Cream of the crop: North Canaan dairy farms trace a rich history

Sandy Carlson tended to her young stock at Carlwood Farm.
Photo by Riley Klein

NORTH CANAAN — Before daybreak over the rolling hills of the Northwest Corner, Sandy Carlson was down in the milk parlor at Carlwood Farm: the last remaining dairy farm on Canaan Valley Road.
“I don’t eat breakfast until after my cows,” she said.
As recently as the 1960s, dozens of dairy farms lined Canaan Valley Road, with many more operating throughout the rest of North Canaan.
The farms may be mostly gone, but the ones that remain are hopeful for the future.
Against all odds, there were more milk cows in North Canaan in 2023 than ever before. Just four dairy operations remain in the small farm town: Laurelbrook Farm, Elm Knoll Farm, Canaan View Farm, and Carlwood Farm.
Combined, their barns house over 2,000 milk cows.
The federal Department of Agriculture’s 2022 Dairy Data report showed that in the last 50 years, Connecticut’s dairy cow population has dropped from about 57,000 in 1972 down to 18,000 in 2022.
Over 10% of the state’s remaining milk cows reside in North Canaan.
Canaan History Center’s Kathryn Boughton said the town’s lactose legacy can be traced back to favorable land evaluations in the 1730s.
“Canaan, when it was sold at auction in New London in 1738, had the highest price-per-acre of all of the five towns here because it had the best soil,” she said.
In the 18th and early-19th centuries, farming in the region was necessary for self-sufficiency. During this period, milk was highly perishable and the surest way to obtain fresh, safe milk was to own a cow.
Boughton recalled about 25 active dairy farms on Canaan Valley Road as late as the 1960s, all of which operated on a much smaller scale than today’s farms in the East Canaan section of town.
Even up to the time when I was born, there were a lot of farms,” said Boughton. “My great-uncle, who farmed very much as his father had farmed at the time of the Civil War, had 12 cows and that supported a family of five people,” she said.
It was not until the mid-19th century that dairy farming became a viable business venture. Large dairy farms with delivery services did exist, but few found success until pasteurization was discovered in 1862.
Arguably the first successful large-scale milk business in the nation was opened in Burrville, Connecticut, in 1851 by entrepreneur Gail Borden.
Borden held a patent on “milk extract” and used this to create condensed milk. A journal entry made by an unidentified Shaker in June 1853, provided courtesy of the Canaan History Center, described Borden’s business model and the process of evaporating milk:
“Inventor of patent milk extract wants our folks to take up the business of making. Be kind of an agent for him. Does down a few gallons of milk in our Laboratory this eve. Pays $7 & half dollars for the milk & privilege. The process as I understand consists in boiling away all the watery principle from the milk. Bottle it up & twill keep forever if you don’t throw it away. Whenever you want it to use add 3 fourths hot water and let it cool. Makes first rate new milk!”
Fueled by demand in the Civil War, in 1862 Borden’s company was producing an average of 16,000 quarts per month. At the turn of the century, the company went public and in 1901 Borden’s company opened a facility in Canaan.
Situated near Union Station in North Canaan, the location offered easy access to New York via the railroad and dozens of dairy farms in the area contributed to milk production.
The beginning of the 20th century also saw the departure of many local crop farmers who went West in search of cheaper land that was better suited to farming.
“They discovered they could make a better living on green fields than they could on New England stone,” said Boughton. “They were all moving out to Ohio.”
In the coming decades, the region’s iron ore industry faded into oblivion and left an economic void in North Canaan. A surplus of available and affordable land created new opportunities for would-be farmers.
“The last furnace went down in ‘23. That was a very dirty, nasty business and the farms were fallow for a while,” said Boughton. “[Farms] were selling for a dime on a dollar and so you begin to get people coming in from the city.”
In the 1930s and 1940s, the opportunity attracted several new farmers to North Canaan who took up dairy farming in town. Each remaining dairy farm in North Canaan today can trace its origins to this period.
Robert and Dottie Jacquier founded Laurelbrook Farm in East Canaan with 18 cows in 1948. Today, their grandchildren Cricket and Bobby Jacquier operate the farm, which now houses well over a thousand milk cows and employs 22 non-family members.
