Showing posts with label Bucks County. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bucks County. Show all posts
Monday
The Rut is on
The bucks are going crazy around the property this morning. They're chasing one another through the woods and clearings. Dried leaves are crackling and being kicked into the air. Antlers are getting caught in briars as they thunder through thickets. One massive buck, the oldest and most senior, is limping as they've probably all ganged up on him. I don't think he'll make it during the looming hunting season. Younger bucks with puny antlers are trying to get in on the act but are ignored. Yes, the rut is on and it's fantastic to watch.
Sucking Up Yellow Jackets
Jeanne Denault is in my writers group, The Rebel Writers of Bucks County.
Her memoir Sucking Up Yellow Jackets has just released from O-Books and it's a funny, witty and sometimes poignant account of her raising a son with Aspergers Syndrome.
From climbing out of his cot within a few months of his birth to climbing a telephone wire hand over hand high above their terraced home in Philadelphia and then, as a teenager, dismantling a motor cycle simply because his mother demanded he had to get rid of it and he took that to mean literally, Jeanne depicts in precise, wry prose what it was like to bring up this super intelligent child at a time when Asperger's wasn't even understood by the medical community. She thought she was going mad or had spawned the devil's child.
Jeanne and her family moved around the states while Max was growing up--Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Illinois where Jeanne's attempts to fit in among the 'meat and potatoes' women of the area drew their scorn when she made a gourmet dish featuring a mild curry sauce for a block party and incited their wrath. The family relocated to Pennsylvania again after Max had a few run-ins with the local police and judges. His teachers, some of his counselors and even her husband blamed her for some of his excesses.
A fast, dazzling and very enjoyable read.
Her memoir Sucking Up Yellow Jackets has just released from O-Books and it's a funny, witty and sometimes poignant account of her raising a son with Aspergers Syndrome.
From climbing out of his cot within a few months of his birth to climbing a telephone wire hand over hand high above their terraced home in Philadelphia and then, as a teenager, dismantling a motor cycle simply because his mother demanded he had to get rid of it and he took that to mean literally, Jeanne depicts in precise, wry prose what it was like to bring up this super intelligent child at a time when Asperger's wasn't even understood by the medical community. She thought she was going mad or had spawned the devil's child.
Jeanne and her family moved around the states while Max was growing up--Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Illinois where Jeanne's attempts to fit in among the 'meat and potatoes' women of the area drew their scorn when she made a gourmet dish featuring a mild curry sauce for a block party and incited their wrath. The family relocated to Pennsylvania again after Max had a few run-ins with the local police and judges. His teachers, some of his counselors and even her husband blamed her for some of his excesses.
A fast, dazzling and very enjoyable read.
Saturday
A Tale of Two Towns
Back from a beautiful relaxing week in Provincetown, Cape Cod.
It was my first time to P-town and I loved it. In many respects, New Hope in Bucks County is a little similar in that lots of artists, writers and gay and lesbians live there and it's a 'live and let live' community. But P-town has the upper hand because of the great beaches, bay and ocean where the water is ice-cold when you first get in but delicious after you're fully immersed.
The local people are exceptionally friendly--whether gay or straight--and visitors flock like seagulls from the Eastern seaboard, Canada and Europe mainly. (We had a seagull spend a few hours on the balcony of our condo and Larry even hand-fed him pieces of bread.)
Of course, having been to Rehoboth, it was inevitable I'd start to make comparisons in my mind between the beach towns. While Rehoboth has some charms--the beach is good and ocean pretty--it has many strip malls on the approach to the town center which render it chaotic and somewhat unappealing. I also think its fair to say P-town is more sophisticated and architecturally elegant. Admittedly, our friends now own a pretty home outside the town so we don't go into Rehoboth very much and instead visit Lewes, a much more elegant nearby village.
The straight visitors to Rehoboth Beach and P-town are very different. The vast majority of P-town's straight visitors and their kids are educated, friendly and possess the manners to be respectful and know how to conduct themselves on another territory that's welcoming and different to their own. That said, P-town does open its arms to a small number of ill-informed visitors arriving by hydrofoil from Boston to eat ice-cream and gawk at the gays and lesbians. Thankfully, they don't stay to dine in the fine restaurants and rush back to the boat dock at dusk where they again set sail for the Boston burbs, their hearts full of thanks that their beloved little 'buddies' and 'princesses' aren't that way, their minds brimming with sights of kissing homosexuals, nipple rings and other bizarreness to recount at the next PTA or fire station spaghetti dinner fundraiser.
