Here goes -
Dana and I are walking through a sylvan path of striking beauty when we come upon a small side trail. “Look!” I point down it and beyond a grove of majestic sycamores to a lovely country inn, its two front columns painted pristinely white. The historic structure shimmers from fireplace and lantern light within, glowing eerily in the loamy stillness. “Let’s go in!” I say to Dana but she waves away my suggestion. “No, there’s another place up ahead. It’s even more special!”
Continuing along the path a short ways, we come to a bucolic country road and there to our left is another structure. It’s smaller, a bit more rustic than that first inn; appearing like a ruddy-colored stage coach stop. A cheery sign out front offers no name but indicates “CAF….”
Dana, though, doesn’t have to tell me to move on - and so we continue. My heart is beating in anticipation, knowing there is an even more appealing spot just up ahead, one that holds a treasure (or is it an opportunity?) inside.
And then - there it is.
Perched along a rocky ledge - I recall the shooshing of waterfalls down below - the tiny café with its inviting front patio and scenic back deck has an other- worldly glow, an almost angelic stillness to it. Lights inside twinkle. The old front door and all the flavorful and hospitable delights inside beckon us. Dana and I approach in rapt anticipation and then...
I wake up.
“I just had the coolest dream,” I remem- ber telling Dana soon after that post meridian vision. For decades I would think back and wonder what had been waiting inside that comforting café in the middle of my nighttime’s nowhere...
___________________
Married now to Dana and having kids of our own, we’ve moved to a quiet and scenic community within the green and
woodsy hunt country that lies about thir- ty-five miles west of Philadelphia. The area is dotted with old inns and cute cafés, one of them being just two miles from my home.
Years ago, when that historic property (called The Birchrunville Store Café) had closed and its owner was seeking someone to take over the venerable space, I had actually thought about rent- ing it for several precarious moments. “Do I really want to do this?” I finally said to myself. The ultimate decision came after I remembered a personal credo I had developed some years earlier after seeing so many others plunge unwitting- ly into businesses they had no business in managing.
It goes: “Most who say they want to own their own B&B, catering company or restaurant; what they really want is to stay in a B&B, be catered to, or, dine in a restaurant.”
This rationale is what kept me away from my “dream café.” I loved the notion of an adorable little BYOB restaurant of my own, but not the task of actually run- ning one. I’m a concierge, not a chef.
(Thankfully, a real chef took to that task and the Birchrunville has been operating quite successfully as one of this region’s top dining destinations for well over a decade.)
--------------------------------------- Fast forward to October, 2011.
Like we do on so many fun-filled Friday nights, I’m with my family at our absolute-favorite spot: The Saint Peter’s Bakery. This charming-as-all-get-out country café - the perfect breakfast and lunch place on Wednesdays through Sundays - also serves simple fare din- ners on Friday evenings, such as soups, salads, quiches, sandwiches and the area’s best homemade pizza.
Along with affordable food and a strum- ming acoustical duo who perform there, what makes this place so special is that it pretty much happens to be that mysti- cal, magical cliff side cottage I saw in my long-ago vision, right down to the patio and deck. Imagine when I had first found this out-there enclave; it was if I’d stepped back into my lovely little dream.
Mid-Atlantic EVENTS Magazine 83
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