New Beginnings: Kindness, Risk, Reward

The first of January was cold up here in the Berkshires. We had gone for a four mile walk and then, still feeling itchy from being cooped up for so long, decided to take a meandering drive through Alford, a large rural community which abuts the town of Richmond, where we live. We hadn’t marked the New Year except by Zooming with a few friends and family for a goodbye toast to 2020. For the first time in years I hadn’t even made any New Year’s resolutions. It felt oddly freeing, not to set expectations which I knew I might not meet. Allen and I set out around 3:00, driving through winding country roads. There were lumps of dirty snow along the way, deserted looking houses tucked down long driveways, farms, some tumbledown, others prosperous looking. Finally, we had seen enough. It was getting towards dusk, about 4 o’clock, and the sky was deeply gray so we decided to drive home. I was at the wheel.

One of the best hidden secrets of the Berkshires are the nature preserves managed by the Berkshire Natural Resources Council. They are tucked away in all the nearby towns and communities, and usually cover very pretty areas, some small and some large. As we drove I noticed a sign for one we had never heard about. In order to explore it we would have had to go into the woods to check it out, so I kept driving and about a mile or so further on, there was a parking lot with a few cars, and a sign which identified it as a Berkshire Natural Resources Preserve called Alford Springs. Off the side of the parking lot was a big map on a wooden stanchion, and a winding path that went through the field beyond about a quarter mile to the tree line. Allen went out to examine the map, I waited in the car and, having satisfied our curiosity, we were ready to pull out and drive home. We noticed four people and a dog approaching the parking lot from the trail, and a tall women (dog on leash) began running and waving frantically at us. I stopped.

She was masked. We masked ourselves. She stood a polite six feet away and began apologizing for bothering us. Did we know where the other parking lot was? They had been hiking for several hours, had gotten lost, and now had come out into a lot where their cars were not parked. One of their party, an older woman who was lagging far behind, was exhausted. The dog lady didn’t think her friend would make it back through the woods, assuming they could find their way. Could we help them?

The question was very open ended. She didn’t actually ask us to drive them to the other parking lot, but how else could we help? We thought perhaps the lot was at the entrance to the Preserve which we had passed a mile or so down the road. Without discussing it we offered to drive her husband down the road. She gushed gratitude, and I realized that maybe not everyone would have offered them a ride, given the pandemic.

The man entered the back seat, masked. We opened all the windows and drove down the road. It turned out to be two miles to the entrance we had seen, but that was not where they had come in either. We kept driving, making right turns whenever we could, figuring we would be making a circle around the field and the forest. We stopped two people on the road and asked for directions, but they did not even know there was a nature preserve in the area. The Fire Department we passed was deserted. We kept driving. Allen, trained as an Army Ranger, was pretty sure from the map he had looked at, that if we kept driving to the right we would get to another entrance.

It was getting darker. It was cold in the car with the windows down. The man remarked that his wife and friends must be freezing. When we had been driving for about twenty minutes, we saw a long dirt road to the right which Allen suggested we drive down. And about half a mile in we found the parking lot. We were all relieved, our passenger the most. He jumped out of the back seat, telling us he had to hurry to drive back, pick up his friends and come back here again, because they had two cars.

He called back his thank you, saying “You’ve done your good deed for the whole year today.” And he was gone down the dusky path to his red car. We didn’t even know his name.

Allen and I drove back home, a long, darkening thirty minutes. I reflected on the simple act of kindness. It is true that I hadn’t made any resolutions, but I had been reflecting over the past months that everyone should resolve to be kinder in 2021, given the lack of civility we had all experienced in 2020. Allen and I were feeling very good that the universe had accorded us the opportunity to genuinely help someone on the very first day of the year.

So I made a belated resolution after all: be kind whenever and wherever I can.

May the new year bring us an end to the vicious divisions in our country, a return to the foundations of democracy, peace, health and an end to the pandemic.

Happy New Year.