Each accordion is worth a thousand words
Paul Ramunni, owner and operator of New England Accordion Connection and Museum, with a small portion of his accordion collection.
David Carley
The new “Community Music Room” at Canaan Union Station.David Carley
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Owners Asio and Angela Highsmith
Provided
Asio’s wife Angela, a California native drawn to nature, had spent years bringing their children to the Berkshires. The family already owned property there, and the pandemic simply accelerated the move they were already considering. Their son summed up the family’s feelings best when he was 5 years old. “He said, ‘I want to be in a place where there’s more trees than people,’” Angela recalled.
The move wasn’t motivated by business ambitions. In fact, neither Asio nor Angela intended to become entrepreneurs again. “We came up here for the outdoors and for the beauty,” Angela said. The espresso truck emerged almost by accident. When old café equipment began taking over their basement, Angela suggested putting it on a truck.
“That’s exactly what happened,” Asio laughed. What began as a practical idea soon evolved into something much larger.
To find out where the Best Damn Espresso truck will be on any given morning, text ‘BDE’ to 844-659-1203Provided
Asio brings decades of hospitality experience to the business. A lifelong bartender and mixologist, he approaches espresso the same way a master cocktail maker approaches a drink — with precision, intention and respect for the craft.
“Coffee means community,” he said. “It’s a big part of the hospitality vision that my wife and I want to bring to the world.” For Asio, every drink matters. “My motto is one drink at a time,” he said. “I focus on what’s in front of me.”
That philosophy extends beyond the espresso machine. Customers aren’t simply buying a beverage; they’re entering an experience shaped by two people who view hospitality as an act of service. “Food is magic. Coffee is magic,” Asio said. “It’s an exchange of great energy.”
Angela, who often works the front of the truck, describes the customer relationship in similar terms. “When someone comes to the truck, you’re hosting them,” she said. “You’re entertaining them. You’re giving them exactly what they want.”
Despite doing almost no traditional marketing, Best Damn Espresso has developed a devoted following throughout the region. Asio attributes that growth to consistency rather than promotion. “Advertising is overrated if your product is mid,” he said.
The name itself — Best Damn Espresso — is intentionally bold. Many businesses would hesitate to make such a claim. Asio sees it differently. “It’s actually me challenging myself,” he explained. “Every time I look at that truck, I see ‘Best Damn Espresso.’ The aspiration for being great at what we do happens every day.” That relentless pursuit of quality appears to resonate with customers.
Four years after launching, the company has expanded from a single truck to multiple units. Yet despite the growth, Asio and Angela remain focused on maintaining the same personal connection that defined the business from the beginning. They have also become unexpected pioneers in the local food-truck scene. “There wasn’t really a food truck presence in Great Barrington before we started,” Asio said. Today, several food trucks operate in the area, some inspired by their success. “The benefit is inspiring someone,” he said.
To receive daily updates on the truck’s location, customers can text “BDE” to 844-659-1203.
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A cold mountain brook that enters one of the New York City reservoirs.
Patrick L. Sullivan
I remember as a callow youth of 12 being instructed by an impossibly ancient codger -- hell, he was probably 65 -- that a Leadwing Coachman wet fly, size 10-14, would produce on the Esopus when nothing else would. In the intervening half century I have put this proposition to the test and found it accurate.
What was different this year was the isos were flying around. Usually we see their casings on the rocks, but not the adult mayflies in the air.
Adult mayfly.Patrick L. Sullivan
The first night it was all browns in the 14-18 range. The second night it was all rainbows in the 10-14 range.
That was early in the trip. Three days in, things warmed up considerably, and without any mitigating rain.
So the range of options was limited, and the preferred time of day was just before dawn. Note I said “preferred.” The actual start time varied depending on how late my attorney, Thos., and I stayed up watching Fu Manchu movies.
I low-crawled up a mountain brook at dawn with a Tenkara rod and did okay with wild browns. On the scramble out I had a brief and alarming encounter with a descendant of the Hound of the Baskervilles, whose owner helpfully said “Don’t make any sudden moves.”
“Any chance of a leash here?” I said in what I hoped was a cheerful, non-threatening tone of voice.
