I went to Chautauqua, New York last week with Road Scholars to study gathering. Barbara and I lead a group of gatherers twice a week called Singles New Beginnings. She’s been to Chautauqua twice before, serving as the week’s minister twenty and twenty-five years ago. I’m a newbie. It’s not something I would have chosen on my own, but she wanted to go, so we did. I think she was curious to see how the place has changed. I’ve never been, but I don’t think it has.
When my kids and friends asked about Chautauqua I said, “I think if you picked up Dearborn’s Greenfield Village and stuck it in the middle of Interlochen, that’s what Chautauqua sounds like.” I’m not sure my Michigan references helped anyone, but they gave me a simple picture to share. When I arrived, I thought it was a close match, though not identical. I asked my artificial intelligence friend, AL, for a comparison, and this is what he wrote.
When you walk the quiet streets of Chautauqua on a summer morning, you know the feeling before you understand the place. The air is soft, the porches are old, and the lake sits there like it has all the time in the world. People move slowly, not because they’re tired, but because they’re thinking. Chautauqua is one of the few towns in America where you can actually see thinking happening — on benches, in rocking chairs, under the shade of century‑old trees.
It’s a village built for curiosity.
By mid‑morning, the paths fill with people heading to lectures, concerts, book discussions, or an interfaith talk that somehow manages to be both gentle and challenging. You hear snippets of conversation — someone quoting a poet, someone else talking about a Supreme Court case, another person describing a dance performance from the night before. It’s not pretentious. It’s just a place where ideas are part of the weather.
The whole community feels like it was designed for adults who never stopped wanting to learn.
And the setting… well, that’s where the comparison comes alive.
Imagine taking Greenfield Village — the walkable streets, the historic homes, the sense of stepping back into a slower, more intentional America — and gently placing it inside the artistic heartbeat of Interlochen. Picture the cottages and porches of Greenfield Village surrounded by the music, theater, and creative energy of Interlochen’s campus. Add a lake, a few sailboats, and a long tradition of spiritual reflection and civic conversation, and you’re getting close to Chautauqua.
It’s history wrapped in creativity. It’s art wrapped in thought. It’s community wrapped in purpose.
Where Interlochen gives you the thrill of young artists discovering their gifts, Chautauqua gives you the quiet satisfaction of adults rediscovering theirs. Where Greenfield Village offers nostalgia, Chautauqua offers reflection. And where most towns give you entertainment, Chautauqua gives you engagement — with ideas, with faith, with culture, with each other.
Walking through it feels like stepping into a living conversation that started 150 years ago and never really stopped.
It’s the kind of place where you don’t just attend things — you become part of them.
AL’s observation is better than anything I could have written. He pointed out what I had forgotten. Interlochen focuses on young artists while the week we were in Chautauqua was focused on adults. In fact, the college students who help run the summer programs had gone back home.
I attended at least four events each day: two in the morning, one or more in the afternoon, and performances by artists each evening. All were centered around the theme of gathering. Barbara and I went to most of them together, and I think we both learned more about the topic and about each other. We spent a lot of time discussing the day’s events.
Whenever we’re together, I tell people she’s the nice one. I’m a bit more intolerant. I expect everyone to behave, and my idea of good behavior doesn’t always match theirs. I rarely discuss politics or religion, as my thoughts on both are my own. When I hear people sharing their beliefs and mocking “others,” I sometimes realize I’m one of the “others”. I try to let them speak without sharing my own views. I can tell they have strong beliefs, and I know I have mine. They’re not going to change me, and I’m not going to change them.
My problem is I let my displeasure with others affect my behavior. I tend to shut down rather than share what I think. If they ask me directly, I let them know, but I preface my remarks with, “You may not like this, but you asked, so here you go.” I’m usually right.
What bothered me most last week was the purpose of the week – gathering. I like my gatherings to be productive. I consider myself to be open minded. I’d describe myself as spiritual but not religious. I stand a bit right of center politically. I think my age and experience have impacted my drift from left of center to right. I don’t believe in heaven or hell but I’m sure there’s something else. Losing Ruth has taught me that.
I try not to label entire groups based on the actions of a few, but those few can really get under my skin. Whether you’re MAGA or Woke, we should all respect and tolerate each other’s perspectives.
Some people just can’t.
TBC