“We milk 1,400 cows three times a day,” said Cricket Jacquier. “Two guys can do 200 cows an hour.”
Like the other three remaining dairy farms in North Canaan, Laurelbrook is an Agri-Mark Cabot Creamery Cooperative farm. Cricket Jacquier is chairman of the board at Cabot.
Laurelbrook grew from about 500 cows in 1991 to become one of the four largest dairy farms in Connecticut.
“In 1992, right after I graduated, we had to make a decision whether we were going to stay farming in East Canaan or we’re going to move to Western New York,” said Cricket Jacquier. “We made a big decision then. Our roots were from here, and we were just going to make it work.”
Laurelbrook has begun to diversify its operation in recent years with a focus on environmental sustainability.
“My brother and I now own and operate Laurelbrook Natural Resources,” said Cricket Jacquier as he showed the composting tents behind Laurelbrook’s corn fields. “These are manure solids. All of this composting is sold to landscapers and nurseries in the area.”
To survive into the next generation, Cricket Jacquier said diversification will be key.
He credited Laurelbrook’s success to adapting to a changing milk market and above all else, happy cows.
“The better you take care of your animals, the more milk they produce,” he said.
Just down the road, David Jacquier, son of Robert and Dottie, owns Elm Knoll Farm. Elm Knoll houses over 300 milk cows in its barns.
After growing up on Laurelbrook Farm, David decided to pursue his own venture in 1968, while he was still in high school. His operation started in a rundown barn just down the road behind the Blackberry River Inn. He had just three cows.
“That barn up there was abandoned in the Depression, so there were no cows in there since the mid-30s,” said David Jacquier. “By the time I left Blackberry in ‘70, I came down with 65 or 70 cows.”
While still a student at Housatonic Valley Regional High School, he ran into trouble with gym coach Ed Tyburski after cutting class to tend to his cows.
“It was almost impossible for me to be there by 7:30 because I had three hours of work before, and I got a little bit torqued off at Tyburski,” he said. “I told him I didn’t have time to play his cow pasture pool.”
He purchased the East Canaan property he is on today in 1970 and created Elm Knoll Farm. Initially, his primary source of income was from crop sales to nearby dairy farms.
“Through the 70s and 80s and almost through the 90s I could make more money selling corn silage than I could milking cows because we had a lot of farmers,” he said “Then in 1994 to 2000, a lot of farmers went out.”
He said the exodus of dairy farmers in the 1990s was caused by a sharp drop in profitability, particularly for smaller operations.
“I dealt to the guys that were milking 30 to 40 or 50 cows,” said David Jacquier. “[Now] everyone’s got to be over 200 to 300 cows to cash flow, unless you have other incomes.”
Today, all of Elm Knoll’s profits are generated from dairy sales. David Jacquier and his right-hand man Logan Cables said they intend to maintain that model into the next generation.
“We’re the only dairy farm in the state of Connecticut that milks cows and that’s the only income,” said Jacquier.
“I’ve been doing this my whole life so I don’t know anything else,” said Cables.
Cables, 20, has worked at Elm Knoll for about eight years and intends to buy Elm Knoll from David Jacquier within the next few years.
“I’m hoping I can make it another two or three years then I’m going to turn it over,” said Jacquier. “But do I really want to sell him a dead horse?”
Jacquier said if Connecticut wants to maintain its dairy farmers, it will require external support. Assistance programs at the state level exist, but David said the farmers have not received their due.
“Every land sale in Connecticut, $15 goes to the dairy farmers. But it never gets to us,” he said. “Eight million dollars goes in the general fund and it never comes our way.”
If dairy farming is to survive in Connecticut, help will need to come from Hartford, he continued.
“All we’ve got to be is honest on the money. If you want open space, every town, 169 towns say they want it. You got to get Hartford to understand ‘give us the money,’” he said.
While thankful that the program exists, David Jacquier said dairy farmers need more advocates both in Hartford and on the farm. He credited Ben Freund, a neighboring farmer, for representing dairy farmers when fighting for state assistance.
“Ben Freund was the one that did 95% of the work,” said David. “We wouldn’t have the million and a half or two million that we’re getting right now if it wasn’t for Ben.”
