The Barkhamsted-New Hartford Landfill, Regional Refuse Disposal District No. 1 (RRDD1), a 98-acre Superfund site straddling the towns of Barkhamsted and New Hartford has left a toxic trail that continues to require active management
Between 1974 and 1993, the unlined landfill accepted a noxious cocktail of municipal and industrial wastes, including oily metal grindings, sludge, and bulky items. Groundwater contamination was first detected in 1981, setting off alarms about the potential health risks posed by the site.
As of June 2023, Connecticut had 13 Superfund sites on the National Priorities List (NPL) which identifies “the most serious uncontrolled or abandoned hazardous waste sites needing long-term remedial action.” According to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), when hazardous commercial and industrial wastes are mismanaged, they pose unacceptable risks to human health and the environment.
In 1980, Congress established the Comprehensive Environmental Response, Compensation, and Liability Act (CERCLA) which is informally called Superfund. The Superfund program is administered by the EPA in cooperation with state and tribal governments. It allows EPA to clean up hazardous waste sites and forces those responsible to perform cleanups or reimburse the government for EPA cleanups. Nationally, in 2023 there were 1,336 Superfund sites on the NPL.
Jim Hart, former First Selectman of Barkhamsted, was the whistleblower that finally brought attention and action to the developing toxic crisis at the Barkhamsted-New Hartford landfill. Hart said, “When this facility opened in April of 1974, society did not understand the issues associated with getting rid of certain chemical waste. The primary pollutants here were metal grinding waste. At that time in the district there was a significant number of machine shops. When we first opened in the mid 1970s there was a metal grinding waste pool up here. You just dumped into the pool. You know, back then, Harry Homeowner who changed the oil in their car just threw that out in the garbage.”
As a young first selectman, Hart received a complaint of toxic runoff by a neighboring resident in 1981. After 18 months of stonewalling by the RRDD1, Hart decided to go up the food chain.
“I walked the area with the director of Farmington Valley Health. When we crossed the brook, the smell was potent to your nose, and we developed headaches. It was kind of scary.”
In the spring of 1983 Hart wrote a letter to the Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) commissioner asking for significant investigation. He laughed, “Superfund designation is like having an old musket and you pull the trigger, and it takes so long before the bullet comes out the other end. The EPA moved at a snail’s pace, and it wasn’t until the late 1980s that they did investigation work that required us to install a series of groundwater monitoring wells. When the first results from these monitoring wells became known the crap really hit the fan.”
Jennifer Almquist
The Barkhamsted landfill’s poisonous legacy includes a litany of hazardous substances that have seeped into the surrounding area. Cadmium, chromium, copper, lead, manganese, nickel, zinc, trichloroethylene (TCE), and cis-1,2-dichloroethylene have all been found in the soil, groundwater, and surface water near the site.
The potential threat to local residents continues. TCE and cis-1,2-dichloroethylene contaminated the Barkhamsted town garage’s drinking water well, while antimony, arsenic, and selenium were detected at low levels in three private wells nearby. Site-related metals were found in the soil on two residential properties near the landfill, raising concerns about potential exposure. In this rural and residential area, where all properties rely on on-site drinking water wells, the threat of contamination looms large.
The EPA determined the potentially responsible parties (PRPs). In Barkhamsted-New Hartford there were a dozen machine shops and businesses in the district designated as PRPs. The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) identified 78 other PRPs, including corporate giants like Coca-Cola, Cooper Industries, and Eaton Corporation, as well as the towns of Barkhamsted, Colebrook, New Hartford, and Winchester.
The costs of remediation have been high. At least $4.5 million in state Superfund money was spent to cap the landfill in 1999. Responsible parties began groundwater monitoring programs and continue to monitor the drinking water wells close to the site.
According to Winchester Mayor and current administrator of RRDD1, Todd Arcelaschi, “The containment has been successful, except for one time in the middle 2000’s where the cap failed and there was a washout that required several hundred thousand in repairs. The landfill is visually inspected semi-annually now, groundwater and well testing is conducted quarterly.”
After the closure of the Materials Innovation and Recycling Authority (MIRA) waste to energy (WTE) incinerator in Hartford, Arcelaschi feels the future of waste management in the Northwest corner of Connecticut will depend on what happens with the Northwest Hills Council of Governments’ efforts to form a Regional Waste Authority.
