Two months ago, Mr. Struthers moved away.

"Williamsburg got trendy and the yuppies moved in ­ the whole neighborhood changed. My next door neighbor used to be this old Polish guy who grew up in the neighborhood ­ now it's some law student with an Ivy League pedigree. And then after the events of September 11th I reevaluated my life, and decided maybe I ought to watch out for myself, you know? One day a friend calls me about a neighborhood just five hours from New York where you could still get a one bedroom for $400 and where this art community had really started to spring up. So I found myself in Williamstown."

Mr. Struthers isn't the only one. In increasing numbers, twenty-somethings sick of the large financial and mental toll New York exacts and ready to re-evaluate after the dot-com bust are doing so in this small Berkshire town.

"Used to be I'd go to some gallery and all ooh and ah at slogans spray painted on underwear, and then go out and spend four bucks just for a vodka tonic," says Laura Beckmann, 25, who moved to Williamstown last June. "It was very backstabbing, like whose band sucked or what blah blah blah was wearing ­ very pretentious. Here the museums are free, plus it's like two dollars for a drink, and everyone's super nice."

Praised by Thoreau for its beauty, and by Ms. Beckmann for its amiability, this quiet area of the Berkshires has a long history as an artistic center. The dance festival Jacob's Pillow is nearby, as is the Norman Rockwell museum, while one of the nation's premiere theater festivals takes place in Williamstown itself. Even luminaries of the New York art world have begun to purchase property nearby ­ the growing list includes Cindy Sherman and Jenny Holzer. This bucolic valley is also home to over 80 miles of hiking trails, an independent cinema and bookstore, and frequent cultural events. And if Williamstown sometimes gets a bit small for its new inhabitants, the nearby "Silicon Village" of North Adams offers two well-known museums, a burgeoning web-based economy, and a Wal-Mart.

Behind the counter of the local drug store, Martha Dramm couldn't be happier about the recent influx. "For me, it's not about having new people to sell Robitussin to ­ though I can't say I mind it. Williamstown is a real community and those of us who grew up here are happy to see it change and grow. These kids bring an infusion of new life into the town, not just economically but culturally. Five years ago the movie theater almost went out of business ­ now they're thinking of having two shows a night. I think it's really going to change his town, and for the better."

An older man there to pick up his prescription begged to differ. "They say gentrification isn't a problem here - where do they think these new kids are moving into, open air? They're taking our houses or they're bulldozing our backyards. They buy their books online and their groceries in Troy. They don't put money into the local economy. They ought go back to where they came from and leave us alone."

But those aren't the plans of Ms. Beckmann, who has opened a small gallery space next door to Ms. Dramm on Spring Street. "Go back to New York? For what? The smell of urine in the summer? Sexual harassment on overcrowded subways? Putting down three quarters of every paycheck for a roach infested hole in the wall? No thanks." She nervously pushes up her sleeve, revealing a delicate 718 tattoo on her upper arm. "I plan to stay for a while."