Eugene Freund, Ben’s father, moved from the Bronx to North Canaan in 1949 and took up farming with his wife Esther. He bought land in East Canaan the following year and now, over 70 years later, approximately 275 dairy cows call Freund’s Farm home.
“The cows in this barn have been part of my family’s multi-generational legacy,” said Amanda Freund. “These are the great-great-great-great-granddaughters of the cows that my grandfather started milking in 1950.”
The Freunds — Ben and his brother Matthew — sold their herd to Ethan Arsenault and his business partners, Lloyd and Amy Vaill, in September of 2022. The trio rents barn space from the Freunds and Arsenault oversees dairy operations on location, renamed Canaan View Farm.
“This has always been my dream. My family’s always been in ag,” said Arsenault. “Personally, I’m very hopeful that we have a bright future ahead of us and that we stick around.”
The Freunds have taken steps to adapt to a changing industry in hopes of thriving into the next generation. CowPots is one such venture that repurposes manure into biodegradable garden planters.
“Fifteen percent of the manure is still in fibrous form and we separate that out,” said Matthew Freund. He added that the final result is “biodegradable, plantable containers that replace plastic.”
The Freunds set environmental sustainability as a top priority and installed solar panels to power the farm’s operation. They have also begun to process methane into biogas to offset the use of propane and heating oil.
“I think that we have to start to realize that climate change is real and that we have to be very aware of what we’re doing on this planet,” said Matt Freund. “We want to leave the next generation, you, something better than we started with.”
Canaan View also has five robotic milkers in its barn, streamlining dairy production on site and providing real-time data and metrics on herd health.
“The mantra with robots is ‘let cows be cows,’” said Arsenault. “When they come in the robot it spits out grain, so that allows us to individually cater to the cow’s nutritional needs.”
The milking robot tests dairy as each cow is being milked and provides Canaan View with live data on the health of each cow.
“We really focus on the cow here and that’s what I like about the robots and all the data I get from them,” said Arsenault, who added that the time saved from robotic milking allows him to spend more time “keeping the cows clean, happy and healthy.”
Of the estimated 25 dairy farms in the 1960s in Canaan Valley, an area that reaches to the Massachusetts border, just one remains: Carlwood Farm.
Carlwood began when Doug Carlson purchased a 42-acre plot in Canaan Valley in 1941. Doug’s son, Doug Jr., inherited the farm at the age of 16 and expanded the operation to about 140-acres.
Sandy Carlson took over the business after her father, Doug Jr., died in 2018. Today, Carlwood Farm milks about 50 Holsteins and Jerseys and has approximately 75 young stock.
Carlson said her relatively small dairy farm has survived by following the blueprint laid out by her father, and his father before him.
“We never had the desire to get bigger, so we don’t have a lot of overhead,” said Carlson. “We didn’t purchase a lot of big fancy equipment because we didn’t need it. My father’s thing was ‘use it and then reuse it’. You make do with what you have.”
She said nearly all milk produced at Carlwood is sent to Connecticut-based companies, with occasional shipments to the Agri-Mark Cabot processing plant in West Springfield, Massachusetts.
Carlwood farm is entirely family operated and Carlson’s daughter, Sheri, has begun the process of taking the farm into its fourth generation.
“Sheri and her husband Greg recently purchased [the farm] and they also have a daughter, Hallie, that’s three and she is around here all the time,” said Carlson.
Carlson said increased regulation in recent years has made it particularly difficult for small dairy operations to stay afloat. She noted considerable documentation requirements that add extra hours to an already busy life on the farm.
“This is something new in the past five years or so. It’s more paperwork. I have enough paperwork to do on a daily basis just opening my mail, paying bills, cow records, and deciding who I’m going to call to order grain from and what fertilizer. I’m just totally overwhelmed sometimes,” she said.
In the winter of 2023, there were five dairy farms in North Canaan. Segalla’s Farm on Allyndale Road began in the early 1900s and became a certified organic farm in 1997.
Segalla’s Farm closed down earlier this year after owner Rick Segalla was faced with financial and health problems.
“I lost my organic marking during Covid, and I had a heart attack last September,” said Segalla. “I was running out of feed. It just wasn’t a paying proposition anymore.”
