SALISBURY — Salisbury expanded its affordable housing stock in 2025 with the addition of four new three-bedroom homes developed by the Salisbury Housing Trust. Two of the homes were built at 26 and 28 Undermountain Rd, with another two constructed at the top of Perry Street in Lakeville.
Motorists and students from The Hotchkiss School will soon benefit from a new sidewalk along Sharon Road (Route 41) connecting the school to Lakeville village. In November, Salisbury was awarded $800,000 in state funding to construct the sidewalk along the southbound side of the road, linking it to the existing sidewalk between Main Street and Wells Hill Road.
Residents of Salisbury and Sharon will also see changes to how household waste is handled. On Oct. 29, the governor’s office announced that the Salisbury/Sharon Transfer Station had received a state grant to implement a unit-based pricing system — commonly known as “pay as you throw” — and to expand composting operations.
The state Department of Energy and Environmental Protection (DEEP) awarded the transfer station $266,692 through its Sustainable Materials Management grant program. The funds will support a gradual, three-phase transition to a pay-per-bag model to replace the current $150 flat fee paid by households. Both the Salisbury and Sharon selectmen endorsed the application when it was submitted in June.
After a sustained three-year effort, the highly invasive hydrilla plant appears to be gone from East Twin Lake. “The good news is, the hydrilla is pretty much gone. We have not found anything,” George Knoecklein of Northeast Aquatic Research (NEAR), the Twin Lakes Association’s limnologist, reported during an Oct. 8 meeting of local, state and federal scientists, environmentalists and stakeholders at O’Hara’s Landing Marina.
But the town and the Lake Wononscopomuc Association will keep a ban on outside boats in effect at Lake Wononscopomuc, also known as Lakeville Lake, for the third year.
The lake has not been affected by hydrilla, and to keep it that way the boat launch is closed to watercraft from anywhere else. To make up for this, the town Grove boat launch has paddle boards, kayaks, canoes and row boats, plus trolling motors for anglers, available for rent.
Water also featured prominently in local achievements, as Salisbury’s Phoebe Conklin, 14, competed at the YMCA National Long Course Swimming Championships in Ocala, Florida. Conklin qualified for nationals in the 50-meter freestyle, 100-meter freestyle and 100-meter butterfly.
New around town: The Grassland Dessert Cafe and Lakeville Books and Stationery opened for business in Lakeville.
Meanwhile, Craig Davis and Keavy Bedell opened East Mountain House in Lakeville, an end-of-life care facility designed to accommodate up to two guests at a time. The facility welcomed its first guest in mid-September.
The Rev. Heidi Truax retired after 16 years at the helm of Trinity Episcopal Church in Lime Rock.By Patrick L. Sullivan
In August, Rev. Johan Johnson assumed leadership at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Salisbury. Johnson is also the chaplain at Salisbury School.
And in June, Rev. Heidi Truax retired from Trinity Episcopal Church in Lime Rock at the end of June after 16 years.
Before saying farewell, Truax gave the pre-race invocation June 29 when NASCAR returned to Lime Rock Park for the first time since 2011. It was billed as the largest event in modern track history with an estimated 20,000 fans attending for the weekend of pro racing.
A few months later, on Saturday, Sept. 20, a small aircraft carrying two people crashed at Lime Rock Park after making an emergency landing due to a reported mechanical failure. The area was closed while officials investigated the incident and contained a small fuel leak.
Lime Rock’s Emergency Services team was the first to respond, and director Keith Byrne said the pilot was uninjured while the passenger may have sustained minor injuries.
“It was a huge relief once we saw them getting out the plane with nothing on fire,” Byrne said of arriving on the scene.
Saturday mornings on the town Green near the White Hart have long been the time and place for political activism. This has become supercharged since the start of the second Trump administration, with “No Kings” protesters turning out in significant numbers.
The summer reading program at the Scoville Memorial Library wrapped up Aug. 23 with an emphasis on bubbles. Lots of bubbles.By Patrick L. Sullivan
The Scoville Memorial Library maintained a busy schedule of programs throughout the year, often in partnership with organizations such as the Salisbury Association. A brief and necessarily selective sampling included a June 12 presentation by Michael LaScaleia, a scientist with the Arnold Arboretum in Boston, who guided audiences through the strange and often surprising world of caterpillars and invasive plants.
Ornithologist George E. Wallace highlighted recent conservation efforts directed at bird species in Hawaii during a presentation on March 13.
And leading up to the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, the library bought multiple copies of Russell Shorto’s “Revolution Song: The Story of America’s Founding in Six Remarkable Lives” and gave them out to complement a series of Revolution-centered activities and events.
Meanwhile, the normally placid confines of the Salisbury post office were briefly disrupted when patrons arrived to find the building closed on Monday, March 17, with a notice on the locked door warning of asbestos abatement.
Postal customers were directed to the Lakeville post office for their mail.
Salisbury Postmaster Lisa Hoage said the floor of the Salisbury facility had been in poor condition for some time. The matter was dealt with quickly and the post office was back up and running in a matter of days.
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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