Ambulance response times to life-threatening emergencies in parts of northeastern Dutchess County were among the slowest in the county last year, according to newly released county data. Region 5, which includes Amenia, Dover, North East and the Village of Millerton, ranked last among the county’s seven EMS regions for the percentage of life-threatening calls reached within nine minutes — a benchmark widely used to measure acceptable response times.
The poor ranking comes even after Dutchess County spent roughly $4 million over two years on a supplemental emergency medical service program intended to improve coverage and response times.
In North East, ambulances reached Priority 1 calls within the nine-minute benchmark only half of the time, while in Amenia the rate dropped to 33%.
County-wide, ambulances reached those life-threatening calls within nine minutes 69% of the time.
In Pine Plains, ambulances took an average of nearly 13 minutes to arrive, and only 29% of critical calls were reached within nine minutes.
The response time data includes both municipal ambulance services that towns contract for — such as North East’s current contract with Empress, which will climb from $511,558 to $696,345 this year, a 36.1% increase — and the county’s supplemental EMS program, which adds ambulances, fly cars and technology to fill gaps in coverage.
But the data suggests rural communities in northeastern Dutchess received little direct support from those supplemental services. North East received just one supplemental EMS dispatch during the entire year, while Pine Plains and Milan each received 13, Amenia received eight, and Stanford and Millbrook each received fewer than 10.
Local legislators and municipal leaders say the numbers highlight an urgent need for short-term collaboration while the county develops a broader, long-term plan to address the region’s EMS challenges.
While the countywide average response time for life-threatening calls is just over eight minutes from dispatch to arrival, northeastern Dutchess towns see significantly longer waits.
The data comes on the heels of last year’s announcement that Empress Emergency Medical Services would absorb Northern Dutchess Paramedics, a move that further consolidates ambulance services in the area under a private provider backed by private equity. Empress EMS is owned by PatientCare EMS, a portfolio company of Grant Avenue Capital LLC, a healthcare-focused private equity firm.
Dutchess County Legislator Eric Alexander (D-25), who chairs the Public Safety Committee, and Vice Chair Chris Drago (D-19) invited Dutchess County Commissioner of the Department of Emergency Response (DER) William H. Beale to speak at last week’s Public Safety Committee meeting.
“We’re increasingly dependent on one provider of EMS,” Alexander said, addressing Commissioner Beale. He shared his concerns that the purchase of NDP by Empress is bordering on a monopoly.
Chris Drago — who represents the towns of North East, Pine Plains, Milan, Red Hook and Clinton — speaks about the struggle to afford quality emergency medical service in the rural area he represents during a meeting of the Dutchess County Legislature's Public Safety Committee on Wednesday, March 4.Photo by Aly Morrissey
“They see the growth of the market, an aging population, and I think they also see the opportunity to demand premium pricing and to defend it over the long term,” he said, adding that he doesn’t believe private companies think counties or towns will push back.
“The service is quickly growing beyond what is affordable,” Alexander added, pointing specifically to the Town of North East, which is expected to pay around $700,000 next year for its existing contract with Empress — one that was transferred from NDP.
Alexander and Drago asked Beale to address the state of EMS in the county and what the $4 million supplemental services program has achieved after two years.
Beale, who was appointed in August 2025, outlined his department’s efforts to date and shared next steps, acknowledging that residents in the northeastern parts of the county have seen limited support from supplemental services.
“It’s a multipronged approach,” Beale said of the county’s current efforts to improve EMS countywide. He said the Department of Emergency Response has expanded regional collaboration meetings with town officials and first responders, while also working to continue tracking and transparently sharing data across the county.
Beale pointed to workforce development efforts aimed at addressing a shortage of emergency responders, including initiatives to streamline EMT and paramedic certification.
The next step, he said, is preparing for a comprehensive countywide EMS plan now required by the state. Under legislation passed by Gov. Kathy Hochul earlier this year, counties must develop detailed EMS plans, while municipalities will also be expected to evaluate and plan for their own emergency response plans.
In an email to local municipal leaders, Town of Milan Supervisor Bill Jeffway said the region “needs to address immediate, short-term EMS needs as we all work with the County and State on longer-term solutions.”
Jeffway said an ad-hoc committee, advised by Dutchess County Legislator Chris Drago, was formed to support EMS services. The group will host a region-wide meeting to brainstorm ways small towns and villages can collaborate on short-term solutions.
