Walking the Labyrinth: A Heroine's Journey

Just as I found out I was pregnant at age 27 with our second child, I landed myself in a group of magical women (and several highly evolved men) at our church. We had joined the UU Church of Lancaster when I was pregnant with our first child for the sake of raising our kids within a faith tradition, but little did I know that I would be the one reaping the benefits. I was taking some courses and  doing some discovery work with the divine feminine-- which is a very empowering subject to undertake while pregnant. I should have guessed that I was incubating a girl child, the first in many generations on my husband's side. All of a sudden I had sacred chants and totems to guide me through. The women I met through my studies were real guides in that they modeled Goddess light for me. In a society that is still patriarchal in nature, it was truly eye-opening and a major point on my personal path. If you have studied the Heroine's Journey (the feminist response to Joseph Campbell's The Hero's Journey), this would be the part where I met my allies: both human and supernatural.

Image of a seven-circuit labyrinth at night

One of these allies is Sarah Preston. She, along with many of the others I met, got together for the purpose of making a labyrinth for the church. I had not experienced labyrinths before, and I did not join the efforts of this group even though it included many of my new friends. I was thirty minutes from our church home with two small children, a full-time job, and a husband who travelled with his job. I do remember being excited about what they were doing and couldn't wait until their big project was unveiled. In the meantime, I bought some books on labyrinths to understand more. Labyrinths are unicursal paths (one way in and one way out) that are used in many cultures and religions (independently of one another) as a walking meditation. Labyrinths can be found in French cathedrals, Native American cultures, Scandinavian countries etc. Many incorporate sacred geometry into their design. For instance, a classic labyrinth has 7 circuits which correspond to musical notes on a scale, major chakras in the body, colors of the rainbow. Finally, the canvas labyrinth, a painted replica of the 12-circuit one in Chartres Cathedral was finished and open for walks. I took my mom to one of the early open walks. She was hooked as well. It became a catalyst for many outings together.

From then on, I looked for more labyrinths to walk. If I had to guess, I'd say I've walked well over 50 different labyrinths in about a dozen different states. Sarah Preston had a herb labyrinth in her back yard. From that labyrinth, she started her business Herbs From the Labyrinth in which she used the herbs to make lotions, salves, and other products, most of which had healing properties. Sarah is a healer.  (You can read about her here.) Her knowledge of the body and natural cures is extensive, and I've consulted her on many issues. While I lived in Lancaster County, I taught monthly journal writing classes in her shop and even co-convened a couple all-day chakra workshops directly from her garden labyrinth in conjunction with a local kundalini yoga teacher. 

Fast forward fifteen years. When the time came that Mark and I knew we had to move out of Lancaster County, I went on a writing retreat to Omega Institute in October of 2012. We didn't know where we were going to move, and I was pretty apprehensive about the mystery of our future, but every day I was at Omega, I walked the labyrinth on the grounds. I got still with myself as I walked the circuits, and let them do their magic. I didn't force it, but in the calm stillness I had glimpses of what I wanted my new life to include. By early December 2012, Mark and I were ready to call our realtor friend Cynthia to let her know of our decision to move to Arden, DE.

Art Map Poster of the Ardens with watermark

The night we saw our house the first time (we had signed an agreement before actually seeing it) and met the previous owners, we sat around the dining room table toasting with champagne and eating chocolate chip cookies. We discovered that the del Tufos were UU's also and that Keri was also raised in Lancaster County. That night, I told the group that Arden needs a labyrinth. I truly believed that walking the Omega labyrinth had directed me to live in this place. Keri loved the idea and enthusiastically agreed to help bring it into being. From that cold spring day in 2013, we allowed the idea to percolate. In June of this year we brought our plans of an Arden Labyrinth to the village meeting (to be voted upon in September).

I write this blog today because of two very exciting things that will happen at the Arden Fair on September 5th. The first is that I will be selling art maps that I designed for $20. All proceeds from these maps will help to fund the labyrinth project. Keri and I will be selling them out of Linda Toman's ceramics booth overlooking the Moonlight Theater. But I am also really excited to announce that Sarah Preston is coming to the Arden Fair as a vendor in the Peddlers, Potions, and Practitioners Marketplace at the Buzz Ware Community Center. She will have her full line of herbal products including bug repellent, lotions, baskets, etc. If she brings a tenth of the selection she has in Radiance, her Lancaster Shop, Arden is in for a treat. I hope that people will stop and say hello and make her journey worthwhile so that she will come again and again. 

