This is a photograph of Main Street, Cambridge, N.Y., a small town with a rich mix of writers, artists, farmers and working people. Bennington College is nearby. It is not too far from Albany or New York City. It has an arts center (Hubbard Hall, an old Opera House) a diner called “Country Gals” and the Round House Cafe, where my friend Scott makes wonderful farm-fresh omeletes and sandwiches, muffins, cookies, pizza and bread, and the Cambridge Hotel (up for sale) where Pie A La Mode was first served. Down the road is Battenkill Books where Connie and Marilyn Brooks hang out and Mandy Meyer-Hill’s Stairway Healing Arts Center, where I get healing and healthy massages.

George Forss is usually hanging around his darkroom a couple of blocks down, he is happy to sit and talk with me about aliens and photography and his visions of the new world. At the bank drive-in window, the teller often asks me if Lenore is in the car, and if she is, a biscuit comes sailing through the pneumatic tube.

I first drove through this town about 15 years ago and saw a dog lying in the road. I stopped and got out to help him, and he growled at me, got up and circled around and went back to sleep. His owner shouted from the side of the road that this was his favorite mid-day napping spot, I shouldn’t bother him. I fell in love with Cambridge, even though it’s too busy now for a dog to sleep on Main Street. I have been many places in my life – born in Providence, lived in Atlantic City, New York City (three times), Northern New Jersey (one long stay), Boston, Philaldelphia, Dallas, Washington, Baltimore and a few places in between.

I have lunch sometimes with my friend Tom, an irascible and much loved vet who tries to hide his love of animals, and I go and see Scott for Tai Chi lessons once a week far out in the country, and I see my pal Jack Macmillan driving his truck around and fixing things and I have a good friend Davis who travels the world managing new technologies. You pretty much see everyone you know at the Round House, it has become the heartbeat of the town.

In Cambridge, I have found my home, after all these places. I am not going anywhere, not just because I am older but because this is the place I want to be, to stay. I have learned that to love a place, you have to choose the place well and stay there to make the friends and connections you need.  At the hardware store, they won’t sell me anything with sharp edges unless Maria approves in advance. At O’Hearn’s Pharmacy, Bridget knows my prescriptions by heart and reminds me when I need another insulin pen. Cambridge is not a perfect place, it is no nirvana, like any small town it can be insular and inbred, it struggles with jobs and schools and budgets as most rural communities in America do, they are not considered efficient by the economists who run the world’s global economies

In Cambridge, you might not often see your neighbors, but if you are in trouble and need help, there is an Army at your door.

Cambridge is a beautiful little town, it has the most beautiful shaded streets with a lot of neat old homes lovingly preserved. It has a wondrous mix of people, artists from Manhattan side by side with nurses and truck drivers. I am going to take more photos of Main Street.

Cambridge is the best place I have lived, it fits me. Maria too. When I got to buy stamps, Wendy reminds me that Maria likes animal stamps, she usually puts my choices back in the drawer.  The mayor came out to the farm to thank me for the Open House and the business it brought in, she is rumored to serve a whopping good breakfast at the B&B she runs. I am not moving any more, I have come home, it is not a place I ever would have imagined living for much of my life, it is not the place my parents would ever have chosen for me, it is just the place where life pushed me, like a big wave rolling towards the beach and I look around me every day, and say, yes, this is the place, finally, this is home.