The end of this building reaches the new brick walk by the canal. You can look East down the length of the old water way and see Mt Holyoke rising in the distance framed by the old factories, mostly empty and boarded up, that were once powered by the Connecticut River. The dam is there at the eastern limit of the city, and as the world struggles with declining oil supplies, this place may thrive again. Close by is the rich farmland of the valley and the green mountain range beyond where there are streams you can drink from. A couple of miles or so beyond the dam, in rich bottom land along the river is a long stretch of family gardens. Walking through the fields there, the sun finally out after days of rain, I felt like I was back in Puerto Rico. Our studio space is big, framed by massive beams and timber posts. I don't yet know what kind of machinery was here, but down the wide hallway outside is a barred door way, and beyond the door a dim, misty corridor at the end of which repose the giant gears of the water wheel. The ruins of an old economy are all around us, but the massive buildings still contain the energy that constructed them and the steady coursing water could power some new economy. On a recent night I smelled woodsmoke and heard the breaking of boards. In a corner of the parking lot where the old factory walls meet several men and a woman sat on crates talking and laughing around around a small fire. People have come here to salvage what they can from the great wrecks of abandoned factories, to gather around a fire under the dark brick walls built in another age, like post apocalyptic travelers camped among the ruins. There was moonlight on the canal.