“If they successfully create one, we will still use the former MIRA Torrington Transfer Station, and our trash will likely continue to be shipped out of state, unless the Waste Authority can find available capacity for the region’s municipal solid waste (MSW) at another WTE plant in CT.”
The Superfund landfill is now in use again as the regional transfer station for RRDD1 for the towns of Winchester, New Hartford, and Barkhamsted. Of its 98 acres, approximately 13 acres contains the capped landfill, the second part of the site is currently used as the transfer station and recycling center, and the remaining space is an active solar farm generating 1.5 megawatts of electricity which helps offset recycling transfer operating costs.
"EPA completed a comprehensive review of the site last September, as documented in the Five-Year Review report, and concluded that the completed remedy is still protective of human health and the environment," said Daniel Keefe, U.S. EPA Region 1 Superfund Section Chief. "Several potential issues were identified in the report that require additional monitoring, notably the detection of emerging contaminants such as per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances (PFAS). EPA is working with those responsible for maintaining the site to ensure that continued monitoring is performed."
While there is no evidence that anyone has gotten sick because of the contamination, and the EPA has approved the clean-up efforts, the specter of toxic exposure remains. The legacy of the Barkhamsted-New Hartford landfill Superfund site serves as a reminder of the price communities pay for improper waste disposal.
The Edgewood Restaurant, a beloved Amenia roadside restaurant run by George and Anne Phillips, pictured during its peak years in the 1950s and ’60s.
It began as a former gas station and tavern called The Narrows, on the road to Sharon, around a switchback east of Troutbeck. It became a roadhouse restaurant for weddings, bar mitzvahs, proms, graduations, birthdays and holidays with relatives. At Easter, New Year’s and Christmas, George and Anne served the food free — customers only paid for drinks as a thank-you for another good year.
It was a different time. Amenia was an isolated dairy farming community, and two large state psychiatric hospitals employed 4,000 potential diners. People needed a friendly neighborhood restaurant run by a local couple who knew everybody. They offered special-occasion favorites: fried chicken, meatloaf, sliced turkey with gravy, pork chops from nearby farms, and fresh white bread baked at 4 a.m. by George.
There was no maître d’. Waitresses, many still teenagers, greeted guests and helped them find a table. Cloth napkins and sturdy white plates sat in a knotty pine dining room that felt more like a family home than a formal restaurant. Large tables down the center accommodated families. George and Anne fed the staff before opening, and everyone ate the same meals served to customers. Everything was homemade classics of the 1950s and ’60s: cold shrimp and cocktail sauce, stuffed mushrooms, veal parmesan, King crab, clams and oysters on the half shell, chopped hamburger steak, French onion soup, fried chicken and pumpkin pie.
George was a tough but fair boss with a quirky sense of humor. Former employee Kevin Rooney, who worked there as a teenager, recalled being served a hot fudge sundae on a sweltering day — only to discover the “ice cream” was Crisco. Revenge came later in the form of a Coke spiked with Tabasco sauce.
George also kept a series of German shepherds — Rinny, Schultz and Dooley — named after a Jonathan Winters routine featuring talking beer steins. The dogs were locked inside at night for security. Tony Robert, another former employee, remembered coming in one day to find Schultz with the seat of someone’s pants in her jaws. When kids tried to sneak into a dance through the bathroom window after the fire marshal had closed the overcrowded place, George put Rinny in the restroom. Problem solved.
Anne also ran a no-nonsense operation. She marked liquor bottles at night so no one would sneak a drink, though the cleanup crew found ways around it, sipping the blackberry liquer instead. Along with cooking and baking everything from scratch, she raised their children in a life closely tied to the restaurant. The bus dropped their daughters off there after school, and one recalled doing homework while the family spent more time in the restaurant than in their nearby home.
George Phillips bakes fresh bread in the early morning hours at the Edgewood Restaurant.Provided
After 23 years of long hours — often more than 100 a week — George began stepping back, at times closing the restaurant to recover. He later moved into real estate and Anne opened a successful craft store.
George sold the place in 1972. At one point, it became a lively beer joint and concert venue, featuring local bands, such as Random Concept, Little Village and Good Friend Coyote. When New York lowered its drinking age to 18 — while it remained 21 just across the state line — it drew crowds from Connecticut. Locals called them “Connecticut Rags,” kids with fancy cars who came to dance, drink and sometimes fight, rocking the floors so hard they bounced like a trampoline and shook dust from the rafters.
