MILLERTON — Nearly a year and a half after opening The Dig in Millerton, Katja Schultz has decided to close the café and store for good on Friday, Dec. 31. The village resident poured her heart and energy into creating an accessible, comfortable community space at 3 Main St. Yet when 2022 arrives, the village will find that cheerful space of everyday enjoyment vacant, another casualty of the COVID pandemic and the economy that has fallen ill alongside it.
The Dig
Schultz and her husband James teamed up with their friend, Raquel Madar, to open The Dig in August 2020. Since then, it has become a place where people can purchase groceries sourced from local vendors and do so much more.
They can engage in community events, purchase artwork by local artists, treat themselves to fresh smoothies and crepes and pass time in its relaxing outdoor patio space.
Working alongside the owners are Webutuck High School students Kaitlyn Cope and Avery Wickwire, multiple volunteers and members of Schultz’s family, including her mother Natalie Pere.
Yet even with The Dig’s initial success, Schultz understood the all-consuming nature of running a small business, especially in Millerton. Over time, she said it became obvious that she and her mom couldn’t sustain The Dig wasn’t, between the time commitment and the challenge of hiring people in today’s climate.
Deciding it was a lot for her and her family, Schultz said. “We had met our goals and I felt like this was the right time to close. It felt like we had a good season one and we didn’t want to have a bad season two.”
Despite their loss, Schultz said she and her mother will be celebrating till the end of the month — in other words, they plan to go out with a bang.
The Dig will be open Fridays through Mondays from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m., with a blowout sale before Christmas and plenty of fun before closing on the 31st.
Considering her future beyond The Dig, Schultz said her first goal is to ski as much as possible with her children and enjoy her weekends with them. Though she’ll no longer be an active merchant in the village business community, she wants to shift her focus and time to learn how to help other local businesses thrive.
Boiling the community’s needs down to one word, Schultz said she believes the Millerton merchants need more connection. She consulted with Lynn Caponera, who owns the building at 3 Main St., about the community’s needs, along with other Millerton business owners about how to stimulate more commerce.
Shultz has also discussed how to offer incentives in town “that are different but are mostly needed” to draw people in. She also wants to highlight the community’s existing resources to attract more visitors and figure out how to translate the digital world of connections into actual experiences.
Going forward, Schultz, who remains open to learning new information, hopes to bridge people together with new ideas — almost as a community liaison. Recognizing the devotion local business owners pour into their enterprises and the challenge of making a profit these days, she wants to make a difference with what she learned from running The Dig and help other merchants prosper.
3 Main St.
Before The Dig, 3 Main St. was previously occupied by a small grocer, the Millerton Mercantile. Caponera explained she originally bought the building with the intention of having her nephew and nieces run it as a small farm grocery store for residents who couldn’t drive to a supermarket.
Opening in the summer of 2019, Caponera’s nephew, Stephen Murphy, managed the Millerton Mercantile for just more a year before it closed.
Based on her experience, Caponera said running a business in Millerton is a dream, given all the support fellow merchants give each other. However, there are challenges with limited parking in the village and the enormous time commitment.
“For the people who actually run it, you really have to have it be your only job because it really is a full-time job,” Caponera said. “What happened with us, we thought it would sort of seamlessly run itself, but there’s so much involved in running anything to do with food. It was really a labor-intensive operation.”
A shifting Main Street
From what she’s heard from other vendors who occupied 3 Main St., Thorunn Kristjansdottir, who heads up the Millerton Business Alliance (MBA), recognizes the parking challenge, especially at the top of Main Street,which has “nothing but office spaces around it.” With The Dig leaving that space, Kristjansdottir said there’s no major draw to that part of Main Street. Instead, the business community appears to taper off around the businesses located on Railroad Plaza, where the Harney Tea Room is with Golden Wok and Country Gardeners Florist.
There is the popular Moonwake Yoga, though, on the second floor at 5 Main St., run by owner Kate Shanley (formerly called Buddhi Tribe).
“Whenever there’s a new business that opens or someone moves to town, we’re always excited… to have a new offering to the mix of offerings available in Millerton,” Kristjansdottir said. “The business owner has to make the decision. No matter what that decision is [when a business closes], it’s always a loss for the community.”
Along with filling the vacant space on Main Street, Kristjansdottir said she hopes “something opens up that has a draw for itself and be another flavor to add to the mixture of Millerton.”
“I always get a little concerned when businesses close west on Main Street,” said Mayor Jenn Najdek, “but we’ve been pretty fortunate. Usually when something closes, it’s not too long before something else takes its place.”
Asked what she’d like to see as the space’s next prospective business, Caponera said it would be great to have a store similar to The Dig or the Millerton Mercantile — something that won’t create a lot of noise and perhaps offer a gathering spot and local groceries.
Caponera advised anyone interested in renting 3 Main St. to get in touch with agent Brad Rebillard at Dutchess County Realty in Millerton.
From left, workers at The Dig Avery Wickwire, Natalie Pere, Kaitlyn Cope, Zachary Pere and co-owner Katja Schultz greeted customers at the popular 3 Main St. site in Millerton. Photo by Aly Morrissey Photography
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
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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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