together.
When asked who they’re most excited to host next, their answer was immediate: The Mammals on April 10 and Lee Ross, a one-man party band from Massachusetts, scheduled to perform on May 1.
For more information and tickets, visit
barringtonhallgb.com
Gail Rothschild with her painting “Dead Sea Linen III (73 x 58 inches, 2024, acrylic on canvas.
Her work begins, often, with something small: a scrap of linen from the Judean desert, dating “to a time before the notion of ‘Israel’ or ‘Palestine;’” a fragment so diminished it barely registers as an object; or a rare indigo-dyed child’s head cloth from Tutankhamen’s tomb.
“I call them portraits of ancient linen,” she said.
Rothschild grew up in Greenwich and studied drawing and painting at Yale University. “That was kind of my first love,” she said. But she quickly veered toward something more collective, working with Peter Schumann at the Bread and Puppet Theater, building papier-mâché puppets and participating in a kind of performance-based activism that blurred art and politics.
“After Yale, I got out of school and thought‘Wait a second. I don’t want to paint anymore. I need to work with people in communities and make things.’”
She moved to Brooklyn and began working in public schools, developing projects rooted in collaboration and local history. The projects were ambitious, research-driven, and often confrontational. At the University of Massachusetts, she recalled asking students: “Did you know that Amherst was named for Jeffrey Amherst, who was responsible for giving blankets infected with smallpox to Native Americans? Why don’t we look into that?’”
There were sculptures, letters to watchdog groups, installations. She worked on four such projects a year, she said, until the pace became unsustainable. “At some point I just said, ‘I’m exhausted. I’m going back to the studio.’”
What brought her back was a book, “Prehistoric Textiles ” by Elizabeth Wayland Barber. Inside, she encountered an image of a 7,000-year-old textile, unraveling.
“It said to me, ‘this could be a great big abstract painting’,” she said. “What does it mean that this textile, this thing that used to be a Cartesian grid and over time has gone back to nature?”
That question became a kind of axis for her work. “There is this cusp between nature and culture,” she said. Early on, she avoided textiles with imagery, drawn instead to the raw language of fiber itself. But eventually, even that boundary softened. A project with the Godwin-Ternbach Museum introduced her to Egyptian textiles — Christian, pagan, Greek, Roman influences colliding in woven form.
Gail Rothschild’s “Esquina Decorada” (52 x 52 inches, 2022, acrylic on canvas)Gail Rothschild
What followed was a deepening relationship with museums and, crucially, with conservators. Institutions like The Metropolitan Museum of Art and collections in Berlin and Paris began sending her images of textile fragments, sometimes pieces she has still never seen in person.
“It’s almost easier for me to transform it when I haven’t seen it,” she said.
Her process is both precise and intuitive. She grids the canvas and the source image, drawing freehand to “honor what the object is.” For a time, she works closely from the photograph. Then something shifts. “At some point I’ll say, ‘It’s a painting. It’s got to talk to itself,’ and then I stop looking at the photograph.”
What emerges is layered, luminous and muscular. “Sometimes people say, ‘Do you miss making sculpture?’ and I say, ‘I never stopped.’”
You feel that in the surfaces: the tension of threads pulling apart, the sense that something is both forming and dissolving at once. Even the backgrounds — often ambiguous, atmospheric — are not neutral. “It’s really more about feeling the space around the object,” she said, especially as she considers how ancient fragments are mounted on modern fabrics. “I get to invent an entirely other language.”
Some of her most arresting work is on the monumental textiles of The Met Cloisters, where medieval tapestries, some towering more than a dozen feet, are slowly, painstakingly conserved. It’s in the conservation labs that Rothschild has observed the physical reality of these works: their own weight pulling them apart, threads breaking under centuries of strain. Conservators insert new threads to stabilize them and Rothschild documents this process. “There’s a kind of poignancy to their work,” Rothschild said, “because as hard as we work to conserve the objects of our past, in the greater cosmic scheme of time, it’s only temporary. There’s something beautiful about that.”
Time operates on multiple levels in Rothschild’s work. There is the time of the object —thousands of years, in some cases — and the time of the painting, which unfolds over months. “Once I start working on something, I can’t stop,” she said. “But then it’ll rest for a while and I may change it, add layers.”
And then there is the time of attention itself, the way looking can tip into obsession, into pattern-seeking that doesn’t quite turn off. Rothschild is aware of that edge.
“I have to make myself stop or I just see patterns everywhere and I can’t stop, really,” she laughed. “That’s why I’ve built in other things I need to do in my life like take the dogs for a hike or, you know, volunteer at the Sharon Land Trust… otherwise I go a little nuts. And it wouldn’t be good painting either.”
A painting session, for her, has its own its own arc. “There’s kind of a trajectory for every work session. I might be repeating something and suddenly it looks linear. The language I started painting with may change by the end and I think, ‘Oh God, I’m gonna have to go back and repaint that.’”
But then, she said, there is a pause.
“I kind of step back and say, ‘No, this painting can hold both. That’s part of its history. There’s the history of the object but then there’s the history of the painting.’”
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