Continental Breakfast

by Josey Miller

Read the first part here.

Our favorite thing to do in Amish country is to get lost in the cornfields…

…while gawking at their homes – and clotheslines – from afar.

But now we were actually about to go inside one of those homes to eat dinner with the family.

We were right on time, but I started to get nervous. After all, our lifestyle is, of course, as different from theirs as theirs is from ours. What if they asked me questions in response to the questions I’d prepared for them?

We followed the directions Carolyn had given us. And their farm was so picturesque that I asked Jeff to pull over so I could photograph it:

But just as I looked through the viewfinder and pressed the button, something unexpected happened. Cars started flying down the road behind us… and turning into the driveway of the Amish family’s farm. Our Amish family’s farm.

Lots and lots of cars.

Twenty-two cars, in fact.

I counted once we reached the packed parking lot.

Apparently our “dinner with an Amish family” was actually a “dinner in the restaurant an Amish family is running out of their basement.”

I did not eat in their kitchen or their dining room. I did not bond with Naomi and Jacob’s children (though not for lack of trying). I did not get to ask any of my questions. We did eat family style, which was apropos given that we were sitting in the middle of a non-Amish family reunion of more than sixty non-Amish people.

They’d eaten there “at least seventeen times.”

Naomi only looked in my direction once – not to admire the Amishness of my dress (shocking, I know), but rather – to show the room how she mashes the potatoes with a mixer attached to an electric drill.

But between their fresh, homemade peanut butter and their fresh, homemade chicken and bread and chow chow and their fresh, homemade, well, everything else… somehow we still left satisfied.

And I was pretty glad we didn’t bring flowers.

*Dutch for “two.” At least Google answers my questions.

by Josey Miller

I am fascinated with the Amish. So much so that, while I’m generally freakishly well-mannered, I lose all self-control around the Amish and take pictures of them even though I know perfectly well that they don’t appreciate it. In fact, when we’re in Central Pennsylvania visiting our favorite B&B, Jeff says I become Amish paparazzi. “You do know they have rear-view mirrors, right?” he said as I took this photo.

So you can just imagine my pure exhilaration at the thought of having dinner with an Amish family.

As part of my 30th birthday gift, Jeff coordinated with Carolyn, our B&B hostess, who is able to set up these dinners with her Amish neighbors. And once I found out the Monday before our Saturday meal, I was on a mission. While I realize this may sound mocking, so help me I meant no disrespect whatsoever; on the contrary, I was truly honored. I felt as if I were a representative of all non-Amish people: a non-Amish ambassador if you will. I polled my friends and coworkers to find out the questions they’ve always wanted to ask Amish people, but didn’t have the opportunity to ask and created a (thankfully mental) list.

I even chose my most “Amish” outfit, opting to pack a very conservative floor-length floral sundress. (Yes, I know the Amish do not wear patterns, but it seemed close enough.) I nervously got dressed at the B&B, then went downstairs to ask Carolyn if I was dressed appropriately.

“Oh yes, they know you’re not Amish, of course. And don’t worry: Unlike most Amish people, this particular family doesn’t think you’re damned to hell. They just don’t think your lifestyle is for them.”

(That hadn’t even dawned on me, but I was relieved. Eating dinner with people who’d already decided I was damned to hell would seem like an uphill battle.)

When I was at Dos Caminos Soho a few days prior, my Aunt Karol suggested that – even though we were paying a $20 per person suggested donation – we were still going to someone’s home and, therefore, should not show up empty-handed. (Of course! Foolishly, I hadn’t thought of that, but she was absolutely right. See paragraph one.) So Jeff and I stopped at countless markets between our B&B in Hummelstown and the home of Jacob and Naomi King. But no luck! We were running out of time. I began to sweat. Would it be worse to come without flowers – and what else can you bring to the home of an Amish family? Certainly not wine – or to arrive late? We decided that punctuality was the priority.

To be continued…

Update: Continued here.

The white-painted porch swing creaks as we sway back and forth. The frog in the Koi pond loudly croaks, belying its small size. Jack the black cat nuzzles my calf and the horses graze in the pasture.