The labyrinth is a metaphor for our life's journey as it bends on itself and repeats themes, circling in on answers, asking more questions in the process. I am hopeful about the prospects of building a labyrinth here, especially since the energy seems to be bubbling in that direction. And while we have not reached our goal yet, I am thankful for my many mentors and guides and who have bought me to this place at this time in my life. 

The Coolest Small Town in America

Mark and I grew up in Lititz, PA, and lived there the first year of our marriage. After twenty years and two more addresses in other Lancaster County burgs, we returned to Lititz for a two-month stint before we moved to Arden, DE. We were between houses, and Mark's parents put a roof over our heads for that period of time. During those months, Lititz was celebrating being voted the Coolest Small Town in America (2013) by Budget Travel Magazine. It was a great time to set up camp. Second Fridays (of the month) were hopping in a pure party of the arts and small businesses that lined Main Street. Our kids went in search of the free sunglasses that were the souvenir of the newly crowned "cool" kids. Mark and I availed ourselves of strong IPAs at Bull's Head, a brewpub that overflowed onto a sidewalk near the town square--and around the corner from our first address as a married couple. We clinked glasses and commented that, had Lititz been this cool at the time, we would have never left our little second-story apartment that overlooked the back stoop and garbage bins of the aforementioned brew pub.  And the town is cool--in more than just "coffee houses and brew pubs" kind of way. At the north end of town, Rock Lititz --the brainchild of existing entertainment industry giants Clair Bros Audio, Tait Towers, and Atomic Designs--has launched a venue for top musical artists from around the globe to practice and technically perfect their arena shows. Rock star sightings are a normal occurrence in Lititz and have been since we were kids. Lititz was a great place to grow up, and now its coolness factor is undisputed. Had Mark's job been closer to our native town, we would have gladly settled there instead of Arden for our next act.

My nieces and nephew at Julius Sturgis Pretzel Bakery in Lititz, PA

Lititz is more than a gimmick contest in a magazine to me: it is my heritage. If you trace my dad's family back through his mother's mother's mother's (10 mothers total) you will find the first European settler to Lititz Springs area. Of course, it was her husband's name-- Christian Bomberger-- that we memorized in fourth grade at Lititz Elementary School. But Christian wasn't alone in the dugout home he carved out of the land in 1722. His wife, Maria, was doing the laundry in the springs. Imagine the amount of dirt that accumulated in your clothes and linens when you lived in a dugout? A few decades later, in 1756, the Moravian Church came along and claimed the Lititz area for its own purposes. This is where my mother's family came into play. Originally Quakers who came to Pennsylvania with William Penn, they had a son who married into a Moravian family and he had a son who lived in Bethlehem (another Moravian settlement) for a while until an Indian raid sent that son (my gr-gr-gr-gr-grandfather) leaping off the roof of the up-in-flames Brother's house (where the unmarried men lived) to dodge bullets in a forest and eventually escape to Bethlehem's sister town of Lititz where he started a family. He was a potter, and his grandson (my gr-gr-grandfather) Julius Sturgis became the founder of the first commercial hard pretzel bakery in 1861. You can still tour this pretzel bakery today. (One more "cool point" for Lititz!) In the beginning of Lititz history, the Moravian Church owned all the land parcels in town and leased them only to members of its congregation until 1855 when it sold off its parcels and opened the town to outsiders.

**Are you paying attention, Arden? I started life in an intentional community in which residents had to lease the land on which they lived. 

 Lititz was the first community in Pennsylvania to establish a historic district, which is why its older buildings survive in such pristine condition. In the 1970's the downtown merchants got together and formed an association that bought up properties and bolstered business in the town for decades to come. As a result, Lititz has a thriving downtown and economy where many other towns are now shuttered, abandoned or have some sort of token commerce. Lititz boasts both the oldest girls' school and the longest running Fourth of July celebration in this country.  The latter has one of the best fireworks displays around, and you can bet that the soundtrack that accompanies the show is top notch--as it is provided by the same folks who are "rocking" Lititz at the north end of town.