The roughly 120 cows from Segalla’s Farm were sent to Indiana and New York.
Segalla’s Farm is the most recent North Canaan dairy operation to close the barn doors and drive its cattle West.
As for the four remaining farms, successors have already been identified in hopes of keeping the milk flowing for years to come in North Canaan.

Cricket Jacquier, owner of Laurelbrook Farm, showed how a newly installed plate cooler instantly reduces the temperature of milk from 100 degrees down to 36 for transport. Photo by Riley Klein

Cricket Jacquier, owner of Laurelbrook Farm, showed how a newly installed plate cooler instantly reduces the temperature of milk from 100 degrees down to 36 for transport. Photo by Riley Klein

Cricket Jacquier, owner of Laurelbrook Farm, showed how a newly installed plate cooler instantly reduces the temperature of milk from 100 degrees down to 36 for transport. Photo by Riley Klein
Dee Salomon
A partially mowed meadow in early spring provides habitat for wildlife while helping to keep invasive plants in check.
Love it or hate it, there is no denying the several blankets of snow this winter were beautiful, especially as they visually muffled some of the damage they caused in the first place.There appears to be tree damage — some minor and some major — in many places, and now that we can move around, the pre-spring cleanup begins. Here, a heavy snow buildup on our sun porch roof crashed onto the shrubs below, snapping off branches and cleaving a boxwood in half, flattening it.
The other area that has been flattened by the snow is the meadow, now heading into its fourth year of post-lawn alterations. A short recap on its genesis: I simply stopped mowing a half-acre of lawn, planted some flowering plants, spread little bluestem seeds and, far less simply, obsessively pluck out invasive plants such as sheep sorrel and stilt grass. And while it’s not exactly enchanting, it is flourishing, so much so that I cannot bring myself to mow.
I have doubts:If I mow in the spring, would I kill all the overwintering insects? If I mow after the first frost, as suggested in a 2017 paper by the esteemed Kim Stoner, Ph.D., on the Connecticut AgriculturalExperiment Station website, would I lose the seed heads of yarrow, rattlesnake master and black-eyed Susan that birds are supposed to feed on in the winter?Paralyzed by indecision, I have not been able to bring myself to do even a partial cut.
I took a poll at a recent party attended by horticulturalists, environmentalists and garden experts. There was a consensus that early spring is indeed the best time to mow — early, before the ground-nesting birds like woodcock start nesting.I then called Mike Nadeau, whom I consider a meadow master of the Northwest Corner, and he concurred, following the Xerces Society meadow-mowing guidelines: mow in early spring when dandelions are in bloom.
“Xerces Society says this is the time most insects have hatched out of hollow stems and is between bird migrations.”
Nadeau’s experience has borne this out.
“I stress not to mow in fall because a dormant meadow is a haven for winter critters of all ilk.Birds use dormant plants for nesting materials, eat seeds, refuge — not to mention the other mammalian life that benefits from a meadow. An argument that has worked for me to discourage fall mowing is to describe a dormant meadow, with its myriad seed heads and foliage, as kinetic sculpture, especially with snowfall.It’s a beauty all its own.”
Nadeau mows a third to a half of a meadow each year, ideally using a flail mower, which chops vegetation into small pieces, helping foliage to resprout. The unmowed portion is left as a refuge for the animals that get evicted from their homes in the mowed area.
Stoner agrees with Mike to divide up the meadow and mowing different sections at different times. And she validates my mowing trepidation.
“There’s no perfect time. Any time you mow, you will be disturbing the habitat of some creature. If you don’t mow, you will have invasive plants creeping in, and eventually you will have trees,” she said.
“Best thing is to think about what your goals are — what creatures do want to encourage in your meadow? Then set the time of mowing to protect and enhance the habitat for those creatures.”
Additionally, Nadeau suggests that mown paths should be rerouted at least every two years to prevent rhizomatous grasses from establishing, which can grow into meadow edges and look unsightly. And the window is short:
“It’s too late to mow when spring birds arrive in earnest and new meadow growth is taller than 6 inches.”
Lights Out!