No such luck for Rehoboth residents: they have Hooters and a variety of cheap restaurants where the out-of-towners congregate to continue their hostile looks and naked sense of superiority. I found more than enough such visitors to the Rohoboth Beach boardwalk to consider it a phenomenon. That said, one begins to comprehend but NOT sanction why this is so when one understands Rehoboth Beach lies in the south where there's an Evangelical or Southern Baptist church on every street corner and gun-toting rednecks reared on a diet of squirrels and shucked corn in the back woods.
One bonus for us was it was P-town's annual Carnival--what a sight at the Gay Bingo evening (won nothing, but came close) and later, on Thursday, as a legion of drag queens took to the sun-beaten Commercial Street in garish, hilarious array.
In ending, I have to admit I did buy a T-shirt. An elegant one, mind you. And a sweatshirt as well. Also elegant. Vintage in style, as if it's already ten years old.
It was my first time to P-town and I loved it. In many respects, New Hope in Bucks County is a little similar in that lots of artists, writers and gay and lesbians live there and it's a 'live and let live' community. But P-town has the upper hand because of the great beaches, bay and ocean where the water is ice-cold when you first get in but delicious after you're fully immersed.
The local people are exceptionally friendly--whether gay or straight--and visitors flock like seagulls from the Eastern seaboard, Canada and Europe mainly. (We had a seagull spend a few hours on the balcony of our condo and Larry even hand-fed him pieces of bread.)
Of course, having been to Rehoboth, it was inevitable I'd start to make comparisons in my mind between the beach towns. While Rehoboth has some charms--the beach is good and ocean pretty--it has many strip malls on the approach to the town center which render it chaotic and somewhat unappealing. I also think its fair to say P-town is more sophisticated and architecturally elegant. Admittedly, our friends now own a pretty home outside the town so we don't go into Rehoboth very much and instead visit Lewes, a much more elegant nearby village.
The straight visitors to Rehoboth Beach and P-town are very different. The vast majority of P-town's straight visitors and their kids are educated, friendly and possess the manners to be respectful and know how to conduct themselves on another territory that's welcoming and different to their own. That said, P-town does open its arms to a small number of ill-informed visitors arriving by hydrofoil from Boston to eat ice-cream and gawk at the gays and lesbians. Thankfully, they don't stay to dine in the fine restaurants and rush back to the boat dock at dusk where they again set sail for the Boston burbs, their hearts full of thanks that their beloved little 'buddies' and 'princesses' aren't that way, their minds brimming with sights of kissing homosexuals, nipple rings and other bizarreness to recount at the next PTA or fire station spaghetti dinner fundraiser.
No such luck for Rehoboth residents: they have Hooters and a variety of cheap restaurants where the out-of-towners congregate to continue their hostile looks and naked sense of superiority. I found more than enough such visitors to the Rohoboth Beach boardwalk to consider it a phenomenon. That said, one begins to comprehend but NOT sanction why this is so when one understands Rehoboth Beach lies in the south where there's an Evangelical or Southern Baptist church on every street corner and gun-toting rednecks reared on a diet of squirrels and shucked corn in the back woods.
One bonus for us was it was P-town's annual Carnival--what a sight at the Gay Bingo evening (won nothing, but came close) and later, on Thursday, as a legion of drag queens took to the sun-beaten Commercial Street in garish, hilarious array.
In ending, I have to admit I did buy a T-shirt. An elegant one, mind you. And a sweatshirt as well. Also elegant. Vintage in style, as if it's already ten years old.
Sunday
American Country Home For Sale
This gorgeous French Country Style American Home's now For Sale. High ceilings, open plan for modern living, latest amenities and wooden floors throughout. Great local schools.
Situated in the beautiful quiet American Countryside on a wooded 4+ acre lot in famous Bucks County, an hour and twenty minutes from New York City and just under an hour from Philadelphia.
Area abounds with nature and talent--from actors, artists, authors and sculptors. Close to New jersey's Pharmaceutical corridor if you're a techie or corporate director.
And even better, it's in an area of the US that's stable and real estate prices haven't been affected by the recent bust.
Tuesday
Hooves beating leaves
While working at my desk yesterday, I heard the loud rustle of dead leaves outside my window and looked out into the woods to see the most amazing sight. Five bucks of varying sizes were wildly chasing a couple of does.
November is the deer rutting season, which lasts until the end of the month. It's also the hunting season, but the bucks become obsessed with the does to the point of obliviousness and don't know what else is lurking behind the trees. I called Larry and we went out onto the deck to watch. They chased the does back and forth, the bucks stopping occasionally to check each other out (the size of antlers being a factor) and run the younger males off the land.
At one point, one of the does ran towards our house, stopped by a thicket and lay down. She watched the bucks prancing back and forth, her head moving one way then the other as she kept them in her sights. It was fascinating to realize she was hiding from them deliberately. The bucks sniffed the air and drew nearer and nearer because she was giving off a scent that she was in season. (The bucks actually chase teh does until they are exhausted.)
