~This is a descriptive piece about Chautauqua, my favorite place in the world and summer utopia. It's a bit lengthy, but I didn't want to cut any of it. Enjoy!~
Nestled in the midst of the green corn fields and sleepy farmhouses of southwestern New York is Chautauqua. It sticks out from its surroundings like a Victorian ball gown in the middle of a closet full of overalls. During the season, from late June to late August, it literally hums with activity from dawn till dusk. But instead of causing a rushed, hectic lifestyle, the constant thrum of happening that envelops you inspires relaxation and peace.
I can tell we’re getting close to Chautauqua because the speed of the world seems to change. Driving through acres of farm land and forests slows time to a slow crawl. In Mayville, a small town at the north end of the lake, the pace picks up with a yawn and a stretch, but within minutes, time is both racing past at light speed and leisurely strolling past. Cars from literally every state prowl the stretches of gravel and mud that pretend to be parking lots, searching desperately for a space that isn’t miles from the white wash and brick gate. We find one in the shade of a lone pine tree, park the car and unload our luggage. The trek down the parking lot isn’t long at all- what we’re marching towards is worth it. When we get to the highway crossing, there are legions of people waiting to cross into our utopia. The light changes to red, the cars stop and we begin the last leg of our homecoming. We pass under the arch of brick with white concrete framing that declares in all capital font that you are entering the Chautauqua Institution and approach the pedestrian gate.
One of the most criticized aspects of this vibrant, one-of-a-kind community is the gate. Symbolic of entering a cultural feast for the senses, it is also said to create a wall that defies all of the values on which the Institution was founded by shutting out those who don’t have gate passes. But every summer as the criticism ebbs and flows like the waves of the lake, the gate stands and the tradition continues.
As I wait to get my pass scanned by the friendly ladies I know from summers past, I admire the pots of flowers simply brimming over with twisting vines and eruptions of colorful pansies. Flowers bloom on almost every square inch of available soil in Chautauqua. There aren’t many available inches though, with houses squeezed as closely together as possible, so the trend is to jam as many colors and varieties in as possible. The result is a fusion of casual chaos and intricate order; or in other words, a symphony of colors that spills out onto the sidewalks and streets. A highlight of every summer, the gardens are one of my favorite parts of Chautauqua.
My gate pass is scanned, and with a cheery beep verifying that I am indeed Laura Scherb of 12 Bliss, I enter into my favorite 750-acre stretch of world. Ahead of me, the smooth, worn, elderly brick walk reaches into the heart of the Institution. All around me, people flutter and buzz about like butterflies and bees inside a magical flower garden. Pedestrians stroll past leisurely, taking their time, chatting about the gorgeous weather, the upcoming programs, the charming Victorian architecture and those spectacular flowers. Flashy new bikes as well as the classic models of decades past weave through the throngs, and every once in a while, a car dares to disturb the peace and inch through. The atmosphere is at once energizing and calming. I cross the street, not even needing to think about watching for cars, and begin my red carpet walk down the brick lane.
The glitzering sun is so persistent in its shining that even the wide, lush leaves on the trees that line the walk can’t hide it. Instead, the shadows and the rays of light seem to be waltzing across the red bricks in time to the wind’s song. The shade and the wind and the sun all blend together to create the perfect summer day. The beautiful essence of the day makes the people in it all the more beautiful as well, smiling and happily greeting each other as they walk down the way. The smiles and hellos from strangers make it official: I’m in Chautauqua.
The houses on either side of me all have large porches- a Chautauqua staple. Nearly all are framed with gingerbread trim as well. Narrow, colorful and eclectic, these houses are typical of every street in Chautauqua. I smile to see grandmas sitting with glasses of tea and books on the wide porches while their grandchildren whiz past on bikes, shouting that they’re on their way out for ice cream, down to the dock, to meet a friend at the fountain.
The beauty of a gated community is that the kids are free to roam, explore and terrorize. Gangs on bikes can spend hours traipsing through the ravines looking for fossils, skipping rocks on the shore to their hearts’ content and buying gallons upon gallons of ice cream. Chautauqua’s safety allows for the preservation of adventure, which thrives in the young residents. It’s rare in this day and age for parents to let their kids be off on their own without cell phones, but the gates and strong family ties allow it here.
My feet lead the way to a break in the brick- Pratt Avenue, one of the main thoroughfares. Lined with quaint bed and breakfasts, vintage boutiques, charming houses and businesses, it borders Bestor Plaza. On the corner to my right is the Logan House, the new offices of the Chautauquan Daily newspaper. Through the windows’ rippled glass, I can see the interns, writers and editors working on the first issue of the season. Even as their deadline looms, everyone is smiling, excited and loving every moment of their job. To my left is the elegant St. Elmo Hotel. Rising six stories up into the blue sky, it towers above everything else surrounding the Plaza. Under the huge wrap around porch filled with rockers, ground level windows offer a peek into the shops below. I can see into the Chautauqua Emporium, a dainty boutique that sells clothing, Vera Bradley, greeting cards and miscellaneous knick knacks and Food for Thought, a store, bakery, deli combo that sells mouthwatering lunches, baked treats and chilled ice cream. I face front and am almost bowled over by the burst of joy that courses through my veins at the sight of the center of the small village: Bestor Plaza.