One of my favorite meadow benefits are the hundreds of fireflies that emerge in June. I am grateful for the lack of artificial light from neighbors (save for one house across the river with a persistent outside night light), so these creatures can shine brightly — and securely.
The organization DarkSky International relays the effect outdoor lights can have on fireflies: an almost 50% decrease in flashes per minute, which affects courtship behavior and mating success, according to two studies they cite on its website,darksky.org.
There, you can also get the lowdown on the devastating effects even one outdoor light can have on birds, amphibians, insects and mammals.The organization provides educational materials that explain the issue, making it easier to bring it up to neighbors and friends — which I will soon try with the house across the river.
Dee Salomon ungardens in Litchfield County.
Elena Spellman
Kathy Reisfeld
In a barn on Maple Avenue in Great Barrington, Kathy Reisfeld merges two unlikely worlds: wealth management and yoga, teaching clients and students alike how stability — financial and emotional — comes from practice.
Her life sits at an intersection many assume can’t exist: high finance and yoga. One world is often reduced to greed, the other to “woo-woo” stretching. Yet in conversation, she makes both feel grounded, less like opposites and more like two languages describing the same human need for stability.
On one floor of her barn are yoga mats and the steady rhythm of breath. On the other are computer screens, market charts and conversations about retirement plans and portfolio diversification. For Reisfeld, founder of Berkshire Wealth Group in Great Barrington, these are two sides of a single practice.
“At the end of the day, you’re just dealing with people,” she said. “Whether we’re talking about financial stability or mental stability, it’s kind of all the same thing.”
Reisfeld has spent nearly 30 years in finance, building a client-centered advisory practice that eventually led her to go independent. But her relationship with money began long before her career.
When her mother became ill during Reisfeld’s childhood, finances tightened. It wasn’t poverty, she said, but it was constrained enough to teach her how money — or its lack — can dictate the terms of one’s life. That lesson took on a deeper meaning as she watched her mother remain in a difficult marriage without full financial independence. “Money represented autonomy,” she said. “Freedom.”
In college, Reisfeld initially majored in physics, drawn to systems and structure. But an economics class shifted her direction. Markets, she realized, were systems too — not only mathematical, but deeply human.
After graduating, she landed an internship with a financial adviser and gradually discovered a profession that combined curiosity, problem-solving and relationship-building.
“The more I learned, the more I kind of wanted to get involved,” she said.
Over time, she realized she wasn’t interested in chasing predictions; she was interested in guiding people through uncertainty.
Over nearly three decades, she has watched the industry evolve. It has moved, she believes, from selling products to offering advice — a shift toward aligning compensation with clients’ best interests.
She’s candid about the stereotypes that cling to finance: that it’s driven by greed and full of money-hungry people. Those people exist, she said, but they aren’t the majority.
“It’s kind of like the few bad apples ruining it for everyone.”
At its best, she believes, the work is quieter and more meaningful than its reputation suggests.

Yoga entered her life in 2001, when she was living in New York City and training as a marathon runner.
“I was, like, very anti-yoga,” she admitted with a laugh.
But once she tried it, something shifted. A workshop with Nancy Gilgoff, the first American woman to travel to India to study Ashtanga yoga, “blew my mind open,” she said, revealing yoga as something far larger than poses or stretching.
What began as a physical complement to her running became a doorway into something deeper.
“Ashtanga means eight limbs,” Reisfeld explained. “The physical practice is just the entry point.”
The overlap she sees between yoga and investing is patience. Both practices demand discipline through fluctuation — the ups and downs, the good days and bad days, and the willingness to keep showing up.
In yoga philosophy, she points to the stilling of the mind. In investing, that becomes tuning out the noise — the headlines that spike fear or euphoria, the endless predictions that feel authoritative and rarely land cleanly.
After almost three decades in a traditionally male-dominated industry, Reisfeld has learned to move comfortably in rooms where she was often one of the few women present.
Asked what it was like starting out as a woman in finance, she smiled.
“The lines for the restroom were shorter.”
The humor reflects her temperament. She began her career at 21, and mentorship was not always easy to find. But finance, like yoga, rewards consistency. Ultimately, she built her business through steady growth.