Out of the blue came the largest buck I have ever seen. He was a five-pointer (five points in his antlers which means he was five years old). He sniffed the air and walked with absolute determination toward the hiding doe. She saw him coming, rose and bolted. He gave chase. The other bucks didn't challenge him, merely watched and then fell into line and followed him. Probably hoping to learn a trick or two for whenever their turn comes to rule the woods
November is the deer rutting season, which lasts until the end of the month. It's also the hunting season, but the bucks become obsessed with the does to the point of obliviousness and don't know what else is lurking behind the trees. I called Larry and we went out onto the deck to watch. They chased the does back and forth, the bucks stopping occasionally to check each other out (the size of antlers being a factor) and run the younger males off the land.
At one point, one of the does ran towards our house, stopped by a thicket and lay down. She watched the bucks prancing back and forth, her head moving one way then the other as she kept them in her sights. It was fascinating to realize she was hiding from them deliberately. The bucks sniffed the air and drew nearer and nearer because she was giving off a scent that she was in season. (The bucks actually chase teh does until they are exhausted.)
Out of the blue came the largest buck I have ever seen. He was a five-pointer (five points in his antlers which means he was five years old). He sniffed the air and walked with absolute determination toward the hiding doe. She saw him coming, rose and bolted. He gave chase. The other bucks didn't challenge him, merely watched and then fell into line and followed him. Probably hoping to learn a trick or two for whenever their turn comes to rule the woods
Wednesday
She's absconded: You're dismissed
Today I was summoned to the County seat for jury service. Anticipating a great deal of downtime, I took the book I'm currently reading, Rachel North's, Out of the Tunnel, a riveting memoir from The Friday Project about her life and suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after she was injured in the bomb that went off on the tube at King's Cross on 7/7/05 (the UK's 9/11 equivalent).
Jury duty was an interesting experience because Bucks County has a One Day-One Trial system, which means the jury is on call one for day only unless selected to form part of a jury in which case it's for the entire trial and not for the full two weeks as they do in say New York State. It makes for a very efficient handling of both the Court's time, the jury's time and the lawyers time. Indeed, it appears that Bucks County, as a result, is the most efficient court system in Pennsylvania (and undoubtedly beyond) as as result of this system and many jurisdictions are emulating it because it has been so successful.
In the United States, the fact I am an attorney does not preclude me from having to do jury service, which I believe is right and proper. I think the jury should reflect society at large, so the fact I have legal training and am a litigator should not mean I can't serve the interests of justice in a case in which I have no direct interest. I'm sure I would get elected the foreperson for the jury--or would try my damndest to make that happen, as I'd like to manage the deliberations and read the verdict at the end of the trial.
In any event, it wasn't to be on this occasion. I was to be sent to a court room for 'voir dire' (selection or rejection by the attorneys) in a criminal trial, but the judge and a tipstaff (Pennsylvania equivalent of a bailiff) came into the jurors lounge at 1.45 and stated the defendant had decided to abscond during lunch and the bailiffs were now in hot pursuit of her. Much chuckling ensued. After thanking us for our time, the judge said he was letting us go as he was not a mean man and going to keep us until she had been apprehended. I guess she decided she was guilty and likely to do time.
I was rather hoping to serve in a murder trial, though one part of me was also nervous because Pennsylvania has the death penalty which is very alien to me as Ireland and the UK abolished capital punishment many years ago. It would, however, have been marvelous grist for a plot or two.
Jury duty was an interesting experience because Bucks County has a One Day-One Trial system, which means the jury is on call one for day only unless selected to form part of a jury in which case it's for the entire trial and not for the full two weeks as they do in say New York State. It makes for a very efficient handling of both the Court's time, the jury's time and the lawyers time. Indeed, it appears that Bucks County, as a result, is the most efficient court system in Pennsylvania (and undoubtedly beyond) as as result of this system and many jurisdictions are emulating it because it has been so successful.
In the United States, the fact I am an attorney does not preclude me from having to do jury service, which I believe is right and proper. I think the jury should reflect society at large, so the fact I have legal training and am a litigator should not mean I can't serve the interests of justice in a case in which I have no direct interest. I'm sure I would get elected the foreperson for the jury--or would try my damndest to make that happen, as I'd like to manage the deliberations and read the verdict at the end of the trial.
In any event, it wasn't to be on this occasion. I was to be sent to a court room for 'voir dire' (selection or rejection by the attorneys) in a criminal trial, but the judge and a tipstaff (Pennsylvania equivalent of a bailiff) came into the jurors lounge at 1.45 and stated the defendant had decided to abscond during lunch and the bailiffs were now in hot pursuit of her. Much chuckling ensued. After thanking us for our time, the judge said he was letting us go as he was not a mean man and going to keep us until she had been apprehended. I guess she decided she was guilty and likely to do time.
