May-December Romance

This appeared Sunday, Nov. 19, 2006

The dark days are upon us.

No, I‘m not talking about the coming reign of Nancy Pelosi, or the possibility that the state House of Representatives will remain in GOP hands. I‘m talking about something with direct, immediate and dire implications for West Chestrians everywhere.

The West Chester Growers Market is set to close down for the season next month.

Ever heard the expression, ”a May-December romance“? This is one of those.

Every May, the growers market opens at the corner of North Church and West Chestnut streets and We Who Know Its Pleasures flock there to get our weekly ration of organic greens, perfect tomatoes, sugary baked goods, free range chicken breasts and ever so ripe peaches, among other etceteras.

And by ”we“ I mean everybody from mothers and daughters to fathers and sons, dogs and their owners, owners and their dogs, off-duty criminal defense attorneys, off-duty police officers, on-duty folk musicians, retired gentlemen, retiring ladies, and every now and then a Goth or two from the local coffeehouse. It can get downright crowded -- and I‘m talking Restaurant Festival crowded -- in the early hours of the day when everybody is angling for the best looking squash and the freshest loaf of French bread.

Then, every December, as the wind blows the last leaf from the last branch and the sun struggles to keep the temperature above 40, they shut the place down. You‘ve seen it coming but it still breaks your heart, like the cruelest end to the grandest love affair you can imagine.

Winter in West Chester is dark, but it is made even darker when you wake on Saturday morning and realize you‘re going to have to get your mixed greens from the supermarket veggie case instead of the friendly guy with the Amish straw hat.No more chow chow and canned peaches from Lizzie‘s Bakery. No more whoopee pies, either. Gone is the chance of scoring a wedge of garlic and chive cheese from the guys at Oak Shade Cheeses. Not a bloody chance of resupplying the Lemon Calendula soap bars from Ellen April soaps.It strikes me as criminal that the good things in life in West Chester have to go into hibernation just because the calendar page turns. In my home town, Cincinnati, there‘s a farmers‘ market that is open year-round because the city decided to build it an enclosed space.

So I was thinking that perhaps it‘s time for the powers that be in West Chester to start pressuring those developers who want to build 40-story hotels on Chestnut Street to include prime space for the market in the building so the growers could operate from New Years to Christmas.

That‘s right. I say perhaps it‘s time for everyone to demand a growers market provision in the redevelopment authority‘s bylaws. I say we speak out with petitions and letters and late-night prank telephone calls and e-mail Internet blogging campaigns.

Right? I ask Keith Fahnestock, owner of Fahnestock Fruits, the market‘s gateway table stand.

”Well, you get kinda glad when it‘s done,“ Keith replied, somewhat sheepishly, about the approaching closing date. ”It‘s nice to take a break.“

Oh. Well. Maybe you‘re right.

Anyway, see you in the springtime.

Saturdays With Peirce

This appeared Sunday, Nov. 12, 2006


Your best bet on a visit to Longwood Gardens on a Saturday morning is to start everything off with an early breakfast at Hank‘s Place in downtown Chadds Ford -- the place ”Where Hungry People Eat and Friendly People Meet.”

Or so I‘ve been told.

Get there early, however, because Hank‘s has a tendency to fill up quickly; there are only about a dozen or so tables in the joint, and about as many stools at the counter. Follow my advice and get the eggs and Voula‘s Corned Beef Hash. Take your time reading the paper because the gardens don‘t open until nine.

But don‘t overstay your welcome; check out the number of people who are standing in line on the front stoop to get in if you want a hint on the amount of time you can linger.

You want to get to Longwood as soon after opening because the place is one of the top ten tourist spots on the East Coast, non-theme park division, and therefore tends to get as crowded as Hank‘s dining room after a few hours, especially if the weather is nice.

You want to pick the right time of year to go there, but that depends on who you are in that regard. Some prefer the heat-height of summer, when the Flower Walk is decked out in full regalia and the fountains are spouting off like Old Faithful. Others want that chill in the air as they walk through the lighted grove of beeches on the way to the Conservatory‘s Christmas display.

One Mother‘s Day, I swear the walkways were jammed like a NASCAR race for baby buggies on the first turn.

For my money, however, autumn is when the best comes out of the gardens.

That‘s when you realize how many colors are in nature‘s spectrum, confronted as you are with the different shades of yellow and pale green and deep red and dusty purple that the falling leaves contain. It‘s when you realize that the yellow ginkos that dot your street are pipsqueaks in comparison with the towering species that stand in front of the Peirce duPont House.

On Saturday, I made it over the Longwood for a quick trip around the place. In the Beech Grove, above the Italian Water Gardens, I sat for awhile thinking about how you couldn‘t pay for a nicer morning to recharge yourself. Mid-60s, sunny blue sky, with enough of a breeze to scatter the leaves around your feet now and then, but not too windy. Not to mention Election Day being over and the phones not ringing any more with the threat of a politician demanding some publicity.


It was a day for discovery, too. Walking from the Visitors‘ Center, I noticed for the first time the peculiar shade of reddish brown that the foliage on the bald cypresses turn when their leaves -- deciduous conifers, if you prefer -- start to drop. I‘d never seen the trees that color, or maybe just never paid attention. It was as through the leaves had rusted like metal, and were oxidizing themselves to the ground.

All in all, a visit to Longwood Gardens certainly makes one‘s life a little better. For less then the price of an Eagles ticket, you can place yourself in a world of peace and quiet, of natural beauty unsurpassed, with amazing sights around each bend.

And you don‘t have to worry about having to rake the leaves afterwards.