For Reisfeld, yoga is fundamentally about integration. Money is no exception. It shapes how we live, the choices we make and the freedoms we have. Ignoring it doesn’t make it disappear. It only makes it harder.
Now rooted in the Berkshires, advising clients and teaching yoga classes from the same barn, Reisfeld’s work feels less like two careers and more like one philosophy.
When asked what she hopes people feel after spending time with her — whether reviewing a portfolio or finishing a yoga session — her answer is immediate.
“More confident,” she said. “Less stressed. More optimistic about their future.”
For more information or to book an appointment, visit berkshirewealthgroup.com
Kathy Reisfeld, Branch Owner
250 Maple Ave, Great Barrington, MA 01230
845-263-3996
Securities offered through Raymond James Financial Services, Inc. Member FINRA/SIPC.
Berkshire Wealth Group is not a registered broker/dealer and is independent of Raymond James Financial Services, Inc.
Investment advisory services offered through Raymond James Financial Services Advisors, Inc.
Elena Spellman is a Client Service Associate at Berkshire Wealth Group
Jack Sheedy
Playwright Cinzi Lavin, left, poses with Kathleen Kelly, director of ‘A Goodnight Kiss.’
Litchfield County playwright Cinzi Lavin’s “A Goodnight Kiss,” based on letters exchanged between a Civil War soldier and the woman who became his wife, premiered in 2025 to sold-out audiences in Goshen, where the couple once lived. Now the original cast, directed by Goshen resident Kathleen Kelly, will present the play beneath the gold dome of Connecticut’s Capitol in Hartford as part of the state’s America250 commemoration — marking what organizers believe may be the first such performance at the Capitol.
“I don’t believe any live performances of an actual play (at the Capitol) have happened,” said Elizabeth Conroy, administrative assistant at the Office of Legislative Management, who coordinates Capitol events.
When Lavin inquired about staging the production there, “they were very excited about it,” she said.
The performance, to take place April 1, is being sponsored by the Connecticut League of Women Voters. Organizers said the Capitol setting offers a fitting backdrop for a story rooted in American history and civic life.
“A Goodnight Kiss” is a dramatic reading drawn from letters exchanged between Sgt. Maj. Frederick Lucas (David Macharelli) and Sarah Jane “Jennie” Wadhams (Olivia Wadsworth). Fred wrote from battlefields, while Jennie wrote from the peaceful confines of Goshen. Together, their letters trace a gradually deepening romance and how the couple overcame objections by Jennie’s father, John Marsh Wadhams, and finally married in 1867.
“I just found it adorable that (Jennie’s father) was going to make sure she got the right kind of husband, which is why Fred had such a hard time,” Kelly said.
BroadwayWorld reviewer Sean Fallon called the play “the most romantic love story I have ever seen acted out on stage.”
The letters were first brought to light in the 2002 book “Fred and Jennie: A Civil War Love Story” by the late Ernest B. Barker, a Goshen resident and descendant of both the Lucas and Wadhams families. The Barker family discovered Fred’s letters in the Wadhams homestead and Jennie’s letters in a house once owned by a Lucas family member. The correspondence is now housed at the Connecticut Museum of Culture and History in Hartford.

Kelly said presenting the story through letters poses a challenge because the actors rarely interact onstage. During rehearsals, she had the performers face one another while reading their letters aloud. “It was just like magic happened,” she said.
Lavin said the play “tells the story of what truly makes America great, what made America great then, and what still makes it great, which is devotion to duty, service to others, integrity and treasuring freedom.”
David Macharelli, who portrays Fred, said, “Charting (Fred’s) course from enthusiastic young recruit gushing with admiration for the new technology of 19th-century warfare to a man crashing into the reality of war is a reminder that even the noblest of causes demand sacrifice, and that sacrifice is often borne by innocents.”
Olivia Wadsworth said of portraying Jennie, “It’s actually a little dizzying to think about. Two people, more than a hundred years ago, sent private letters to one another, and now their love story is being shared in a performance at the state Capitol.”
The performance will take place April 1 at 2 p.m. in Room 310 of the Capitol at 210 Capitol Ave., Hartford. The event is free and open to the public with advance registration at https://bit.ly/4usa9b7. Arrangements for guests with special requirements may be made by emailing Lisa Del Sesto at admin@lwvct.org or calling 203-288-7996. Parking on Capitol grounds is limited, but additional parking is available nearby at the Legislative Office Building, 300 Capitol Ave.