So there’s that.
Gary Dodson alerted us that the Spot That Must Not Be Named was in play. This is a cold mountain brook that enters one of the New York City reservoirs and depending on how full the latter is, forms a channel of cold water that mixes in with the warmer reservoir water. If the timing is right, the angler can latch into some decent trout and whatever else has fins and an inquisitive nature.
So one morning, while the boys worked the big deep cold pool by the bridge, I made my way downstream, deploying the stream thermometer frequently to try and figure out the magic spot where trout would be comfortable enough to hang out and nosh.
I used a favorite tactic: a dry/dropper rig, with a Chubby Chernobyl as the top fly and de facto bobber, and a series of nymphs and wet flies on an 18-24 inch fluorocarbon tipper dropper, 4X or 5X, tied directly to the bend of the Chubby’s hook.
This worked immediately, with good browns in the 16-18 inch range hitting the nymphs and a Jerry Shillcock isonychia wet fly pattern.
Trout.Patrick L. Sullivan
In a nod to tradition, I used one of my late father’s Orvis Battenkill bamboo rods for the purpose. It is eight feet long in three sections and weighs about 100 pounds. At least that’s how it feels after using graphite rods.
On the last morning the cold to warm water ratio was getting less favorable at the Spot. It was now or never.
Thos. was chucking dries up the big pool.
I waved him down, rerigged him with the dry-dropper combo and gave highly technical instructions.
“Walk around the left of that clump of vegetation, slowly so you don’t make a huge wake, and when the waves die down heave this in there and let it sit, and count to 30. Then twitch it a bit.”
Lo and behold, it worked.
On the medical front, my new right hip didn’t give me any trouble. I didn’t push it either.
Natalia Zukerman
She continued, “If you spray and kill both the predators and the pests, the pests always come back faster. But if you create habitat for the good bugs, eventually the balance returns.”
At Adamah, where a vibrant Jewish life is cultivated in deep connection with the earth, farming goes beyond sustainability, which asks only how to keep things from getting worse. Here, they practice regenerative agriculture, which asks how to leave the land healthier than it was found.
“Borei Pri Ha’Adamah,” is a Jewish blessing recited before eating vegetables and other foods that grow from the ground.Natalia Zukerman
Across the farm’s 20 acres, vegetables grow alongside perennial plantings, chestnut agroforestry, rotational grazing, compost systems and pollinator habitat. More than 100 pounds of food scraps from the Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center, with which the farm shares the land, are composted every day, feeding both the soil and a flock of laying hens. Cover crops protect and enrich the earth. Trees pull carbon from the atmosphere. Native flowers welcome insects that do work no pesticide can replicate.
“Our goal is to leave the land even more prolific than it would have been without us,” Siller said.
That vision reaches back thousands of years.
Long before “regenerative agriculture” became part of the modern farming vocabulary, Jewish law contained agricultural teachings that assumed the land itself required care, rest and reciprocity.
“There’s so much wisdom in approaching farming from a perspective of partnership,” said Siller.
According to one ancient Jewish teaching, pe’ah, farmers should leave the corners of their fields unharvested to allow people experiencing hunger to gather food.
Now, instead of leaving literal corners untouched, the farm intentionally grows food destined for local emergency food providers. Through its Food Access Fund, produce is planned — not simply donated after harvest — to supply regional pantries with fresh, culturally appropriate vegetables. The farm provides food for The Corner Pantry in Lakeville, Tri-Corner FEED in Millerton and other community partners.
“The law is really asking how we make sure everyone eats,” Siller said. “We reinterpret that to meet today’s reality.”
Another ancient practice, shmita, instructs that farmland rest every seventh year.
For a farm committed to feeding hundreds of local families, abandoning production for an entire season would create another kind of scarcity. Instead, Adamah interprets the principle through ecology.
Roughly one-seventh of the farm remains in cover crops and wildflowers, restoring soil health while creating habitat for native pollinators.
Participants in the educational fellowship program at Adamah define what being in Jewish community means to them.Natalia Zukerman
Rather than treating Jewish law as a rigid historical artifact, Adamah treats it as a living conversation, one that asks not only what previous generations practiced but what those values require now.
