Dale and Phyllis Webb have made it a lot easier to be a gypsy. Dale, a formally trained engineer, and Phyllis, the sister of ukulele guru Jim Beloff—yes, the Beloff who helped arrange Eddie Vedder’s Ukulele Songs—design and manufacture ukuleles and other nontraditional instruments from (mostly) locally sourced walnut, maple, and cherry. The instruments create a righteous, solid sound and fit in the trunk of a car, a suitcase, or even a beat-up backpack.

“We’ve definitely heard about our instruments taking a lot of abuse,” says Phyllis. “One floated down the Mediterranean; it just needed some time to dry out. We hear about these kinds of adventures all the time.”

The original ukulele design, the Fluke, was the prototype that launched the Magic Fluke Company, based in the tiny town of Sheffield, Massachusetts. The whimsical, triangular instrument has a wide, flat bottom. Like the Webbs, who have three sons, the Fluke clan grew. Next in line was the Flea, a smaller, rounder ukulele with a tinnier sound. The Fluke and the Flea are the foundation on which the Magic Fluke empire was built. The tiny Firefly banjo, a lean violin known as the Cricket, and the newest addition—the Timber, a little electric bass—are their not-so-distant cousins. Most are available in a slew of color and texture personalities that range from aloha cute to badass “black lava.”

“They’re not new instruments; they’re new configurations,” Dale says. “It’s a different take. We stray pretty far from the traditional, but that’s our niche.”

And people love it. Since the Webbs moved their operation from New Hartford, Connecticut, to Sheffield in 2011 (they began their journey in 1999), it seems as if the whole Berkshire region has gone Fluke crazy. A ukulele orchestra meets every week to rehearse. A local brewery has collaborated on the Uke ‘n’ Brew Festival, which was just held for the third year in a row. Pretty much everyone in town has one or two Flukes. Elsewhere in the world, Bette Midler played her very own Fluke ukulele during a recent Vegas run. The Fluke also features prominently in Brooklyn-based band Beirut’s music video for “Elephant Gun.”

“From the young kids who like that it’s small, to the elderly who have memories of their grandparents playing, everybody is our potential customer,” says Phyllis.

This story originally appeared in the December 2015 Take magazine, available here.

Dale and Phyliss Webb–Magic Fluke Company
Sheffield, Massachusetts
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Top image courtesy of Magic Fluke Company

The post No Fluke appeared first on Take Magazine.

Brian Huebner is a modern-day snake oil salesman. His Thoreauvian charm comes in handy when he’s pitching his elixir to hesitant buyers. Fire Cider is a concoction several years in the making for Huebner, his sister, Amy, and her husband, Dana St. Pierre, who is the original alchemist behind the trademarked tonic. The three started selling Fire Cider in 2010 at a holiday bazaar in the Berkshires.

Dana St. Pierre, Amy Huebner, and Brian Huebner | Photo by Tony Israel

“Dana started making it based loosely on a family recipe from his German grandmother. He was really battling seasonal allergies,” says Amy, the “kitchen witch” of Pittsfield, Massachusetts-based Shire City Herbals, which manufactures Fire Cider. “He’d throw in the lemon, the orange … things kept getting added in. We had several test batches sitting in our pantry. Then he really perfected the concept and got serious about writing things down.”

The final potion, though still somewhat of a secret, is a heady mix of cider vinegar, horseradish, oranges, honey, lemon, ginger, garlic, habaneros, and turmeric. The scent lies somewhere between zingy salad dressing and spiced cake. The flavor, well, it’s a burn. But a good burn. That’s what they tell reluctant passersby at farmers markets and potential retail outfits.

“We offer samples everywhere we go. Sometimes people think it’s moonshine or hard cider,” says Brian. “We tell them it’s a health tonic and they really need to just try it for themselves. The first sip’s a doozy.”

Fire Cider is not just for health nuts and food purists. The Average Joe crowd bangs back the potent Kool-Aid, too. Amy cites a collective fear of big pharma, and a return to hearty industriousness as part of the reason people are busting out of their comfort zone and flocking to the snake oil.

“It’s the gateway drug to using food as medicine,” she says. “People say they’ve never shopped at their co-op before until they realized that’s the only place they could get the tonic. That’s how it starts.”

You can find Fire Cider just about anywhere, from Terminal B at Logan Airport to soda bars and dark cafes. The tonic is sold in nearly 800 locations across the country. A few celebrities, including Willie Nelson and Elizabeth Warren, have slugged it back. And the producers are just getting started.

“We sent Bernie Sanders some,” Amy laughs. “We wrote ‘Feel the Bern’ on it. I hope he tried it.”

Fire Cider Earl Grey Hot Toddy

Brew one cup of Harney & Son’s Earl Grey tea

Add:

1 1/2 tsp of Fire Cider
1 1/2 tsp of Berkshire Mountain Distiller’s Berkshire Bourbon
(You can substitute any kind of bourbon, but why not drink local?)
1 1/2 tsp of lemon juice
1 tsp of honey or to taste

Makes one-cup serving

The post The Fire Within appeared first on Take Magazine.

Twenty years ago, Mikhail Baryshnikov invaded the quiet woods of Becket, Massachusetts, sweeping everyone off their feet with his fame and physique. The Latvian-born, Russian-bred god of dance added yet another layer of hard sparkle to the already gleaming stage of the now 80-year-old Jacob’s Pillow Dance Festival. But awe sometimes inspires alienation and soon after that auspicious visit, the Pillow recognized the need to create more connective tissue with the outliers and non-aficionados of dance.

“Dance is the least experienced of all the art forms,” says Education Director J.R. Glover. “I just felt like we should open it up, the whole thing, to the community. We’re making points of entry.”

Photo courtesy of Jacob’s Pillow Dance

For $8 a pop, anyone can swing by during the summer season to experience the morning classes (once open only to interns and staff), Monday through Friday. The demographic is as varied as the offerings themselves, which range from Pilates to ballet to Zumba. It’s quiet on the wooded campus and the grass is still wet when 62-year-old Linda Bacon, a veteran class participant, emerges from the studio.

“When I first started taking the classes I was concerned about ‘was I wearing the right attire, did I fit in?’” she says. “But I don’t feel intimidated. There are a lot of interns who take the classes and some are just gorgeous dancers. I feel inspired by that. Nobody’s laughing at me.”

The morning classes are a steal. And they’re pretty packed, especially when you have instructors like choreographer Adam Weinert leading floor exercises. At night — 6:15-7 p.m. before the headliners — the Inside/Out series invites everyone, free of charge, to take a seat on a log and watch all manner of movers — hip hop artists, tango queens — whisk across the giant outdoor stage. People eat sandwiches, some drink wine, children stand off to the side and try to mimic the dancers, who are moving against the backdrop of a wooded vista.

Photo courtesy of Jacob’s Pillow Dance

“I have a bench outside my office, and I love watching who sits on that bench and who comes down that grand path — teachers, parents with little kids, young people,” says Glover. “It just takes the introduction, then they come back. They love the informality.”

As night wears on, and the Baryshnikovs of today’s dance world leave the main stage, the line between watchers and watched continues to blur and smudge. At the Pillow Pub, a sturdier version of a tiki bar, dancers have changed into civilian garb and they mingle with late-stayers and shy ‘groupies’ sipping beer and swatting mosquitoes. Suddenly, impulsivity takes hold. Tables are pushed aside, flamenco guitarists begin to play feverishly and an epic jam session ensues. And yes, everybody’s dancing.

The post Dance for the People appeared first on Take Magazine.