Decompression.

Well, Sarah has her definition of vacation, and I have mine. I've never been much for relaxing on a sunny beach, or for that matter, relaxing at all. Having a lot of free time tends to make me nervous, so when the orchestra takes a break, I tend to look around for something else to do. And the something else that I look forward to most is called Greenwood.

Now, I know how obnoxious it is when someone goes on and on about some summer camp you never went to, so I'll just say that I've been going to Greenwood every summer since I was ten years old. (Okay, I missed 2006, but that was the orchestra's fault - we were on a European festival tour.) It's a beautiful place, nestled on 75 wooded acres in the Berkshire hills of Western Massachusetts, where the cell phone towers can't find you and the internet is a vague rumor.

yep, they're singing. spontaneously. for fun.

Like Apple Hill, my other New England summer haunt, Greenwood is not a place bent on turning out prodigies or drilling the fundamentals of instrumental music into a bunch of overstimulated 12-year-old heads. It's a place for kids to be themselves, to form lifelong bonds with other kids over a shared interest, and mostly, to be astounded by just how much they're capable of. When they come off stage to a roar of applause and shouting after performing at their first Saturday night concert, every kid has the same look. It's a look of surprise and exhilaration at what they've just done, of only-just-acknowledged exhaustion following a week of hard work, and mostly, of sheer pride that they are as good as they hoped they might be.

So this is where I'll be spending the next few weeks. Like I mentioned, the net hasn't exactly found Greenwood yet, and since the nearest town of any size is 40 minutes away, you probably won't be hearing from me more than once a week or so until the end of the month. But you can bet I'll have some excellent stories to tell when I get back...