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Robin Roraback
Yonah Sadeh, Falls Village filmmaker and curator of David M. Hunt Library’s new VideoWall.
The David M. Hunt Library in Falls Village, known for promoting local artists with its ArtWall, is debuting a new feature showcasing filmmakers. The VideoWall will premiere Saturday, March 28, at 6 p.m. with a screening of two short films by Brooklyn-based documentary filmmaker and animator Imogen Pranger.
The VideoWall is the idea of Falls Village filmmaker Yonah Sadeh, who also serves as curator. “I would love the VideoWall to become a place that showcases the work of local filmmakers, and I hope that other creatives in the area will submit their work to be shown,” he said.
After the screening of the two films, “Mail Myself to You” and “Circle, Circle Square,” Pranger and Sadeh will discuss filmmaking and answer questions.
Of Pranger, Sadeh said, “She has a strong visual voice as a director, and both of these films are great examples of a blend of documentary and experimental filmmaking.”

Pranger described her approach to filmmaking. “I have always approached the visual arts from an interdisciplinary, multimedia perspective.” This approach was a reason why animation was particularly appealing to Pranger as she began exploring the possibilities of filmmaking.
“I particularly fell in love with the tactility of hand-drawn and painted animation and the ways in which it can be used in tandem with analog 16-millimeter film. Stop-motion animation holds the unique power to bring inanimate objects to life, something that became crucial to my practice of archival documentary filmmaking. I appreciate the sense of play that is encouraged in the medium of animation and find great joy in exploring new avenues and possibilities within the medium,” she continued.
At the core of Pranger’s films, she hopes to capture the joy and intimacy of human connection that blossoms through engagement with material and creative process.
After the opening event, the films will remain available to view at any time on the VideoWall screen in the library stacks. “The screen will always be on and ready for anyone to use,” Sadeh said. The installations will last three to four months.
Sadeh added, “Each installation will begin with a public screening at the library, followed by a talkback with the filmmaker.”
Filmmakers can contact Sadeh at huntartwall@gmail.com for information about submitting films for consideration. Visit huntlibrary.org/art-wall for a schedule of ArtWall and VideoWall events, which are free and open to the public.
Cheryl Heller
A bowl full of stones.
There’s a bowl in my studio where pieces of the planet reside. I bring them home from travels, picking them up not for their beauty or distinction but for their provenance. I choose the ones that speak to me — the ones next to pyramids, along hiking trails, on city sidewalks or volcanic slopes.
I like how stones feel in my hand: weighty, grounding. I don’t mind them making my pockets and suitcase heavier. The bowl is about the size of an average carry-on. It has been years since it was light enough for me to lift.
They’re not specimens. I’m not a scientist comparing igneous with sedimentary, or metamorphic with minerals or meteorites. I don’t know slate from quartzite, or schist from basalt or gabbro. They aren’t memories either, because I can’t tell by looking at them where they’re from. They sit quietly beside me in whatever moment I’m occupying.
They’re not souvenirs from places, like coffee mugs or snow globes. They are the places themselves.
The planet has reorganized itself in my bowl. Melbourne nestles next to the Hebrides. The streets of Roma in Mexico City rub elbows with Vatican City, Rome. Eastern Tibet sits on top of Machu Picchu; New Delhi is now close to Detroit. Cappadocia has finally met Capri. Mustique knows Morocco, and they both lie on the beaches of southern France.
These stones have witnessed the fall of civilizations, the birth and death of infinite beings, tectonic upheavals and the creative destruction of fire and ice.
Who touched them before me? Inca, Maya, Trojans? Warriors, slaves or yaks? Blue-footed boobies in the Galápagos or a slithering Costa Rican fer-de-lance? Was one of them used to stone a blasphemer in ancient Greece?
It’s not as if the place where I live needs more stones. In New England we’ve been blessed with an imposing population of glacial erratics — characters dragged here by the last Ice Age and left to sit silently in the woods for the past 16,000 years. The stones themselves, I’ve learned, are more than a billion years old.
