West Brookfield

Discovering West Brookfield

One girl's account on the transistion

between the city and the town

By: Kristi Kaeppel

I remember the day clearly when I found out my mother was leaving our long time home in Holyoke to move to West Brookfield, a town I'd never heard of before that day. I had just come home from the airport, after three weeks of tramping around Europe. As if a law of nature that all good things are followed by bad things, those fond days afforded to me by being young and able to travel quickly came to an end. Riding down my street, I approached my house and saw that there was a realtor's sign stuck in the ground that tragically read "FOR SALE". My childhood home, the material embodiment of good times growing up, for sale? Unable to accept it, I actually believed the sign was a mistake, foolishly placed on our lawn by some half wit realtor who mistook the address. But my naive assumptions were quickly disregarded once my mom, a little nervous then, began to explain that yes, indeed, she was going to move. I can't exactly recall how I reacted, just that I was sad and angry. I felt betrayed. I felt lost. I was entering my senior year in high school. My whole life was here. All my friends, my school, my past. Everything. At the same time, I remember telling myself to suck it up, to move on, not be a baby and to go easy on my mother who had given me everything.

My older sister's reactions were much more harsh and straight-forward. It made me look like an angel although my sentiments were the same. To us, it didn't make sense. It would be far from her family, who lived right next door; it would be far from her place of work, and it would make us less present in her life. We couldn't see the appeal of a small, rural town buried in central Mass. whose name alone provoked many people to ask, "West what? Where's that?". Still my mother was determined, and soon I found myself spending the last night in our bare house, trying to say goodbye to the only home I'd ever known.

I was put out and moved into my aunt's house next door to my old house. I was forced to pass the house everyday, watching strangers take it over, cut down our trees and erect ugly playsets in my beloved backyard. Jerks. I didn't know them but I didn't like them. I visited my mom when I could. I was impressed by the land on her new house. She had a beautiful backyard, with stables and a barn, although she didn't have horses, and a small field intersected with the backyard. I imagined the possibilities for parties. Too bad no one would want to drive so far. I found myself going out there more, as a kind of sanctuary where I was able to rest and relax. If I was feeling particularly introverted or wanted to be alone, I'd make the drive up 202 through the hilltowns of Granby and Belchertown, then on to Rt. 9 through Ware, and make my way to West Brookfield. The drive was nice if it was a sunny afternoon. I could lose myself in thought and enjoy the scenery. At night, I was terrified of the darkness and desolation. Going past the Quabbin, I'd imagine ghosts appearing before my car, or alien space ships abducting me. I'd drive as fast as reasonable and then quickly dart into the house before the spirits could get me.

The first year was hard. I didn't have a secure place to live. I felt I was burdening my aunt and uncle who I could tell weren't over enthusiastic about having me stay there. I'd crash at friends' houses, but I always felt I was being a pain and so a few times, I just slept in my car until morning, then I'd drive to West Brookfield. I'm not angry at my mom for moving. Yes, the timing was a bit off but altogether, I learned independence and understand her reasons were strong enough to make the decision she felt was right.

Now, I have a comfortable and convenient living situation and am happy that I always have a second home. On free days, I always find myself making the trek to West Brookfield to see my family. My little sister loves it. Her elementary school, West Brookfield Elementary, is always having an event or opprotunity for her to get involved in. All in all, I've notived a real sense of community that living in a small town makes possible. In Holyoke, where I still live, community is a real struggle with some residents desperately trying to make it work, while a vast majority has no interest. In West Brookfield, the whole town seems to know each other and acts so, too. I was in the corner store just a few days ago, and two people said hello. Complete strangers. This rarely ever happens in Holyoke. My mother has seemed to find her niche there too, and of course, that pleases me as well. My grandparents seem content. They are able to sit on the porch and watch the traffic go by the common, without worry of witnessing gang violence.

Still I have my worries. For example, I worry that my younger sister won't be fully exposed to the class struggle and racial spectrum that exists in America. West Brookfield is a secluded town and she won't have the opportunity to witness those less fortunate than her in school like I did. I guess she can learn that stuff later. Right now, she is having a blast joining the baseball, soccer and basketball teams. We swim at the West Brookfield town beach, get ice cream at Howard's, and find good reads at the Book Bear, a true gem for any city or town.

West Brookfield has taught me of a different lifestyle: a simpler, slower one. No one can deny the benefits of being able to walk to the library and post office no matter where one lives in town or being able to say hello and start conversation with passing strangers. West Brookfield is a wholesome and enjoyable small town with a lot of heart and charisma. I'm glad I got to know it, one way or the other.