At closing time, they had to dodge police waiting across the state line. Sometimes Jack Rooney, Kevin’s father and the bartender, drove them home. One morning, Betty Rooney got a call from a worried mother asking if her son was there. “If he’s wearing red tennis shoes,” she said, “he’s asleep on my front lawn.”
The Edgewood also drew actors from the Sharon Playhouse and notable visitors, including Paul Newman, Cole Porter and even Supreme Court justices. George showed silent movies on a sheet in the dining room, and guests could dance to the Les Schulman Orchestra or to George and his brothers, who had their own band.
It served as a gathering place for groups such as the Eastern Artificial Insemination Cooperative and for events like the Knights of Columbus Communion breakfast. Families marked milestones there — including one that celebrated five birthdays at a Palm Sunday brunch in 1970.
Christmas dinner cost $3 and included stuffed olives, roast pig, prime rib, Virginia ham, deep-sea scallops, Long Island duck, creamed onions and, of course, crème de menthe parfait. On New Year’s Eve 1959, dinner was $15 a couple — $7.50 each for all the champagne you could drink.
The venue came to an end when the building burned to the ground in 1985.
The building is gone, but not the memories — the laughter, the music, the meals, and George carving steaks by hand. He lived a century, but the Edgewood, for those who knew it, was timeless.
Next time you’re driving to Sharon and pass the empty, weedy lot with a rusty electric meter, imagine calling George’s old number to make a reservation for a place that lives on in memory.
Minimalist works by Agnes Martin on display at Dia:Beacon.
Martin, the Canadian-born New York and New Mexico resident who died in 2004, made the kind of ambiguous abstract art that inspires countless imitators and interpreters.
At first glance, most of the pieces in the new show, “Painting Is Not the Act of Painting,” (on display until June 22) are variations on simple lines and grids painstakingly applied by the artist’s own hand using paint and pencil.
Despite their relative simplicity, it took Martin years of rejecting her own artwork to reach this level of pure abstraction. She would often take knives to paintings she didn’t like, literally slashing work that didn’t live up to her expectations. It wasn’t until she was in her 50s that she began making the work she would become known for.
That evolution is reflected in the exhibition’s 24 works.
Dia:Beacon seems like a perfect place for them. The museum is a monument to simplicity. Even the most complicated pieces are abstractions in their own ways. A straight, unpainted plywood wall with diagonal backing by Donald Judd suggests a room under construction. Michael Heizer’s singular ovoid boulder embedded into a gallery wall strikes unease into visitors.
Subtle grids and softly layered lines by Agnes Martin draw the eye at Dia:BeaconD.H. Callahan
Martin’s pieces feel at home here. In the context of such visual, if not conceptual, simplicity, her art seems louder than it might in almost any other setting. Faint blue and peach stripes gain vibrancy when compared with the all-white canvases of Robert Ryman or the large gray mirrors of Gerhard Richter, both a few rooms away. By comparison, the visibly human-drawn lines of pencil or etched-out paint seem almost complicated, and technically masterful.
It’s enough to make you ponder the name of the exhibition, “Painting Is Not the Act of Painting,” pulled from a quote by Martin: “Painting is not making paintings; it is a development of awareness. And with this awareness, your work changes, but very slowly.”
In a world where studio assistants and fabricators contribute to the output of many artists, Martin relished the act of painting. She painted nearly every day of her adult life. For her, the process was an integral part of the work, and it’s hard to look at these pieces without appreciating her hand.
This repetitive study is also demonstrated across the hall in a gallery dedicated to a single work by Andy Warhol. The piece, “Shadows,” is a study of variations on a single subject. Warhol took photos of shadows in his office and, using a silkscreen process, painted them 102 times on identically sized canvases.
Walking into the room, it may seem like the same image repeated. On closer inspection, the canvases vary widely in color and composition. The work suggests that repetition can produce unexpected forms.
Agnes Martin has become enshrined as one of the leaders of the minimalist movement of the 1960s and ’70s. Her work and artistic philosophies have inspired countless admirers. This exhibition displays a selection of important pieces from nearly 50 years of practice.
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