Tilda's parents

One recent Saturday I walked into the Y, scanned my card, and asked one of the helpers at the desk, "Have my parents been in yet today?"
No, she answered, but she'd only been there since 11 a.m.
It didn't occur to me until later how many assumptions I had made: that she knew who my parents were in the first place, and that she had noticed whether they were among the hordes of folks who visit the Y on a weekend.
Then I realized: No. We're talking about MY parents. People remember them, and vividly.
My mother is endlessly curious. She is the reason why I delight in writing about odd plants sprouting in the garden, or who I saw across the room at lunch, and what we ate. When I leave questions unanswered in this column, I get a phone call from her.
"Tilda Lee," she'll chide me. "Where is that man's farm that you wrote about? You didn't say. And what does he do for a living?"
She is also compassionate, friendly to all, and optimistic and has both an uproarious laugh and a well-honed sense of agency and justice that sends her flying to the phone if she spots an error on a bill ("What is this? I don't even know what texting is!"), or if a bag of salad goes bad before its expiration date. My English skills, which pay the bills nowadays, are thanks to her; as long as I can remember we made weekly trips to the public library and joyfully brought home stacks of books.
The other half of the couple is, of necessity, quieter but no less memorable and distinctive himself. My father taught his three children how to talk to anyone, how to shake hands correctly, how to save and spend money wisely and how to negotiate a great deal from even veteran car salespeople. Both he and my mother, by example, instilled in us a competitive drive to "do it right" and a love of work that is a gift beyond price.
My folks started out modestly, and all of us kids now urge them, with exasperation, to splurge on whatever they want, be it Champagne or a condo on Sanibel (yes, even in high season). But just try grabbing a dinner check from Dad; it's not gonna happen.
I'm beyond proud to introduce them to my friends and neighbors, and it tickles me that they enjoy this silly column so much (even though it took them weeks to figure out it was their daughter writing it).
They celebrated their 58th wedding anniversary this month.
Happy Anniversary, Mum and Dad.

Mail in Willowdale?

During a convesation about plans to close many rural post offices, my friend Joel said he remembered when there was a tiny post office at Willowdale (the crossroads of Routes 926 and 82 in East Marlborough).
I didn't remember one, but he seemed very sure and he's been around here longer than I have, so I thought maybe it was just before my time. Especially when he offered to bet me $1,000.
When I got home, I questioned a few longtime residents. Neither Mary Dugan nor Chris Barber remembered a Willowdale post office. Jessie Cocks said she remembered picking up the mail in the building that's now Catherine's Restaurant in Unionville.
Don Silknitter, a retired Unionville schoolteacher (and a new father-in-law!), forwarded me a complete list of Chester County post offices, dating back to 1798 (Downingtown). Sure enough, a Willowdale post office was established on May 21, 1869, with Joseph S. Pyle as postmaster. There's no mention of when it was shut down.
If anyone has more information about it, I'd love to find out.

Quantity, not Quality

I went into the Jennersville state store to buy a bottle of Scotch whisky for a friend's birthday and couldn't find the one he had requested, Dalwhinnie. I asked the clerk for help and he said that although it is certainly a delicious single-malt, they didn't stock it.
"But why not?" I felt compelled to ask.
He explained that each store's inventory is determined by its volume of sales. The Kennett state store sells more, so they are assigned a higher grade and thus have more of a variety. Apparently it has nothing to do with what the store sells, or with the demographics of the area.
So he checked the Liquor Control Board's database and found that both the Kennett and Oxford stores had Dalwhinnie in stock. I chose Oxford, and he called the store to have them set aside one of their two bottles for me.
(In case you're ever looking, the Oxford state store is tucked away in the shopping center on Route 10, north of town.)

Lift that bale!