I was rather hoping to serve in a murder trial, though one part of me was also nervous because Pennsylvania has the death penalty which is very alien to me as Ireland and the UK abolished capital punishment many years ago. It would, however, have been marvelous grist for a plot or two.
Monday
My bleatin' neighbors
I've been noticing an intriguing and welcome phenomena in Bucks County of late. It's to do with goats. Yes, goats.
First I should explain that, although I live in a rural area that's easily commutable to both Philly and NYC, there isn't much farming done here any more. In fact many of the old farms have been purchased by wealthy New Yorkers for the most part and they use them as their weekend getaways. (My township historical society is currently on a mission to find photos of Dorothy Parker at her old farm which lies a stone's throw from my house for a book they're doing--it was a humble place rich in the aroma of its Quaker roots then but through the years has metastasized into a multi-million dollar mansion that's hardly recognizable though the grounds are stunning. It's said she wrote Big Blonde there, which is one of my favorite stories of hers.) Of course, there are still some old families here who still own their farms, but they are now the exception to the rule as opposed to the rule. Sad, but true.
One family near us has a sign out that says "Organic chicken, beef and pork." And the township or County gave them a problem about their hanging the shingle for a while instead of giving them a whopping big bloody tax break. It'd surprise me if it was the township because, all in all, they are in favor of preserving rurality and its traditions. Many residents here are not in favor of cookie-cutter development of the kind the Toll Brothers and others like them do throughout the US, which is the erection of McMansions or tract housing. Oh, you can call these places enticing names like "Summer Meadows" or "Pastoral Mews at Bluebell Farm," but they're still McMansions or tract housing at the end of the day. In addition, the damned school taxes always jump horrendously when these houses get built in country areas.
Anyway, back to my goat observations. As I drive through our County I'm seeing more and more herds of goats at some of these farms. And some of the farmers have constructed interesting climbing and play areas for them because goats are intelligent and love to explore. One restaurant in the area also has a herd of goats, right beside their own organic vineyard--and their wine's (red and white) drinkable which might surprise some because we're stuck in Pennsylvania. An old llama and donkey and a flock of guinea fowl and turkeys live there, too. It's wonderful, refreshing, a tonic for the eyes.
I'm very very happy to report it's a growing phenomenon because I'm spotting goats grazing on farms in New Jersey, too. Maybe the Federal government has given these last remaining farms a subsidy to make goat cheese or something, I don't know. But if they have, kudos to the Federal government and the USDA.
First I should explain that, although I live in a rural area that's easily commutable to both Philly and NYC, there isn't much farming done here any more. In fact many of the old farms have been purchased by wealthy New Yorkers for the most part and they use them as their weekend getaways. (My township historical society is currently on a mission to find photos of Dorothy Parker at her old farm which lies a stone's throw from my house for a book they're doing--it was a humble place rich in the aroma of its Quaker roots then but through the years has metastasized into a multi-million dollar mansion that's hardly recognizable though the grounds are stunning. It's said she wrote Big Blonde there, which is one of my favorite stories of hers.) Of course, there are still some old families here who still own their farms, but they are now the exception to the rule as opposed to the rule. Sad, but true.
One family near us has a sign out that says "Organic chicken, beef and pork." And the township or County gave them a problem about their hanging the shingle for a while instead of giving them a whopping big bloody tax break. It'd surprise me if it was the township because, all in all, they are in favor of preserving rurality and its traditions. Many residents here are not in favor of cookie-cutter development of the kind the Toll Brothers and others like them do throughout the US, which is the erection of McMansions or tract housing. Oh, you can call these places enticing names like "Summer Meadows" or "Pastoral Mews at Bluebell Farm," but they're still McMansions or tract housing at the end of the day. In addition, the damned school taxes always jump horrendously when these houses get built in country areas.
Anyway, back to my goat observations. As I drive through our County I'm seeing more and more herds of goats at some of these farms. And some of the farmers have constructed interesting climbing and play areas for them because goats are intelligent and love to explore. One restaurant in the area also has a herd of goats, right beside their own organic vineyard--and their wine's (red and white) drinkable which might surprise some because we're stuck in Pennsylvania. An old llama and donkey and a flock of guinea fowl and turkeys live there, too. It's wonderful, refreshing, a tonic for the eyes.
I'm very very happy to report it's a growing phenomenon because I'm spotting goats grazing on farms in New Jersey, too. Maybe the Federal government has given these last remaining farms a subsidy to make goat cheese or something, I don't know. But if they have, kudos to the Federal government and the USDA.
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