This is the third August that I’ve rented in Bucks County. This years’ house was terrific, a stone beauty from the 18th century with all mod cons, well-appointed and set on a 100 acre conserved farm. The front of the house faces a little creek and the property includes numerous outbuildings including a large barn. Finding places to plug in all ones’ electronics is a little bit of a challenge but manageable, more than offset by the wonderful kitchen, good showers and comfy beds.
Sake, my cat, came with me and had an A+ vacation. After vanishing for a day and a half dealing with the terror of being in unfamiliar quarters, she ventured out to enjoy prime cat
Sake watching a good channel
TV via the bird feeders close to many windows, had her first experience with stairs, and interacted with the company.
On my first morning at the property I managed to run out of gas, thankfully in the driveway. It took some time to rouse assistance (hello AAA) but finally a local guy came with two precious gallons, enough for me to get to a gas station for a full tank.
My daughters, along with one’s husband and the other’s partner, came for Labor Day weekend. On Sunday we went tubing on the Delaware where I began by not centering my butt in the innertube, causing me to fall into the fairly warm river. Once we
People–not us- tubing on the Delaware
were all launched, the outing was fun although by the last half hour we felt we were ready to get out of the water.
Another day we went to Ringing Rocks Park, an eight acre field of boulders, some of which make a quasi-musical note when struck with a hammer. If ever you go there bring one.
Scrambling over rocks minus hammer
I had two dinners at the Riegelsville Inn, one with friends, one with family, both lovely. I also met another friend of many years for lunch and a catch-up at the Doylestown Inn. Afterwards I went to the Michener Art Museum, named to honor author James Michener who was born in Doylestown, and wrote Tales of the South Pacific, Centennial, Texas and The Bridges at Toki-ri among other works. Michener’s third wife, Mari Yoriko Sabusawa, was interned along with her parents in a camp set up by the U.S. government during the early years of WWII.
Altogether, it was a lovely eleven days with interesting things to do and see and many good meals. Having invested heavily in local peaches, I made this peach crisp for one night’s dessert:
Peach Crisp by Yossi Arefi from NY Times Cooking:
3 pounds peaches cut into ½-inch slices (absolutely no need to peel)
⅓ cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Salt
1cup all-purpose flour
½ packed cup light brown sugar
½ cup grams rolled oats (the same oats as used to make oatmeal)
½ cup unsalted butter, softened and cut into pieces.
How To:
Heat oven to 375 degrees with a rack in the center
In a large bowl, combine the peaches, granulated sugar, lemon juice, cornstarch and a pinch of salt. Stir to combine, transfer to an 8-by-8 inch baking dish and press down gently to compact the fruit in the dish.
In another bowl add the flour, light brown sugar, oats and ¼ teaspoon salt; stir to combine. Add the butter and use your fingers or a pastry blender to mash the butter into the flour mixture until evenly mixed—it forms clumps.
Sprinkle the clumped mixture evenly over the peaches, then bake the crisp until the topping is golden brown and the peach juices are bubbling, 45 to 50 minutes.
Serve at room temp (or warm if just made) with vanilla ice cream.
If you remember the (very) old song, What did Delaware?” sing it. If you don’t, here it is, sung by Perry Como: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Udei5HzMnfM
Most of the players were men in their mid-years with a sprinkling of teen boys and a few young women. Good playing all around but due to the heat we left after five innings.
Once in ‘town’ we browsed the shops buying nothing although there is a new store with pretty jewelry and woven baskets. We passed lots of restaurants, mostly noisy and full of beer-drinking young people, as well as a few realtors and other businesses.
My “tea’ came in a paper bag with a plastic glass of weak iced tea
interact {with}. ” (My interactions with plants were limited to getting them into the ground, weeding, watering, and cutting them. We rarely spoke.)
Crimini mushrooms
Makes 1 cup
Culture Lab operates in a large converted warehouse with two galleries, a theater and an outside venue and is open Thursdays through Sundays starting at 5 PM. There are concerts every Saturday night, dance and comedy presentations, and opportunities for artists to participate in many ways. For more: 
the performance that brought her well-deserved fame. (I’ve had a long affinity for her as people used to tell me we looked alike or ask if I was her. Back in the day there was a sort of resemblance; now she’s been nipped and tucked so that she no longer retains her essence. On the other hand, she’s 90 so she can do whatever she wants.)
remotely snuggly and that, combined with Dick’s depression and Dorothy’s haute approach to life didn’t add up to a cheery childhood.)
The Palm Springs International Film Festival has a certain rakish charm. According to people met on line prior to seeing films, PSIFF, now in its 35th season, is much more organized than in the past. My friend and I stayed at the Palm Springs Hotel, a fifteen room, quirky spot that doesn’t have a restaurant but has a pool and hot tub as well as old-fashioned metal room keys that defeated me for days. The hotel is within walking distance of Rick’s, a popular restaurant for breakfast or lunch; nearby is another Rick’s serving dinner.
The very new Agua Caliente Cultural Center includes a permanent outdoor exhibition with native plants, rock formations and water features; inside are galleries incorporating digital animation, projections, some in a theater setting, and displays of artifacts, all stunning and dealing with the Cahuilla Nation, As Easterners very conscious of saying “Native Americans,” we were struck by the use of “Indian” everywhere including the Palm Springs High School where the team name is —you guessed it—the Indians.