That distinction feels especially meaningful in a moment when Jewish identity is often flattened into political shorthand.
“It’s like the opposite of the internet here,” said Siller. “Here, people are in community with each other, understanding each other as whole people.”
Each participant in the educational fellowship program run by the farm defines what being in Jewish community means to them. Some arrive hoping to reconnect with ancestral agricultural traditions. Others come because they want to farm in a pluralistic Jewish community.
Jewish programming is only one aspect of Adamah’s work. Beyond its religious affiliation, Adamah is a community farm with a wide reach in the local community. For many in the region who join the farm’s CSA, Adamah is a source of fresh, seasonal produce. For local composters bringing their scraps, it’s a place where they can transform their food waste into rich fertilizer. For attendees of the farm’s public programs and children’s activities, Adamah offers connection to local food, soil and the ecosystem.
Hand-painted signs at Adamah Farm serve as blessings and reminders.Natalia Zukerman
This summer, Adamah educators are partnering with the David M. Hunt Library in Falls Village for four free, family-friendly workshops in the library’s community garden. On July 1, participants harvested basil to make pesto. On July 16, they’ll pickle cucumbers while learning the science of lacto-fermentation. On Aug. 4, they’ll press flowers and they’ll explore seed saving on Aug. 18.
“The library received a Sustainable and Resilient Communities Grant from the Association for Small and Rural Libraries,” Hunt Library executive director Meg Sher said. “That supported purchasing the seedings and compost for the garden from Adamah, as well as paying for the educational programming and supplies that go with it.”
The grant is also supporting a new Abundance Stand.
“The idea is for it to be a ‘leave what you want, take what you want’ stand,” said Sher. “When people have too many zucchinis, or kale, or flowers, they can drop them off at the Abundance Stand and other people can take what they want. It’s a way to share the abundance within our community.”
A squash blossom in all its golden glory.Natalia Zukerman
This spirit of sharing is one of Siller’s favorite parts of farming in this area. Knowledge itself is communal.
“Local farmers support each other,” Siller said. “We text each other all the time, like, ‘Are you seeing this bug? I’m seeing this bug. What are you doing about it?”
This openness is just another expression of a regenerative philosophy: Healthy ecosystems do not depend on sameness. They depend on diversity held in relationship.
The phacelia blooms for insects most visitors never notice. The compost nourishes organisms hidden beneath the soil. The corners of the field belong to someone the farmers may never meet.
And the work is rooted in trust that generosity, like healthy soil, becomes richer the more deeply it is cultivated.
Members of BalletCollective.
Parker Whitehead-Bus
This summer’s residency will feature new works by choreographers Shane Urton and Noelle Kayser, alongside Schumacher, all of whom are creating pieces for BalletCollective’s fall season. Running from July 13 through Aug. 2, the residency will bring dancers, choreographers and composers to the village as they develop new works that will premiere later this fall at New York City’s Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Joining the company in Millbrook will be dancers from New York City Ballet, including Davide Riccardo, Maya Milic, Simeon Neeld and Keenan Kiefer.
Parker Whitehead-Bus
The residency culminates with two public performances at Millbrook School on Aug. 1 and 2, offering audiences a rare opportunity to experience works in progress before they premiere in New York.
“Millbrook continues as the spine of how we develop new work,” said Schumacher. “The community here has become an essential part of our creative process.”
Schumacher’s connection to the region extends beyond the company’s annual residency. During the height of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, he organized “The Nutcracker at Wethersfield,” an ambitious outdoor production staged at the Wethersfield Estate in Amenia. The production became a symbol of artistic resilience during one of the performing arts’ most challenging periods and was later chronicled in the feature-length documentary “The Nutcracker at Wethersfield,” directed by acclaimed filmmaker Anne Sundberg.
As BalletCollective celebrates its 15th anniversary season, Millbrook remains at the heart of the company’s creative process. For three weeks each summer, the village becomes a creative laboratory where choreographers, dancers and composers experiment, collaborate and refine new work before sharing it with the community that has helped nurture the company for more than a decade.
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