We’re at Westwynd Farm, otherwise known as “my version of Heaven.”

by Josey Miller

Since that year, I’ve lived in three out of the five places on my to-do list: the Midwest (Chicago), the West Coast (San Diego) and now the East Coast (New York City). I didn’t make it to Denver or San Fran. I did not write a one-hit wonder (hey, a girl can dream!), but I did sing my first ever gig at the legendary Bitter End, where Joni Mitchell got her start; and I’ve sung there several times since. I did not adopt a dog, but I did adopt a cat.

I went Scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef…

…and saw Machu Picchu at sunrise…

And I married my dream guy, someone who my grandparents would have – may have – hand-selected. He proposed in Barcelona.

I’m proud of my twenties. I wouldn’t live them any differently, nor would I choose to re-live them if given the chance. What will I accomplish between now and forty? What will I cross off my life’s to-do list, chapter two?

I’ll let you know on August 6th, 2017.

With a flight from NYC to San Juan clocking in under four hours — plus a fifteen-minute puddle jumper — the Bioluminescent Bay in Vieques Island, Puerto Rico is easily the most convenient of my travel to-do list locations.

I knew that blue-ish glow surrounds you (and the fish) when you swim in Puerto Mosquito due to bioluminescent half-plant/half-animal micro-organisms that light up when they’re disturbed. (Supposedly the light is occasionally so bright you could read a book by it!) But my colleague spent last weekend there and came back with a few quick tips that I did not know:

• You’ll see the light most clearly on nights when the moon is the darkest. So you may want to plan your trip’s timing around the moon phases.
• Vieques Island has finer dining than you might expect from a Caribbean Island. My colleague especially recommended a place called Uva, even going so far to say that it rivaled any restaurant experience one might have in NYC.
• The Martinea Bay Resort and Spa, where she stayed, is being converted into a Starwood W; they’re doing renovations now. She said she couldn’t imagine it being any nicer than it already was, so this sounds like a hotel worth checking out. (And to think, I was already sold when she mentioned its swim-up bar.)

Isla Mujeres, Mexico, here I come! (Someday…)

Did you know the whale shark is a shark, not a whale – and that it’s the largest fish in the ocean? Just a bit of trivia…

by Josey Miller

Imagine what it would be like to attend a county fair in the Hamptons: chic urbanites in their tailored bermuda shorts, short-sleeve button downs and Jimmy Choo wedge sandals… wandering from merry-go-round to animal exhibit with their Stepford children while nibbling on baked goods courtesy of Ina Garten herself… I bet they’d even cast the carnies.

The Orange County Fair is nothing like that.

Most fairs are nothing like that.

But they’re still a great way to spend a summer Saturday – if you manage your expectations. Here’s the reality of most fairs:

A 6′4″ burly-looking man sporting a tank top and several tattooes hunches over to hold the hand of his pig-tailed two-year-old as they slowly walk from the Jalopy Junction ride to the Bounce Around. Goth teenage girls wander by the ubiquitous stands selling hot tubs and cell phones, devouring Italian sausage and funnel cake as they enjoy an authority-free day in the sticky July heat. Competitive dads challenge each other at carnival games on the midway, such as Basketball Shot and Ball Toss to win their kids stuffed animals… or not. [Note: Since when does each attempt cost $5 instead of $1? Jeff thought he saw one dad pulling out his credit card. Check out this guide on how to beat the odds.]

The 4H elders serve up fresh mac-n-cheese next door to the stables where the Holstein dairy cows and other livestock are on display, alongside their blue ribbons. [Here's a fun fact, courtesy of one 4H-er: Did you know it's perfectly normal for certain breeds of sheep to have up to six horns? The judging rules only dictate that they must have an even number.]

Those animals are the highlight of any fair for adults and kids alike. I even paid fifty cents at a “step right up”-type tent to pet a three-foot-tall, doe-eyed miniature horse a la Thumbelina. The racing pigs are always entertaining. And while a fair is not a fair without a petting zoo complete with goats, sheep and llamas, I’ve never before seen a giraffe-feeding area. Kids delighted in watching their long, black tongues stretch and squirm to reach carrot sticks. (Parents: Don’t leave home without your camera and Purell.) I did, however, miss the Disc Dog-a-Thon we caught a few years back at the New Jersey State Fair.