No 'Bucks in the Boro

This appeared on Sunday, Nov. 5, 2006

At the Canine Care Center in Frazer, they advertise their services right on the front windows. To wit: They provide dog grooming, doggie day care and wonderful, exotic dog food, all at reasonable prices.

And in addition, they proudly proclaim that they have coffee, and it‘s really, really good.

Leave aside the question of whether the coffee is for the dog owners or the dogs. What I want to point out is that the availability of coffee has gotten out of control.You can get a cup of coffee anywhere.

You can get one in the supermarket. You can get one at the gas station. You can get one at the optometrist‘s. And, from what I now learn, you can get it while your Pomeranian is being clipped.

I suppose that this is representative of the fascination America has developed with coffee. My father used to get up in the middle of the night to fix himself a big hot cup of coffee -- caffeinated, mind you. I found that strange, but in 2006, I can only assume that the general populace would not blink an eye.

My boss, after all, doesn‘t leave the cozy confines of his office here in LocalLand without his stainless steel coffee container. Lord knows, he might get trapped between the news desk and the sports desk and need a shot of joe.

I say this to get to the big news: Last month, Starbucks announced they had set a goal of having 40,000 stores worldwide -- 27,500 more than now. They apparently need more stores because the coffee drinkers of the world can‘t be bothered with searching more than five square feet for their next cup.

The story that I read about this noted that in Seattle there is an office building that has a Starbucks on the first floor, a Starbucks on the 40th floor, and a Starbucks across the street. In Vancouver, Canada, there are Starbucks on opposite sides of the street at one intersection.

As Launi Skinner, senior vice president of Starbucks‘ store development, put it: ”Going to the other side of the street can be a barrier."

So Starbucks is going to have a barrista in 40,000 locations across the globe, with the exception, of course, of one place. West Chester.



That‘s right. It‘s almost 2007, and still no mocha lattes from the ’Bucks in W.C.

P.S. to Launi Skinner: Come on, lady! You can‘t find a slot in your quest for world domination to put in a store somewhere in the four corners of the best borough on the planet? The fact that there are Starbucks outlets surrounding the town doesn‘t cut it.

If you can‘t expect Vancouverans to cross the street to grab a grande, how can you expect us to hop in the Subuaru and high-tail it on over to West Goshen? And don‘t tell me about Route 202 in Birmingham. In Seattle, they only have to ride the elevator 20 floors for Ethiopean Kampuchea Roast. There are stinkin‘ traffic jams on 202!

Actually, I shouldn‘t worry about this; I‘m mostly concerned for my friends and neighbors and bosses. See, I don‘t drink coffee. I drink Irish tea.

I get it at the mall.

Five Miles of Bad Road

This appeared Oct. 29, 2006

If you look at Route 100 as it winds through West Vincent and East Nantmeal and South Coventry, it doesn‘t look ominous. Just a red stripe on the page, with that benign circular ”100“ posted on its spine.

But earlier this month, that stretch of Route 100 that runs north from Ludwig‘s Corner to Pughtown swallowed another human being, as it has with sad regularity over the years.

This time it was 17-year-old Austin Dilanni who skidded on the wet road as he tried to make the curve of the road just north of Horseshoe Trail. The senior at Bishop Shanahan was pronounced dead at the scene.

There are bad roads in Chester County, and there are dangerous intersections, too. But none stand out in the minds of people who drive it every day, or who have read these pages about its hazards, like that run of Route 100.


Since 2001, the 4.85 miles of highway between Route 401 and Route 23 has claimed seven lives -- two in 2002, one in 2003, two again in 2004, one in 2005, as well as Dilanni‘s this year.

I got those figures from Gene Blaum, the man who has been the spokesman for the local district of the state Department of Transportation since the very idea of transportation became popular. The numbers are just statistics to Blaum; he‘s very aware of the fatalities on Route 100, and spent a few moments with me talking about the tragedy of Dilanni‘s death.

Dilanni, you see, was a hockey player at Shanahan, someone Blaum‘s own children were aware of. Blaum guessed he had been coming home from practice in West Goshen that night and lost control on the S-curve that had become slick with rain..

There have been attempts made to calm the situation on that stretch of Route 100. State Rep. Curt Schroder, R-155th, of East Brandywine, has taken charge of the situation as best he could to try to get changes made to the road‘s structure, and township officials have spoken about the need for safety enhancements there, but there is only so much politicians can do, even in Chester County.

I received an e-mail from a man last week, obviously distressed about the situation on Route 100, given Dilanni‘s death. Couldn‘t we publicize the nature of the road there to warn drivers and alert residents to the dangers?

We‘ve been doing that for years, I responded. I don‘t know what more we can do, I thought.

Then I remembered the weekend trip I made to the Laurel Highlands of western Pennsylvania.
Driving aimlessly and enjoying the fall foliage, I found myself at the summit of Laurel Mountain.

Along the side of the highway was one of the largest road signs I‘d ever encountered -- a warning about the dangerous hill ahead that seemingly came complete with exclamation points. Pull over now! Check your brakes, it ordered truckers! Go slow, it warned the rest of us! This is a long, windy, steep hill that is going to eat you alive if you‘re not careful!!

So I was.

Perhaps that‘s what we need just north of the Ludwig‘s Corner Fire Co. -- a 20 foot tall sign that tells drivers about the danger ahead, about the chance that Route 100 won‘t just be an annoyance today but a full-fledged tragedy. Something with big red flashing lights.

It can‘t hurt. Because that snake of a road should not swallow another soul.