About the length of a football field, the lush, thick green grass of the plaza is divided into four by brick walks that split it vertically and horizontally. In the center is the solid, gray, square fountain that is guarded on the four corners by giant fish, from whose mouths spring water. The fish are the perfect size for little bums to sit upon, sticking their hands in the streams of water and splashing passersby with cool droplets. In the center of the fountain, four figures carved into each side of a large stone block present a reminder of the four pillars of Chautauqua: religion, art, knowledge and music. The pennies being plopped in by little hands will make smooth treasures for older hands that dip into the slippery bottom to collect the meager offerings for the Chautauqua fund.
Giggles of delight, screams of wonder and thrill, a smatter of conversation and the notes from musicians with hopeful, open cases all meld together into one noise, one I can only describe as summer in Chautauqua. Kites dip and sway through the delicious breeze, all kinds of sports balls fly through the air and little feet, shoes long forgotten, pound through the grass, the soft mud cushioning their run. I can smell the meatballs that will be served today for dinner at Food for Thought and the spicy, enticing smell of the French fries and hamburgers being offered at the Refectory across the way.
On the north end of the plaza, the Colonnade building stands tall and proud, columns shining after a springtime wash. The shop windows in between the columns glitter and shine, beckoning mothers to come in and take a peek while their children enjoy the plaza. Somewhere in the second floor administrational offices, in one of the paned windows, sits the Bestor Plaza webcam, capturing all of the passion for life that is palpable on the summer breeze. On the opposing end of the plaza sits the academic, stately and yet still elegant Smith Library. The doors always open to stave off the heat caused by a lack of air conditioning, the building seems welcoming, even for the dark brick and wrought iron railings. The balcony on the second floor is the perfect place to take in the wonders of the plaza.
Bordering the side of the plaza opposite me is the Chautauqua Post Office. Granted its own zip code, Chautauqua does its mail system the way it does everything else: with a reverence for tradition. Each resident is assigned a mailbox, but not one that is on their property. The boxes are all in the post office, with a combination lock on the outside that uses letters. They’re originals from the early 1900 post office. Because everyone has to go to one place to get their mail, the post office is truly a community maker: while doing a daily chore, you chat and socialize with your neighbors.
Under the post office is the Candy Store, as my cousins and I christened it years ago. Given a quarter each by my grandfather, we would go to the then enormous candy section, get our money’s worth and dance out to the fountain to enjoy our plunder. Imagine our surprise when we grew up to realize that the Candy Store is actually called the Chautauqua Book Store. Now, I love going in to browse through hundreds of books. I can spend hours in there, tucked under a random nook, enjoying the smell of new books mixed with chocolate. But for now, that’s not where I’m headed.
With a fresh wave of determination beating through my legs, I walk through the happy insanity that is the plaza and continue down the hill. It’s so steep, I feel like my body is slanted backwards trying to stay vertical. The more steps I take away from the plaza, the quieter it gets. I walk more quickly, and as I approach the end of the hill, I can’t help myself: I begin to run.
Breathless, I reach the bottom of the hill. Immediately, my face feels like it’s going to split in half from the intensity of my smile. There it is. The first swimming pool in which I ever splashed, the shore where I collected my first seashell, the best tubing location I could ever wish for: Chautauqua Lake. I inhale, smelling the seaweed, the freshness of the water and the promise of another amazing summer. The glittering blue waves throw little jewels of sunlight to me. A puff of wind whips my hair back, pleading me to go hop in the Lightning, our sailboat, and cast off.
Suddenly, the Westminster chimes interrupt my reunion with the lake. The Miller Bell Tower, standing guard on Miller Point since 1911, is yet another Chautauqua landmark. The familiar red brick fits perfectly with the classic chimes that announce the time to the whole Institution. I walk over to the Bell Tower, surrounded by Miller Park on one side and the sapphire water on the other three. Under the shade of the oaks and maples is my favorite statue in Chautauqua: a Galapagos tortoise. I run my fingers over the cool brass and look out over the lake, smiling faintly and lost in thought.
Fifteen minutes later, the noon chime of the Bell Tower startles me. It’s so much louder this much closer, ringing through your very soul. As she does every day, the bell mistress begins her fourteen minute performance. The bells peal through the air, conjuring all the joy and good spirit throughout the Institution and proclaiming it to the small bit of world they reign over.
I start walking towards my house, taking the scenic route along the lake. It’ll be time to eat lunch on the porch in typical Chautauqua style. On my way, a group of young boys on bikes zooms around me, headed, no doubt, to the Youth Center Diner to grab a burger. I see one of my neighbors walking her dog and give her a hug. Everybody in Chautauqua is family after spending a summer.
“How are you, honey?” she asks, beaming. “How was your winter?”
“I’m great, thanks Ellie,” I reply. “And winter? That’s the furthest thing from my mind. It’s summer, and it’s time for Chautauqua.” Ellie laughs and links her arm through mine. It always surprises me that at 80, she can still walk the hill down to the lake.
“That’s the truth, isn’t it, sweetheart? We’re glad to have y’all here. Welcome home!”
Welcome home indeed.
Images from: http://www.campusschool.dsu.edu/myweb/history.htm, http://writemeg.com/2011/09/07/wordless-wednesday-chautauqua-institution-in-chautauqua-new-york, http://www.wysardphoto.com/Vacation/Chautauqua-Gallery/2003621_RgNh4f/1/102599812_ChaLQ#!i=102599812&k=ChaLQ, http://www.ciweb.org/plan-your-visit, http://www.urbanohio.com/forum2/index.php?topic=17014.0, http://www4.wittenberg.edu/news/2009/07_23a.html
