I could not be happier that my months as an intern with the Greenfield Recorder aligned with the months that our world began to open back up.
Having spent the last year of my life producing student journalism remotely at the University of Massachusetts Amherst meant that my time at the Recorder was, for lack of a better term, trial by fire. Being in the newsroom allowed me to find out very quickly that reporting in person didn’t necessarily equate to interacting with sources and colleagues through a screen; I remember my brain being in absolute chaos mode my first week.
When my second day rolled around and I was handed four stories to write, I texted my mom at the end of the day how “crazy” it was, and how the responsibility I felt already was almost overwhelming.
I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of Paul Franz’s blue pickup truck with his dog, Dixie, on my lap on my third day. Paul was “touring” me around various parts of Franklin County on our way to and from Conway, for one of the first stories I would write for the paper.
Looking across the very green, very scenic hills, as Paul pointed out everything from Greenfield in the distance to the herons’ nests in the marsh right in front of us, I realized that I was in what felt like a completely different world than my home in Amherst. I’ve come to understand since then what an honor it is to have had the opportunity to serve Franklin County and learn about true, community journalism in such a unique environment.
Through every hilltown I’ve found myself lost in, through every town clerk, librarian, selectboard chair and fire chief I’ve spoken with, through every town forum I’ve spent my evening covering, I have become a better journalist.
I will forever triple- and quadruple-check numbers, names and figures because not a thing gets past loyal readers. I’ve found that the necessary shorthand, present on the countless legal pads and notebooks strewn across my apartment, requires a quick hand, a pen that isn’t out of ink and professional decoding skills. I’ve learned that getting commentary before deadline sometimes means unashamedly making call after call.
I am no longer afraid to ask simple questions, I don’t hesitate to leave several messages, and if I am confused, I call again. These actions let my sources know that I care.
And that is one thing I’ve learned the most at the Recorder: that letting my sources know that I care about them is important. As journalism students, there’s a constant emphasis on not becoming attached to those you cover and not allowing stories to become personal. Of course, we act ethically and maintain professionalism, but the balance of doing so is something rarely spoken about in the classroom.
Getting to know so many individuals involved in the changes that Franklin County’s towns are trying to implement has left me somewhat invested in their success — though I don’t believe that means I’m biased. I have decided that I think the connection I feel to these towns has allowed me to write more complete stories and push myself to cover more than I ever imagined I could.
I have said it before, and I will say it again: I can’t accurately express how incredibly grateful I feel to have had this experience. I have learned more from the superhuman journalists within the Recorder’s newsroom than I could have in any classroom, and I have been exposed to an incredible number of lives and beliefs through my accumulation of stories over these last four months.
Exploring Franklin County hasn’t felt like work. Thank you for being patient while I was scribbling in my reporter’s notebook, for connecting me with your friends and colleagues, and most of all, for showing me what a community looks like when its members truly care about one another.
I will continue to be intrigued by your hilltowns, by your communities and by the work I see you doing every day to connect, listen and improve. While I have been writing, it has been wonderful to see that we have been making a difference together.