Despite glowering skies and spitting snow, fellow birder/photographer Anne Zeman and I set out across the Delaware this gelid day. Our first goal was a superb meal at the Carversville Inn. Our expectations were, if anything, surpassed, as we celebrated her birthday. Pull up their menu and order anything on it — especially the Diver Scallop wrapped in apple-smoked bacon, the Paillard of Salmon coated in minutely crushed almonds, the Mushroom Ragout, the Bisque of Seafood, the salad of darkest greens and burnished golden beets with piquant goat cheese that must be aged…
Carversville is a town that time forgot. NJWILDBEAUTY readers know my passion for time travel, and this is some of the best there is.
Carversville’s Post Office is also the domain of one of our region’s most legendary caterers, Max Hansen.
Inside the P.O., there is a charming modern interpretation of Van Gogh’s Postman. The original is at the new Barnes in Philadelphia. The P.O. Postman may be in the back room, depending on how much other art is on display in this unique setting. Ask for it! You can also buy splendid lavender products from Carousel Farm near Doylestown.
Despite it’s being January 16, when we entered the Inn for our superb repast, there were two men, without coats, intensely conversing on these appealing benches.
Inside the old grocery, the new Max center, you’ll find very helpful people. They simply know they are serving excellence, eager to assist you in your culinary needs and desires. I was in quest of dessert for a Sunday Stroll ‘n’ Sup here, and was able to buy half a Key Lime Pie. It’s gorgeous.
Max had strolled into the Carversville Inn, just as we were finishing our flourless chocolate creation with homemade dark caramel sauce. He is renowned for everything gastronomic at the Michener Museum of Doylestown, and frequently for Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve’s “Black Tie and Muck Boots” Gala, held when the bluebells turn fields and stream banks to floral oceans.
We began to stroll Fleecydale Road, somewhat like Lombard Street in San Francisco, as the sign above attests. For reasons never explained, it has been officially closed for years. We met people out for January strolls, of many different ages and accents, one even with a cane who put us photographers to shame, pace-wise. All were grinning ear-to-ear, gracious to these strangers.
Fleecydale Road is one of America’s corniches. Having lived in Provence in 1987 and 88, I have had my share of corniches: moyenne, haute and I forget the other one, inferieure? Princess Grace starred in To Catch a Thief, zooming along corniches in a dashing convertible, with the dangerous, handsome cat burglar. She also died in a crash on one, which is all too common in the hills of Provence. Trying to describe the circuitous roads that surrounded me, that were my only way to and from anywhere, I’d tell my family, “It’s as though someone dumped a plate of cooked spaghetti from on high, waited for it to solidify, then told you to drive the strands.”
Anne Zeman and I, out for nature, out for air, out fully to experience January as her birthday year unfolded, walked America’s, or shall I say, one of Pennsylvania’s, corniches. The curves are gentler on foot, and beauty and history more accessible and apparent. All along we were serenaded by the creek – is it the Perkiomen?
Equally accessible are the shocks of this 21st Century — stunning reality of the dread PIPELINE (this one proudly claimed by a Texas firm), when you come upon them at eye level, in the midst of beauty.
I showed NJWILDBEAUTY readers the horror of PIPELINE pipes at Heinz “Refuge” (there is NO REFUGE from PIPELINES) down near the Philadelphia Airport a few weeks ago. Many months ago, I showed you the ones on either side of the D&R Canal and Towpath, a STATE PARK, our DRINKING WATER — south of Alexander Street in Princeton. They’re along the Great Road in Princeton, near some of our finest schools, teaching the leaders of tomorrow. They’re on roads between tiny Lawrenceville and tiny Pennington, in the midst of farm fields, near residences of Cherry Hill, Cherry Valley — nowhere is safe.
In the midst of bucolic beauty, we came to these:
See what the PIPELINE abuts and scars. Walk with us:
Not how close together those tree rings are. One would need a micrometer to measure its growth. Slow-growing trees are the strongest. Ash is legendary for slow maturation, and it used to be the only wood for baseball bats. This once towering majesty is still imposing, no match for Hurricane Sandy.
Whatever you can do, wherever you live, put the brakes on these PIPELINE PROMOTERS.
Remember that splendid son, “This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land.”
It is not the PIPELINE PROMOTERS’ land.
They MUST be STOPPED!