We drove out to Tanglewood last Sunday afternoon for the last concert of the year.  Arriving late we parked in the lion lot at the back of the grounds. As we walked up the long hill to the entrance gate Beethoven’s 9th Symphony rolled over us and out across the Berkshires. It was a clear, dry temperate Sunday afternoon. People sat together in the sun and walked around well past the final note and the ovations.  At Tanglewood the sound of a symphony orchestra, normally  heard within the hard confines of a city, fills the air in a wooded place. Quiet and graceful gatherings of families and friends are drawn to that remarkable intersection of creative expression and an open-air environment. The first time Kirsten and I went to Tanglewood–nearly a quarter of a century ago–we listened to Mozart in the rain, holding the fly of our tent over our heads. Every year after that we have made the pleasant pilgrimage with our boys, across Massachusetts to Lenox, usually meeting our good friends Lyle and Melba at the gate for an evening concert.

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