A Bit o' History

I'm having trouble saying the word 'Athol.'  I'm afraid that a hush will fall over the room and I'll be banished from respectable society.  What is its origin, anyway?  If I know this, then maybe I'll get over my irrational fear.  Or maybe they can just change the name back to 'Pequoiag,' after the Indian tribe that lived in this area before the 1700's.  A much better choice, in my opinion.  According to a local source (my landlord),  a group of people recently tried to get the name changed, but their efforts were unsuccessful.  So we're stuck with 'Athol' for awhile.

So anyhoo,  Athol was settled in the 1760's by a group of 5 families of Scottish descent.  The area reminded them of their home in Blair Atholl, Scotland, and the name means "pleasant place."

There you go.  I'm living in a pleasant place.  My peeps in the Pioneer Valley warned me that I was moving to a wasteland...no restaurants, no live music or culture, lots of poverty, and generally speaking not much to do.   It's true that resources are more limited...it's rural...but this area has a lot of breathtaking natural beauty and more than its share of local color and flavor.  Here's a pic from my first hike at Tully Lake, about a 10 minute drive from my new abode:

Pretty awesome, huh?

Athol has suffered the same fate as many other New England factory towns, which were booming in the 1800's and well into the 20th century.  A variety of factors led to their decline, and I believe that Athol got hit harder than most.  It's off the beaten path and more isolated both in terms of geography and access to transportation.  It's nicknamed "Tool Town" - the largest employer is the L.S. Starrett Company, which makes precision tools for machinists and tool and die makers.  My next task is to determine why this company survives and thrives, while many others did not.  But that's for another day.

Moving Day

Today is moving day.

The transitions have come fast and furious.  I put my house on the market in May...it sold with dizzying speed.  Which meant that I had to move out in June and sublet an apartment for the summer.

I left my heart on Stanford Street

My sweet cat Samantha died in June.  I adopted her the week I started medical school sixteen years ago, and she had been my constant companion all through my training and into practice.  Interesting that she chose to leave at this time in my life!  Almost as if she felt that her task of taking care of me through all these doctorin' years was complete. Boy I miss her and her lovely, loyal, sometimes cantankerous nature.

Thursday was my last day of work.  I didn't think I would cry, but I walked into my office to find my desk completely covered with gifts and cards, and the waterworks commenced.

And Holyoke!  I've made some amazing friends there.  It's a place that I've fallen in love with, and I'll miss it dearly.

So today I head off to my new diggs in Athol.  I don't know a soul there, but I know that I soon will.  New challenges...new experiences...vámanos!

Farming 101

Pinch me.  Am I really doing this?  Am I really leaving my medical practice for an organic farming apprenticeship?  Yes.  Do I know what I'm getting myself into?  Sort of.  Am I having any second thoughts?  Nope.

How, might you ask, am I preparing for farm life?   I have a summer reading list: "The Dirty Life" by Kristin Kimball; "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver; and "The Omnivore's Dilemma" by Michael Pollan.  And a whole list of resources that people have been enthusiastically providing me since I announced my intentions.  Plus a pair of wellies.  All of this should adequately prepare me for the farm, right?  Right.

When I say "Farming 101" I am not kidding.  The extent of my farming experience consists of raised beds of tomatoes, herbs and wildflowers in my backyard in the 'burbs of Holyoke:

My biggest worry, of all things, is being cold.  I don't like being cold.  But, I take solace in the words of a friend: "There's no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing."  I intend to take this piece of information to heart and buy out the fleece-lined outerwear inventory at the Duluth Trading Company.  Oh, and I admit that I'm a little anxious about chopping wood.  My brother tried to teach me to use an axe last year.  I timidly brought it down on a piece of firewood, only to have it bounce off and hit me in the shin.  Never fear, I wasn't maimed, just bruised and a tad embarrassed.

Here we go!

The Farm School: http://www.farmschool.org/index.html