Of course Keswick is stunningly beautiful, lush pastures bordered with three board white fences and divided by a twisty, roller coaster road running along the Southwest Mountains. Not only is it stunning but laden with history, Jefferson and Madison thrived here, Jefferson calling it “America’s Eden”.
But like an iceberg, Keswick’s real value lies below the surface , unseen and unnoticed by passers-by. For underneath the beauty and history is the community with its stories, institutions, traditions and devoted residents. Where else could you get a story like when penny-pinching Coles discovered he needed a pacemaker, he went to Blue who already had the device and asked, “Do you know where I can get a used one?”
As Barclay says, “There are no secrets in Keswick,” and he’s right. Everyone knows everything about everyone. And gossip abounds, not nasty or backbiting but out of delight in people’s foibles and missteps, like the Keswickian who mistook a container of gas for kerosene, doused it on a burn pile, lit it and found himself blown off his feet with his eyebrows singed off. Or Chita who, angered that her deceased husband had run her into debt, said, “When I get up there, he’s going to be in much worse shape than he is now.”
Hardly a day goes by without hearing someone say, “Did you hear what happened to BLANK? It’s all good-natured ribbing based on the shared understanding that we all make mistakes.
Then there’s the Hunt Club with its run-down, ramshackle charm and raucous parties shared by all. Pictures of foxhunters hanging caddywampus on the walls, the curtains faded and frayed, the silver trophies tarnished, floorboards worn but no one would dare touch a thing. The interior is as sacred as the Gutenberg bible. A planned renovation was only approved when the members running the redo swore that they wouldn’t change the interior.
How about a tiny community with it’s own newspaper, just as funky as the Hunt Club with grainy pictures of people at community events, news of happenings in Keswick, a couple columns, a jumble of reflections on the unique nature of this place, all carefully and creatively crafted and edited by Colin with Winky as KL’s founder and editor.
Talk about institutions—how about the Food Booth at the horse show? Manned by a good-natured grabass group of Keswickians who, despite their recognized incompetence at cooking and serving, manage to come up with some pretty good grub and have a great time doing it. Everyone coming away reeking of smoke and fryer oil.
The horse show is an annual tradition opened with the Westminster Dog Show and capped off with Snookie’s Fish Fry. It’s a pageant of color and sound with expensive jumpers leaping over fences and spectators taking in the show.
Hilltoppings are Keswick’s version of a tailgate where you circulate down the line of picnic tables knoshing on delectables people have brought, drinking their wine and chitchatting, it’s a giant picnic in a sprawling field filled with good friends, the exuberance at being together on a beautiful evening so heady you can cut it with a knife.
And in the middle of all this studied funkiness is a tony resort. Keswick Hall, or as locals call it, “The Hall”. It’s a grand old mansion dating from 1912 that’s been updated to high swanky. It’s as inapropos to Keswick as a log cabin would be to Fifth Avenue. But because Keswick includes all sorts of incongruities, pickup trucks and beaters, Ferraris and Maseratis, rickety shacks and multi-million dollar mansions, The Hall somehow finds its place in Keswick.
A couple of adventurous entrepreneurs are starting to turn Keswick from horse country to wine country. One has even jokingly referred to Keswick as “Keswick Valley” as in “Napa Valley”. Vineyards are beginning to swarm over the landscape and more are planned. It’s a gradual but striking change in the character of Keswick and while initially disturbing, people are beginning to take the transition in stride, realizing that farmland can be enhanced with endless rows of grapevines. Besides, who doesn’t like a nice glass of wine?
The Keswick post office is like an ongoing reunion where you meet and greet friends you haven’t seen in a while. “Hey, how are you? How’s it going?” people say as they get out of their cars to go in and get their mail. It’s Keswick’s version of Main Street, people’s paths crisscrossing so they can get an update on their friends’ experiences and catch up on the latest gossip.
People here are endlessly kind and generous, helping out the less fortunate, always openly greeting each other, sharing jokes and stories, with wealth, achievements and reputation set aside because everyone shares a common experience—we all live in Keswick.
It’s a remarkably unique area. Rich in depth and character, unique with its special personality and unlike any other place in the world.
Some don’t take to it and longtime residents will say about a new arrival, “They won’t last,” and usually they’re right.
It’s not for everybody, just for those of us who wouldn’t live anywhere else.