Change is sometimes hard — even if it’s also exhilarating. The first time I encountered Iceland’s breathtaking vistas and volcanic terrain, it was the culminating experience of my first full year as a newspaper journalist. In 2016, I landed in December’s darkness, emerging from the airport into fog so thick I couldn’t see more than 30 feet in front of me.
These six years later, a lingering impression of that trip remains imprinted on my mind’s eye: Iceland, a 4½ hour flight from Boston, is cold and unforgiving yet hauntingly beautiful. That first time, I traveled alone with a small backpack, finding a strange kind of solace in the wide-open roads and thundering waterfalls. Loneliness seemed to be infused with the mist. It was the kind of place where one could unchain the mind and let it wander into unknown territory.
Last Friday, I returned from Iceland for the second time, finding clear skies and cold wind, this time accompanied by my wife, Brianna. In June’s 24-hours of sunlight, we camped our way throughout southern Iceland, frequenting hot springs and absorbing the incredible landscape. On the second day, we hiked to the currently erupting Fagradalsjfall Volcano, past molten lava so hot it could burn uncovered skin more than 10 feet away.
It was another unforgettable experience.
A lot has changed since my inaugural Icelandic adventure. For one, I’m married now. I’ve grown up a lot since 2016, as both a writer and a human. In a lot of ways, Iceland has book-ended my coming-of-age years. I was a cub reporter the first time I traveled there, living on North Main Street in South Deerfield above Gianni Fig’s Ristorante (shout out to Chef Gianni Calabrese who, in my opinion, makes the best meatballs in the northeast). At the time, Brianna was a nursing student at the University of Massachusetts Amherst and lived just across the Connecticut River in Sunderland. Mount Sugarloaf presided over our budding relationship. On warmer evenings, we’d scramble up its steeper trail to catch the sunset. And in 2017, on the first day of fall, I proposed at the top (spoiler, she said ‘yes’).
Now, having returned home the second time, I am writing a farewell column with Mount Sugarloaf and Iceland fresh on my mind.
Today marks my final day at The Greenfield Recorder. On Monday, I start a remote writer-editor job for a national publication. It’s a bittersweet departure, as I will miss my wonderful colleagues and all of you, who have supported my work in this vibrant community — a stone’s throw from where I grew up in Northampton — for the past six years.
From reporting on the 2016 presidential election to the 2017 tornado that tore through Pumpkin Hollow in Conway, to covering municipal government (the longest meeting I ever sat through was a six-hour Deerfield Selectboard gathering about the fate of Sugarloaf Estates), to writing profiles about fascinating locals like Robert Kearney, the first openly gay professional strongman (at the 2019 World Log Lift Championships, Kearney captured the American log lift record of 471 pounds), Darius Marder, director of the Oscar-winning film “Sound of Metal,” Author Jane Yolen, who has published 400 books and Illustrator Gayle Kabaker, whose work has appeared a number of times on the cover of New Yorker Magazine. That’s not to mention the time I suited up in protective equipment for a first-person article about what it’s like to be a living paintball target at Mike’s at Night paintball Zombie Patrol attraction in Sunderland.
My first day on the job was literally trial by fire. I walked into the office at 9 a.m. and was immediately turned around and sent to cover an overnight fire on Wells Street in Greenfield. During my time, I’ve had the honor of meeting so many interesting people, like Helen Reed, then 100, of Conway, who was born before women were allowed to vote and proudly cast her ballot for Hillary Clinton in the 2016 election. That fall, as a reporter, I was encouraged by my then-features editor, Anita Fritz, to participate in the National Novel Writing Month and write a first-person article about the process. I did, putting down onto paper more than 50,000 words in under a month.
To put it succinctly: It’s been a blast.
There is so much to say about my time here on Hope Street and not enough room in the newspaper. It’s been an honor to be immersed in the vibrant communities that comprise Franklin County, which, I’m convinced, is among the most beautiful places I’ve ever been (and I’ve been to a lot of countries). But of all the intriguing characters I’ve met, the places I’ve been and the stories I’ve been entrusted with, I feel most grateful for the support I’ve received from the Recorder’s faithful readers, including my grandmother, Irene Fariss, who lived in Erving for many decades (she’s in Northampton now); she made a habit of cutting out my articles and keeping them in a box for me.
Another unexpected blessing came when the pandemic was being fully realized last year. Starved for content in Monday’s outdoors section, I started writing “Finding Beauty,” a column about small blessings I started writing mostly for myself. The outpouring of appreciation I’ve received through phone calls and emails has been a constant source of encouragement. Thank you for your kind words; I’ll take them with me wherever I go.
This final column marks the closing of a sweet chapter and the opening of another.
On our very first date in early 2015, Brianna (who had just returned from teaching English in Ecuador for a year) and I talked about what it would be like to live nomadically. Not two weeks after that conversation, she enrolled in a nursing program with the intention of, at one point, becoming a travel nurse. Likewise, I stepped onto a path that has led me to today: since then, I’ve worked hard in an office to be able to work without one someday, even going back to school for a master’s degree in 2019 to make myself more marketable. In the coming months, together, Brianna and I intend to venture out onto the road — hopefully to California, then the west coast, to Utah during ski season and Alaska during the warmer months; then, who knows?
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been plagued by an itch for adventure — that quiet voice some people can hear calling from the open road, prompting them to venture outside the comfort zone and find new experiences. I’m blessed to have a travel partner in Brianna. To make such a lifestyle sustainable is a dream come true for both of us.
But as I stand at the precipice of whatever it is that comes next, I can’t help but feel nostalgic for ‘the good old days’ of bootstrap journalism — when retired editor George Forcier would order pizza during election nights and town gossips would invite me over for dinner to give me their side of the story. Change is hard.
Newspapering has been in my blood since I delivered the Daily Hampshire Gazette in middle school. I learned photography at Greenfield Community College, where I received the Gazette’s journalism scholarship, and writing during my time studying English at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. Forcier gave me my first “real” job after graduation (in another life, I was in the Air Force and worked briefly as a cameraperson and producer at WWLP 22News). Through the lens of time and history, during those early years as a beat reporter, it feels like I was living in a Charles Dickens novel, alive with fascinating characters and intriguing plot lines. That’s when I honed my writing skill and learned just how important and fragile democracy is.
It must be protected.
Luckily, Franklin County has The Greenfield Recorder as its standard-bearer. Since 1792, reporters like myself have sought out interesting stories in the community and kept residents apprised of happenings in local government. For the last few years, I’ve walked a well-trodden path in the footsteps of journo legends like Richie Davis (a personal hero), who retired after four decades a few years ago. I’ve been in the industry for long enough to know that someone else will come along and pick up where I left off.
As I depart for adventure that lies somewhere on the unknown horizon, in pursuit of the nostalgic expansiveness I discovered in Iceland, I hope that you, reader, will continue to support this wonderful little newspaper. For the last six years, I’ve come to learn that democracy depends on journalism. It must be cherished and valued in every corner of the Earth, especially in your backyard.
Andy Castillo served as the features editor at the Greenfield Recorder. He holds an MFA in creative writing from Bay Path University.