The Romance of Route 62

Two years ago

There’s no news this week. Dr. Fathi is researching clinical trials that David might qualify to join. We continue to drive along the Charles River on Storrow Drive to Mass General every Monday and Thursday. I know every manhole cover along the scenic parkway.
His white blood cell count says it all. On October 6, David’s WBC count is a very low 2.2: only 2.6% are leukemic blasts. By October 26, the WBC count is 15.5: 65% are blasts. Likelihood of a cure: infinitesimal.

Late October 2016

          The stressful month-long anticipation approaching the second anniversary of Dr. Fathi's pronouncement, "infinitesimal", melts away and Jim and I enjoy two autumnal outings this week.

Hartford Temple

Wednesday, we go to the open house of the Hartford Connecticut Temple (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). The drive west on the Mass Pike and Interstate 84 is glorious; trees of flame-orange, yellow, and red, dazzling in the bright sunlight; a new vista over every hill. After our tour we stop for lunch at the Elbow Room--an American Joint restaurant in West Hartford. The day is fine and the rooftop dining is open. Fondly we remember the many visits to R'els during the four years of her psychiatry residency here.

Route 1 last month, what next?

On Friday we take a central Massachusetts foliage trip. Rain threatens, but we press on. I’ve planned our trip: Massachusetts Route 62 all the way to its western terminus at Barre, east of the Quabbin Reservoir, in central Massachusetts. I’ve great affection for Route 62. It intersects our street just 3 miles north of our house. In the road atlas it wends its way through small towns and countryside. The actual experience is enchanting. Each town has a white-steepled church along one side of a neatly-kept common.

October in Central Massachusetts

At Barre we walk into the folksy Colonel Isaac Barre Gift Shop. Wooden signs with whimsical sayings,

My favorite saying in the Barre gift shop

home decorating items, candles, knick-knacks, and old books. A wall-size historical map of Barre illustrates the mansions of prosperous, nineteenth-century Barre. We chat with the shopkeeper, who loves the small-town living. In the back of the store garments wrapped in plastic hang on a long rack. She explains: the shop used to be a dry cleaners. Now she accept clothes during the day and a van takes them to the next town every evening. Sometimes a customer comes in after the pick up, but before the driver has left town. The shopkeeper takes the clothes and puts them in the back of the van. There are apartments above the shop and sometimes someone will call her: the cell phone coverage is spotty and he needs to get a message to his wife at home. She runs upstairs with the message. Mayberry R.F.D. right here in New England.

Our last stop is Petersham. Another white church, another town green with granite war memorials.  We wander into the Memorial Library, another throwback to an earlier era. Behind the circulation desk is a huge marble slab honoring its citizen-soldiers of the Civil War. Across the green is a small monument, marking where Shays' Rebellion (1786-1787) ended.

Shays' Rebellion plaque in Petersham

I've only seen these signs in New England

          We wander north and drive back on Route 2, stopping at a roadside farm stand in Concord for a pumpkin and some local apples.

Total distance: 143.3 miles. Total driving time: 4 hours, 4 minutes.

That evening I see 'James Madison', in frock coat and wig, discuss the contentious political climate around 1800, not unlike today. Much as I love the Broadway musical Hamilton, I realize Lin-Manuel doesn’t do him justice. Madison, an articulate, genteel, and refined Virginian gently chides us for the rough, even rude character of the citizens of Massachusetts. But he graciously spends the evening enlightening our minds.