the dreamaway

Two nights ago, Laura and I met Moo, her friend, and some other Farmers at the Dreamaway Lodge, a bizarre restaurant and bar that is hidden away in the woods of Massachusetts. In it’s past, the place was a speakeasy, an inn, and also Bob Dylan’s favorite retreat. Always obscure, it’s now a quirky little roadhouse that relies on word-of-mouth for advertisement. That’s probably its major selling point.

Moo had invited us to her friend’s art show at the Lodge. In a coincidence worthy of the Dreamaway’s mystique, he’d landed the show at just about the time Moo moved here. But here’s where it gets weird.

Laura and I arrived around 11 pm to find Farmer Brown and Abe The Volunteer lounging on the screened porch, which was set for dinner in parties of two. Mismatched plates and silverware were spread over the small tables, and assorted chairs were placed around the hodgepodge pieces of furniture and artwork that decked the walls. Laura got her bearings (I’d been here once before) and we walked into the bar populated with patrons sitting barefoot on the floor, while an acoustic duo crooned to a small crowd of hippies and dogs in the living room next door. We wended our way back through the restaurant looking for Moo and the Loo Gallery (the artwork is for sale and is displayed in the single, unisex bathroom).

“Hi! I’m so glad you decided to come!” Moo greeted us in the dining room, spread in the same manner as the porch, but with tables to seat up to twelve. I felt as though we’d stepped into a mad tea party.

“We’re gonna start up again in a few minutes,” a passerby called to Moo. “You interested?”

“Oh, yeah, maybe. I’ll be right there. They’re doing this really weird thing out back in this house. We were all sketching this girl who was posing, and it was five dollars to draw and fifteen if you just wanted to watch,” Moo explained to us. “This is what I did. Hahaha!” Moo displayed some blue-pen line drawings in her moleskin pocket notebook. Five dollars to draw some strange girl with your own materials. Nice.

After crowding around the bathroom to see the blank ink drawings on display, the three of us went back to the porch. Farmer Brown convinced someone of authority to give me food, although I was pretty sure the kitchen had been closed for at least an hour. I was tossed a snack bag of popcorn from behind the bar, and so I asked the price.

“Ten Dollars.”

“I am not paying ten dollars for that bag of popcorn,” I declared. I was grateful to be offered something, but I detest popcorn.

“Ok, then just take it.”

We decided it would be a good idea to sit outside in the drizzle around the fire with the other… whatever we were by now. The dogs kept us all company.