Going North, part I: Diva-licious

You will recall that Tuesday, August 17 was Katie's 6th birthday. We had a joint birthday party for all three kids before we left Arkansas, since they all have birthdays this fall and would not likely have enough new friends to invite to a party. It was on Saturday, a mere three days before her actual birthday, and we were so proud of ourselves for planning that, but, as we found out Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday - it was NOT sufficient. But we kept trying to appease our princess, and thought she would enjoy eating outside at one of our favorite new places, Iron Hill Brewery & Restaurant downtown in the borough of West Chester. We first ate there on our house-hunting visit a few weeks prior. It's perfect for families - whether you are seated inside or out, it's loud. The kids' menu is liberal, with plenty of options, including great birthday-kind-of-desserts like ice cream and cake. The food is beautiful, tasty, and the chef changes it daily with interesting fresh recipes using locally grown ingredients. Which reminds me: I want to digress for a minute to talk about CORN.

Fuh-gettabout Nebraska. This place is the corn capital of the world. Everywhere you look there is CORN, CORN, CORN!! I have figured out why property is so expensive up here - all the land is occupied with CORN FIELDS. If they would cut out some of the freaking corn fields maybe we could build a few houses THAT MIGHT NOT COST $487 PER SQUARE FOOT! Corn fields are everywhere it seems, sprawling out over acres and acres at a time. These people are serious about corn. There are large horse farms up here, as well, but really, now...how much corn can a few horses eat? Is it just for asthetic purposes? Because I sure could have done something else asthetic. And less agricultural. For that matter, could we spare a couple thousand acres of corn to put in a Sonic? Some enterprising individual could rape and pillage with a Sonic up here. There IS a Sonic in neighboring Amish country, ironically. That will be a post for another day, though.

So. Corn, corn, and more corn. We have plenty of it. I haven't noticed anything else - apparently corn is the favorite crop and if you like something, might as well show it. You want some corn? Don't bother with Cornhusker country - come up to southeastern Pennsylvania.

Back to my narrative about eating at Iron Hill. It's on a busy intersection, surrounded by lots of other shops and restaurants. The sidewalks are uneven brick, and tree branches stretch across the width of the sidewalk, sometimes even over the street. Restaurants - and there are many - have wrought iron railings along the sidewalk of their outdoor eating areas. It has an old historic, quaint feel to it. In fact, this sign shows that the restaurant was actually on the spot of the first schoolhouse in West Chester, built in 1760, and later revolutionary soldiers died and were buried in the schoolyard. I tried to talk to the people about the historical area we were in, and how there were probably soldiers buried beneath our feet who died for our freedom. Jack was interested, but Katie and Cole probably couldn't have cared less. Nonetheless, we were enjoying being together as a family. Even if they didn't appreciate all the history around them, they still seemed to like the atmosphere. There are no McDonald's, Wendy's, or Taco Bells in this area. It's packed with charming little shops, bustling restaurants and pubs, coffeehouses, and brownstone homes and apartments above the shops. People are jogging, walking their dogs, visiting with friends they run into as they pass by outside seating at a restaurant, stepping in and out of the shops, and riding their bicycles. We are seated outside, and the weather is perfect. We're all in a good mood, amazingly. Israel and Palestine somehow must have entered into a mutual ceasefire. The sky is a beautiful blue, and only a handful of clouds dot the skies, and so with no immediate threat of storms or damaging winds Ed Buckner isn't worried.

We ordered our food, and Dan told the people they could have ice cream after dinner. Just a few minutes later, we all hear it over the roar of the traffic, and never-ending conversations around us: the faint, familiar tune of the ice cream truck. It must be a universal tune that all ice-cream trucks use. WHY couldn't they have some old, Amish tune played on a fiddle? WHY did the truck have to come down THAT street at THAT moment? Katie immediately interprets Dad's promise of ice-cream to mean she can get something from the ice-cream truck. No, Dad says, we're going to get ice-cream here, at the restaurant. And besides, the ice-cream truck is already three counties over by now. No matter. Katie Hilton the diva has her mind made up. Her daddy does his best to make it all better. He even offers to buy her shoes!! SHOES! But nothing can pacify her. Maybe the restaurant would consider changing its name from "Iron Hill Brewery" to "Iron Will Brewing." You can watch for yourself, as Katie adds her own bit to this history-rich area:

I have to take a break now. It's time to go make more history!