The other morning my presence was requested on a little jaunt to pick up hay in Cochranville.
"You'll get a good workout," I was assured.
Well, I was like an eager dog ready for a road trip. I immediately fired back an e-mail RSVPing and grabbed my work gloves.
We headed west on Route 926 across Route 41 to Melvin King's Car-Mar Farm, a self-service hay and straw place. You back your truck into the barn, choose which type of hay you want and start loading. When you're done, you drop your money or check into a pipe with a padlocked lid. And woe to any would-be deadbeats: there are security cameras and a prominent "Wall of Shame" with the names of check-bouncers (I didn't recognize any).
So we loaded up my pal's new truck (she stayed in the truckbed, I brought the bales to her and she stacked), paid (20 bales @ $6.50), and headed back east. We approached my house -- but she didn't turn.
"Um ...you missed my road," I said.
She shot me an incredulous look.
"What, you think you're done?" she said. "Now we have to unload."
To her credit, she let us swap jobs: this time I got to stay in the truck and hand her the bales.
Car-Mar's current hours are Monday, Tuesday and Thursday 6 a.m. to 9 p.m.; Wednesday, Friday and Saturday 6 a.m. to 5 p.m., and they are shut on Sundays.

On the right track

From the sports page of the Aug. 5 "Wall Street Journal":
"44: The number of consecutive years that thoroughbred trainer Jonathan Sheppard has won at least one race at Saratoga. On Thursday, the Sheppard-trained Divine Fortune won the A.P. Smithwick Memorial Steeplechase."

Family dinner

Three generations of Tally-hos gathered for a family dinner at Floga Bistro on a recent Saturday and had a great time.
The Tally-ho patriarch raves about the chicken parmigiana, so I ordered it this time, and he was right. My brother had the wonderful spaghetti aglio olio (garlic, olive oil and Pecorino), which I've ordered many times before. Prices are reasonable, and the portions are large enough that most of us took home doggie bags. 
There was one vegetarian in our group, and we made sure there were menu choices for her (she ended up ordering a small pizza). Another young family member ordered mussels, which allowed Tilda to order him to spell both the shellfish and the biceps type (even at the end of summer vacation, he still got them right!).
Our poor waitress had a broken hand but still managed to clear our whole party's dishes in one armload. And the genial chef came out after dinner and visited our table for a bit.
Floga is between Kennett and Longwood Gardens, on the south side of Baltimore Pike, in the Genuardi's shopping center.

West Nile

Mosquitos collected from a West Chester park have tested positive for West Nile Virus, according to a press release from the Chester County Health Department. Although the health department experts say that the chances of contracting the virus from an infected mosquito and getting sick are very low, they advise staying indoors at dawn and dusk, turning over containers where water can collect, stocking ponds with fish, using bug repellent and wearing pants and long-sleeved shirts (I would add socks to that list, as skeeters always seem to go straight for my ankles).
(Thanks to the "Newlin News" for this item.)

Liz Marden

I've learned that it's just plain foolish to ignore any recommendations that my sister-in-law makes for businesses, restaurants, etc. So when she raved about Liz Marden, the new bakery at 110 South Union Street in Kennett, I put it on my list right away.
I stopped by on a weekday afternoon and of course she was right: the coffee is great and the baked goods were delicious (I had a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of chocolate frosting, and a sample of the raspberry Linzer tart). You can get your goodies to go or take a moment to sit down at one of the tables inside. There were two families getting treats when I was there; at one table, a woman and two extremely well-behaved young boys were taking turns reading aloud to each other (how heart-warming is that!). You can also watch the busy white-coated bakers at work.
By the way, if the name Liz Marden sounds familiar, it's because her bakery was formerly in Hockessin.

Bugged

Over the past 10 years or so I've noticed some real changes in local insect life. Dozens of red-and-black box-elder bugs used to cluster on the outside of windows for a few weeks in the autumn; now I rarely see even one. And I used to set out traps for those iridescent Japanese beetles, and I'd have to replace the full bags several times in mid-summer. Now there are just a few of the beetles, and all they do is eat a few zinnia and four-o'-clock leaves rather than ruining whole plants.

As far as stink bugs go, I've seen a few immature ones in the garden, but nothing inside the house yet. It has been so nice these past few months not to have to cope with them at all! Let's hope it lasts. But a high-school pal of mine who is marketing a clever stink bug trap (http://www.indoorstinkbugtrap.com/) predicts they will be four to ten times worse this year, if you can imagine.

"Newer homes are less prone to infestation, but any home that is roof/attic vented is a prime target for the stinky critters," he says.