On that Sunday morning, Dad drove up to the B&B where we were staying, and then we picked up Pat and her sister Maureen at Pat's apartment for the TITC house tour. Jean was illing and so had to stay home and miss the tour. She was really bummed about it. As I wrote in part I, it was my favorite year for the tour. But Dad didn't care for the houses that much, and since he and Jean tend to have similar opinions about them, I'm thinking it wouldn't have been one of her favorite tours.
Dad gave me a bag of wonderful things that Jean and he got for me when they stayed in Cape May for their anniversary—including a purty starfish soap dish and an adorable, metal bobble-headed basset—as well as some great pictures from the multimitzvah, only one of which I attempted to capture in this pretty weak photo.
The first house on the tour was Plum Brook Farm, which was on sale for $1.5 million. The brook ran behind the property, and the owners had created an area behind their pool where they could look out at the brook and into the woods. (Click on the photo to see it blown up—like Beyoncé's phone when that guy keeps calling her while she's at the club.) The inside of the home was quite nice too.
Headquarters Farm was the second house. It had been purchased by a guy from England who wanted to restore it so it would look much like it did when John Opdycke build it in 1758. There was a summer kitchen out back where a volunteer was making flatbread in a big open fireplace that we were able to try with a little honey butter on it. There were many sheep grazing here, including a male sheep named Duncan who responded to the sound of his name. The handsome older man who told us about the history of the house and outbuildings before we went inside was wearing his Navy uniform from when he was a young man, maybe because he knew he looked so handsome in it. :-) Dad correctly identified it as being the uniform worn by a hospital corpsman. He congratulated the guy on still being able to fit into it.
Opdycke Farm was a new home built across the street from Headquarters Farm that was owned by the same Englishman. An illustrator named Wendy Rasmussen lives there, and I loved her decorating taste. Here's a Hunterdon County Democrat article about Rasmussen and the tour. I bought a children's book called Police Cat from Rasmussen that she had drawn the illustrations for and asked her sign it for Zane's birthday. I was hoping Jen's parents, who go on the tour every year too, hadn't done the same thing, but Bob told me they did. Does anyone know a young reader named Zane who likes cats? *sigh*
The last house was Tony's and my favorite. It's owned by the couple who have the Zinc Home + Garden store in Lambertville that Tony and I had visited the day before and where I was tempted to buy a metal goat or pig. (Jean and Dad know my taste in metallic animals. :-) ) The home was a mix of modern and country items from different eras that could have been a crazy mishmash but inexplicably worked like a charm. Well, the explanation, no doubt, lies in the couple's talent for seeing how disparate elements (immense clock from a German clock tower, big hospital-type laundry cart used as a firewood-storage bin, ficuses whose pots are enclosed in large wooden crates, tall metal set of stairsteps used as storage for books and magazines) can work together to create something splendid. Unlike many homes with industrial touches that I've seen on the tour, this one seemed like you would be perfectly comfortable living there. I saw only one piece of furniture—a hard-looking chaise lounge—that didn't seem inviting, but—who knows?—maybe it would have felt great under my back if I'd been able to lie down on it.
We all had a lot of fun hanging out together. Maureen told us that the trial of her town's mayor on charges related to a hit-and-run car accident had been delayed because his lawyer was representing—so far, successfully—the model from New Brunswick who had been giving buttock-enhancing injections in her home. Ah, New Jersey.
Before we all went to dinner, Dad checked in at the Woolverton Inn, the fancy B&B in my pre–New York City town of Stockton where he and Jean had stayed last year. This year, he was in Newell's Library, which had a big wall of books and matryoshka dolls of Soviet and Russian leaders.
After dinner at Rick's, the gluten-free-friendly Italian restaurant in Lambertville where we ate last year, Dad dropped Pat and Maureen off back at Pat's place and took us to the bus stop in L'ville. It was another great Thanksgiving in the Country weekend.
And here are some more photos from the weekend, starting with a few of Tony:
Tony pretending to struggle through the cornstalks at the front gateway at the B&B ...
... and brushing himself off afterward.
Tony displaying his duck entree for the camera at Hamilton's Grill Room. Through the glass behind him, an interior wall of the Coryell Gallery is visible.
In this photo, you can see the main reason why our stay at this B&B wasn't as nice as the one from last year. This room had a whole lot of windows that would have made it delightful in the spring or summer but made it awfully cold the nights we were there. (It looked to have been outdoor space at one time that was converted into a guest room.) That was great for snuggling but made it difficult to get motivated to get out of bed in the morning. :-) To be fair, we didn't complain about the coldness to our hosts, and the price was cheaper than the other rooms at this inn that were still available when I made my reservation. So I'm not saying it was a lousy place, by any means—just that we liked last year's inn better. I found our co-owner/hostess Nadine to be very charming and warm. She grew up in Vineland, in the same New Jersey county where I was born and raised.
The view looking east from the bridge on New Hope's Main Street near the shuttered Bucks County Playhouse
Tony and Pat at The Blue Tortilla
Me squeezing the daylights out of Dan and Paul. Even though Paul and I hung out together for only a few hours, there was still a Country Song of the Weekend: Reba McEntire's "Why Haven't I Heard From You."
Duncan and his harem of woolly babes
Was someone trying to send Dad or me a message via the game table in the common living area of the Woolverton Inn? Eh, probably not.
Pat, me, Maureen, Dad ...
... and Tony at Rick's
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