Subscribers get unlimited access to every weekly edition, the full archive, and all Special Sections.
Already a subscriber?
Already a subscriber but aren’t registered for online access? Click here .
You're signed in — but we couldn't find an active subscription.
Your subscription is active — you now have unlimited access to Millerton News online, including the e-edition and archives.
Want more of our stories on Google? Click here to make us a Preferred Source.
From then on, whenever our 2012 Mazda 3 has needed a tuneup, new brakes, tires or a new exhaust pipe, we’ve taken our car only to Dave. (It still purrs like a kitten when driven.) When you know diddly-squat about cars like I do but love the car you have so much you want it to last a couple of hundred thousand miles, you need a mechanic who knows his stuff, will be there for you and is fair and trustworthy. That’s Jones.
The second of four children, he was born not far away, in Sharon. When he was in grammar school, however, the family moved to Florida and stayed for five years. While only in his early teens, he started using what he simply calls his “knack for cars” to take engines apart and put them together again. “I made lots of mistakes,” he said.
It wasn’t until his family moved back to Connecticut and he was 16, a junior enrolled in a work/study program at Housatonic Valley Regional High School, that his car tinkering turned serious. Jones got a job working at Arnold’s Garage in Canaan, driving back and forth in what he considers his first “real car,” a ’69 Mustang. To this day, he still drives his second “real car” — a ’68 Dodge Dart that, when he was younger, he drove in drag races at Lebanon track.
After his stint at Arnold’s, Jones spent the next several years working at a succession of garages — Autosport in Sharon, Jack’s Auto Service in Wassaic and Hans Rocke in Lakeville. He then spent five years working with his father doing excavation but, realizing that was “a wrong turn,” returned to Autosport for another five years.
Jones also moonlighted, repairing friends’ cars in his yard in Salisbury. Growing tired of the buildup of cars on his property and, more importantly, realizing he’d be a lot better off financially if he opened his own shop, he took the plunge and purchased an abandoned gas station in downtown Lakeville in 1996, converting it into Lakeville Automotive.
Dave Jones, owner and chief mechanic at Lakeville Auto. Laurie Fendrich
He had to teach himself the business and bookkeeping side of things, which he says led to some mistakes that cost him considerable money. Eventually, he learned enough — along with his know-how with cars — to make his shop succeed.
Now, 30 years later and in his late 60s, Jones is at the point in his life where he’s “figuring out how to land the plane.” Not quite ready to retire, he’s deliberately slowing things down. For almost a year, he’s been without an assistant mechanic and, by choice, is working strictly on his own.
Several years ago, Dave bought a 25-foot pontoon boat. For the past eight years, he and his longtime partner, Edith Hanzy, have spent their summers moving lazily about Twin Lakes. In the fall, they have the boat wrapped up, and in March, they tow it south to Florida, where they’ve been renting the same house in Cape Coral for the past eight years. There, they moor the boat right outside their home and spend days and nights traversing the 400 miles of canals in the area, spotting manatees, beautiful birds and dolphins trailing them by day and gazing at the stars at night.
Jones reflects that it’s not as much fun working on cars as it was in his youth. Newer models have a plethora of electronic control modules (ECMs) and don’t require his kind of mind/eye/hand intelligence. He says — almost but not quite jokingly — that “Cars are evil.”
He doesn’t mean environmentally, although he understands the impact of internal combustion engines on our planet. He means the feeling that there are malevolent forces at work when you labor on a car. Only someone whose knowledge is built on years of experience working with his hands knows what it feels like for a bolt to suddenly, and for no reason, snap in half, thereby turning an hour-long repair job into a full day’s work.
Here’s to Jones taking a long, slow approach to landing that plane of his. Many of us want him to stay in Lakeville for a lot longer and not entertain any ideas about sailing away to Florida.
Hungry Reaper Farm founders and managers Will O’Meara and Jill Verzino
Both O’Meara and Verzino have extensive experience growing food. Verzino grew up helping her grandmother tend her quintessential Italian vegetable garden. O’Meara started working on farms when he was just 16, got a degree in sustainable food and farming from UMass Amherst and managed other farms before the couple, who have been dating since high school, decided to start their own.
Part of their decision to strike out on their own was based on a desire to do things differently. Local organic food can often feel like a luxury reserved for the privileged and budget-blind. They wanted to bring their produce to a wider audience. Since starting on one acre of rented land, they’ve worked with food pantries, local municipalities, schools and other nonprofits to get their fresh produce in the hands and mouths of people who don’t traditionally have access to such high-quality food. They also landed on a pretty provocative name, with edgy branding to boot.
Verzino, who trained as a visual artist, is responsible for all of the branding. She seems to have an affinity for the medieval and macabre. But more than just a personal preference, it’s a way for them to stand apart from the standard farm branding, which, though often adorable, can start to blend together. Nobody forgets a bag of organic lettuce with a grim reaper sticker on it. After all, Verzino says, “farming is all about sex and death.”
That preference for the weird and unique doesn’t stop with their brand. The couple, who both grew up in the area, used to see a lot of live music. They reminisce about the now-closed Cafe Napoli in Watertown, where they could see a new band with a new sound every week. To them, the small, independent acts seemed to speak the same language as their approach to food and farming. They wanted to find a way to bring that kind of experience to their community.
As they worked their fields, three stately hickory trees towered over the crops. “We like experimental music. We like creative people. We like trees,” Verzino said.
This, they decided, was where they would harvest their next offering — live music.
Will O’Meara, Jill Verzino and the three hickories.D.H. Callahan
Playing the first show at The Three Hickories are a couple of experimental acts indeed. The headliner is Old Saw from Ripton, Vermont. Led by composer Henry Birdsey, the ensemble makes experimental ambient music using a wide variety of unexpected instruments. More than songs, each piece feels like a weathered tapestry cloaking the whole scene in haunting textures. A larger-than-life sound emerges from their instruments like an ancient giant awaking from its gothic slumber.
Opening the show is the Knife Kickers from right down the road in Thomaston, Connecticut. Singer and guitarist John Zacarria is the nucleus of this rotating lineup. Sometimes he plays by himself, and sometimes he brings his friends. Rumor has it he’ll be joined by the cellist featured on his last release, “an acoustic album.”
November might seem like an odd time to launch a DIY outdoor concert in Connecticut, but O’Meara and Verzino aren’t just relying on the hearty nature of New Englanders. To warm the audience and musicians, they’ve enlisted the help of pop-up coffee cart Backdrifter Coffee. Still, a sweater and some gloves might be a good idea, just in case.
For tickets and more information about the farm, visit hungryreaperfarm.com.
Want more of our stories on Google? Click here to make us a Preferred Source.
The board’s job was to find savings — it found a school to close instead