The most ancient rocks known to us are more than four billion years old. Others are practically new, formed continually as tectonic plates shift along seabeds or lava cools along volcanic slopes. And while individual rocks vary wildly in age, the substance of rocks — atoms of silicon, oxygen and iron —is far older than the Earth itself, forged in ancient stars before our Milky Way existed.
Perhaps my bowl is filled with stars.
I recently stood before an exhibit of Aboriginal art called “The Stars We Do Not See.”The artists are descendants of the oldest continuous civilization on Earth, at 350,000 years. Their past is not distant or inaccessible to them; they understand time as a cycle and live in relationship with everything on earth and sky, including stones.
The title of the show was inspired by the late Yolŋu artist Gulumbu Yunupingu, who painted the night sky on bark. She spoke about the “stars behind the stars” — all there is to learn and appreciate beyond what we can see.
Deep in the woods on the hill above our house in Norfolk sits a giant marshmallow-shaped rock, one of the billion-year-old ones. At some point, someone leaned a ladder against it — a standing invitation to a new perspective.
How can we know the things that are invisible, the stars behind the stars? How can we feel connected to what came before us and sits silently around us, too slow for our impatient eyes to see?

Every once in a while, someone leans a ladder against a rock so we can’t miss it. Most of the time, we’re on our own.
I sometimes joke with my younger sister that when I die, she and our nieces can divide up whatever I leave behind, including the handbag she has had her eye on for years. But who will see and care about a bowl of rocks too heavy to lift and too silent about their value to be appreciated?
This is for you, Lynn, Stacey, Katie and Rose.
I hope you keep the planet in my bowl together.
It might be, after all, my small and only lasting intervention in the world.
Cheryl Heller is a designer, educator and business strategist who pioneered the field of social design and founded the first social design MFA program at the School of Visual Arts. She lives in Norfolk.
Natalia Zukerman
On March 29, writer, producer and director Tammy Denease will embody the life and story of Elizabeth Freeman, widely known as Mumbet, in two performances at the Scoville Library in Salisbury. Presented by Scoville Library and the Salisbury Association Historical Society, the performance is part of Salisbury READS, a community-wide engagement with literature and civic dialogue.
Mumbet was the first enslaved woman in Massachusetts to sue successfully for her freedom in 1781. Her victory helped lay the legal groundwork for the abolition of slavery in the state just two years later. In bringing Mumbet’s story to life, Denease does more than reenact history.
“I have been performing Mumbet for over 15 years now,” she said. What continues to resonate is “her self-awareness and self-worth even though she was enslaved. Her legacy of self-care and the ability to take care of others. That has not changed over time.”
Denease’s one-woman performance, “One Minute a Free Woman,” is part of her “Hidden Women” series, which centers figures too often pushed to the margins of historical memory. Drawing upon her own lineage and storytelling traditions passed down from her great-grandmother, a formerly enslaved woman, Denease creates work that bridges personal inheritance and collective history. Her background as a museum educator and interpretive guide shapes this approach.
“Being an interpretive educator helps me put the humanity back into history that has been removed when telling the stories,” she said.
The 2 p.m. program welcomes school-age audiences and families, while a 4 p.m. performance invites adults into a deeper and more intense exploration of Mumbet’s life.
“The format of the show will only change in the way I deliver the story,” Denease explained. “It will be more intense and in detail for the adults, less intense for the kids. However, it will not be watered down.”
For young people, Denease hopes the performance ignites curiosity and critical thought. “I hope school-age audiences’ imaginations are activated to want to know more and to never stop asking questions.” Adults, she said, are invited into a deeper investigation. “I hope for my adult audience that they will question what they were taught and see history through a different lens.”
That spirit of inquiry lies at the heart of Salisbury READS. “Literature and live performances go hand in hand,” Denease said. “Reading activates the imagination; living history helps that activated mind to make historical connections and keep the humanity and dignity in place where it was never given or taken away.”
Ultimately, the performance asks audiences to treat history not as distant fact but as shared responsibility. “I hope the audience will continue to question why knowing accurate and complete history is so important,” Denease said. “To understand that not knowing the whole story hurts everyone.”
To register for the event, visit scovillelibrary.org

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