Just for fun, Jeff asked the jovial woman at the lemonade stand – the wife of the Beer Bottle Alley game host (naturally) – for their recipe… though consider yourself warned: Both she and her husband were missing most of their teeth.

County Fair Lemonade

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup Realemon

3 cups water

1 lemon, quartered

(serve over crushed ice)

More Middletown-Area Tips:

• Grab a slice of small-town Americana in nearby Pine Bush, New York by dining at Restaurant Repast (72 Main Street). There’s even a retro homemade ice-cream stand down the street with picnic-table seating for a post-dinner treat.
• One of New York state’s few remaining drive-in movie theaters, Fair Oaks Drive-in, is located in Middletown. It’s the closest drive-in movie theater to New York City.

P.S. A special thanks to Mother Nature for making this all possible.

Dear Mother Nature,

We had a really fun, “summery” Saturday planned, including the Orange County Fair in New York’s beautiful Hudson Valley with our former-wedding-planner-cum-current-friend, Anh, her husband and her kids – and you’re being incredibly uncooperative. Thunderstorms? Is that really necessary?

The last time I went to a fair, a man turned to me when I wasn’t paying attention and asked, “Would you mind holding this?” I said sure, looked down and saw I was holding the leash to his pet miniature goat. What’s better than that?

Why couldn’t you have planned said thunderstorms for a weekday when everyone’s indoors at work?

What did we do to you?

Josey

Shake, shake, shake, señora — but not while I’m trying to sleep!

I was on a Delta Airlines flight recently where the flight attendants were really pushing their new signature cocktails.  Now, I happen to thoroughly enjoy the occasional drink (or three) — especially on a long flight (or a short one).  But it’s certainly not “buckle up, bottoms up” for everyone; most people use their airtime to catch up on work or sleep. 

[Cue the sound of a martini shaker in action]

[Cue the sound of a martini shaker in action again]

[Cue the sound of a martini shaker in action again] 

…Not exactly conducive to a proper working/sleeping environment, is it?

by Josey Miller

I have a summer health disorder: I believe the technical term is shpilkes in my geneckteckessoint.  If I don’t do something “summery” every weekend (or at least every other), I feel like I’m “wasting” the summer. 

So last Sunday, I dragged Jeff on a one-hour train ride from New York City to Rowayton, Connecticut–despite the sticker shock of a $39 fee for two round-trip tickets on Metro North.  (I told him we’d just have to have $39 worth of fun.  He glared at me endearingly–if there’s such thing as an endearing glare–and went back to his business school homework.)

That morning, while surfing the Internet over coffee, I found Rowayton listed as a fun spot for renting bikes or kayaks.  Given my midwestern roots, I’m a sucker for quaint villages with a New England feel with white picket fences and porches–especially ones that sit right on the water.  And we had the chance to see a lot of this one during our surprise 20-minute walk from the train station to town.  (Parents take heed: The sidewalks are few and far between.) 

We didn’t notice a bike rental place when we arrived, but I’m not sure where we would have biked anyway since Rowayton is so small.  In fact, there are so few shops and restaurants I could easily count them on one hand.  But we picked up a chicken sandwich and a Greek salad at  Rowayton Pizza, and that worked out fine.  In fact, the reasonable price of our lunch — under $20, including a Gatorade and a Snapple – was a refreshing contrast to those train tickets.  We walked down to the marina and ate on a pier while we watched the boats go by.

Next we found Downunder Kayaking.  Although we didn’t make reservations (which you should), we were fortunate enough to land a bright green Malibu Two ($45) so we could kayak together. It was a bit draining given the 81-degree temps and the occasional boat wake, but it was still incredibly relaxing.  We kayaked from the Five Mile River (isn’t it really an inlet?) out to the open water of the Long Island Sound, and it was fun to fantasize about what it would be like to live in the cliffside mansions.  But the best part was discovering the stagnant water near Butlers Island Road; it felt like we’d been transported to a Lousiana bayou.

After an hour and a half we’d had our fill.  We returned our kayak and walked back to the train station in time to catch the 5:45 — and we were home in time to grab take-out from our favorite Greenwich Village Chinese restaurant.