The purpose of the meeting will be to hear from Jonathan Washko, Assistant Vice President Emergency Medical Services for Northwell Health — a company that some local leaders are hopeful could serve as a stop-gap option in the region. Washko, considered to be a leading industry expert, is expected to share what Northwell can offer locally.
Commissioner Beale said he and his team have met with Northwell Health recently and he is hopeful that Northwell’s ambulances and EMTs can be onboarded into the county’s existing dispatch.
“If they have units available in northern Dutchess County at Northern Dutchess Hospital, or if they have units available at Sharon Hospital, they could potentially serve northeastern Dutchess County,” Beale said. “It may take some time, but we will be moving forward on developing that plan very quickly.”
Beale also said that Northwell Health does not contract with specific municipalities, which could be a welcome change from other private companies like Empress.
Legislator Drago said he is advocating for a pilot program in northern Dutchess County and will be attending the upcoming meeting with local municipal leaders.
A protester holds a sign at Fountain Square in Amenia on March 28, where more than 200 people gathered as part of the nationwide “No Kings” demonstrations.
Kim Travis of Amenia — who organized the rally at Fountain Square — said the demonstration reflected a dramatic shift from her early days protesting alone, when she faced threats while standing by herself.
“This started with just me, alone in June — day after day, getting threats,” Travis said. “To see it grow into more than 200 people today for this ‘No Kings’ rally in our little-bitty town of Amenia is incredible.”
She said the turnout reflected broader support across rural communities. There were several rallies in towns across Dutchess County and in neighboring Connecticut.
Travis described the mood of the Amenia crowd as both emotional and energizing.
“Our hearts are filled with joy — it’s just incredible that so many people turned out today,” she said.
She added that the message of the protest was rooted in democratic values.
“We want our country back, and we want democracy,” Travis said. “We the people serve no kings. That’s what the Constitution is all about.”
Protesters display an upside down American flag in Amenia on March 28, where more than 200 people gathered as part of the nationwide “No Kings” demonstrations.Photo by Aly Morrissey
Ellie Myers, a senior boarding student at Millbrook School who lives in Brooklyn, attended the Fountain Square protests and said she has been protesting since Donald Trump was first elected in 2016.
“Showing up is really important to me, and I’m grateful to be in a community where I can support others,” Myers said. “Right now, ICE is the biggest issue. I have friends and family who have been affected — hardworking immigrants who came here for freedom and haven’t found it. That’s heartbreaking. It goes against what ‘we the people’ is supposed to mean, and it’s painful to see, both in the news and in real life.”
Myers added that she witnessed ICE in the airports during recent travel back to school and it was “heartbreaking.”
Dutchess County Legislator Eric Alexander, who represents Amenia and surrounding communities, also attended the rally, noting it followed a unanimous county resolution opposing a proposed ICE facility in the Hudson Valley.
“That wasn’t just Democrats,” Alexander said. “That was the entire legislature unanimously saying no to ICE, and a lot of that came from the voice of the people — the people we represent.”
Alexander said the size of the rally stood out, noting its growth from a single protester to a dozen regular participants and ultimately more than 200 attendees.
“I see a great sense of community, and I see a great sense of optimism,” he said. “But I also see high frustration. People are very concerned, and I think that concern is only growing as we see more and more of what’s going on in our country.”
He said the country is in a war that hasn’t sufficiently been explained to the American people, dysfunction is rampant at airports, and prices of everything from gas to groceries are soaring.
“And we don’t see an end in sight — we don’t see a plan,” he said. “These are people standing out here today saying we, as citizens, deserve to have our voices heard and to try to get some things to change.”
Protesters at Fountain Square in Amenia on March 28.Photo by Aly Morrissey
Several other local protests took place in Dutchess County, including in Rhinebeck, Poughkeepsie and Beacon.
Meanwhile, similar demonstrations took place across the border in Connecticut.
In Salisbury, several hundred people gathered along Route 44, where organizers set up signs and encouraged participants to share messages. In Cornwall, organizers estimated more than 300 attendees at the intersection of Route 7 and Route 4. Meanwhile, in Kent, both sides of Main Street were lined with protesters, with turnout estimated at more than 250.
As the rallies wound down, organizers such as Travis said the protests would not stop.
“A lot of the surrounding small towns showed up, too, because we want to show the rest of the country that small towns can be strong, loud and resist just as much as anyone,” she said. “And we intend to, and we’re not stopping.”
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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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