In this blog, I've detailed a lot of what the experience of living in Arden has brought to us. Maybe we sought Arden out because community is so important to us. I came preloaded with expectation, having cut my teeth in a place that values neighbors, honors its history, and moved into this century with such forward thinking it is astonishing. Arden has a great history, too. I have read much about it in the short time I have been here. My friends joke about my geeky spouting of Arden trivia. My knowledge is not complete, but certainly well-informed. I do honor my new town's 115-year history with the same reverence I give to Lititz, though Lititz history is over twice as long. Sometimes, I run into Ardenites who are stubborn about change in the community. I can't blame them. They don't want  the Arden of their collective childhood to fade away. Their memories can account for half the history of the place, so of course their experience has weight. I can respect that. But I am glad to see forward momentum here as well. As an example, The Arden Concert Gild has grown over the last decade to the point where our Gild Hall is a true venue, competing for artists with other great hotspots in Wilmington and Philadelphia. How interesting that music plays such a central and progressive role in both my beloved towns?

And so Arden, I offer you my past, as you have offered me yours. When I step forward at village meetings or offer suggestions in various committees, know that any challenges I make to the status quo are informed and respectful of the past. Just because I seek changes doesn't mean that I don't honor the story. I haven't been here very long, but I have great joy and enthusiasm for our village life, and I come to you with a storied history of my own.

Summer Communities

Arden comes alive in summer. Readers may have noticed that my blog has slowed to a crawl. I am buzzing with the usual warm weather activities: pool, ACRA Summer program, walking, gardening, grilling, outdoor concerts and plays, backyard socializing, and dabbing my feet and ankles with salve to calm the itch of bug bites. I pull my bike out of the shed and take in more of Arden than I can on foot. As I ride by houses in various states of renovation, I can't help consider that Arden was initially formed as a summer community. People didn't winter here They lived in their idealogical centers of Philadelphia and Wilmington from whence their Georgist groups orbited and dreamed of a day when Arden could sustain their vision year-round.

The Arden Fair, always the Saturday before Labor Day, was a time when artists could sell off their summer inventory before returning to the city. Then, the Arden cottages and cabins, most without heat, would be shuttered until warmer temperatures once again prevailed. It didn't mean that Ardenites left their belief systems behind. But they did have feet in two worlds. I think about this when topics get heated and people rail at village meetings. I love that we all are so passionate here, but when Arden began, people experienced this concentrated community in 3 or 4 month doses. Doses that were tempered always with warm breezes and lots of fresh air. These days, we don't get that kind of break from one another. This is not to say, I am tired of this community. I'm not. I love living here year-round. But I am ready to take a vacation. Before this summer, I just wanted to stay here all the time and never miss an experience. Now, I know I can take my leave and come back to Arden with my juices flowing just as those first Arden residents did when they passed through the Arden "gate" on weekends and in the summer.

When I explain Arden to people back in Lancaster County, I often invoke Mt. Greta, a summer community in Lebanon County. They, too, have full-time residents now, but it is still a casual, wooded place with Victorian-style houses bumping up against one another on a hillside overlooking a lake, open air theater, bike trails, and The Jigger Shop--an ice cream shop with a hallowed reputation.

Mt. Gretna precedes Arden by a decade. It wasn't a Georgist enclave, but it was formed with the same jolt of intention by the Methodists when they identified it as a good place for a Chautauqua. The Pennsylvania Chatuaqua was modeled after the original New York Chautauqua Institute which was founded in 1874. At its heart, the Chautauqua movement was about offering adult education outside the bounds of college. Learning could be casual--of the vacation variety, like learning something new while visiting a unique location. Or it could be more in-depth. In addition, Chautauquas put great emphasis on the arts. Communities such as these boast theaters and large gathering places for lectures and classes. And while this movement came from the Methodists, it was meant to serve the larger Christian fellowship.

While Arden and Mt. Gretna have different origins and different styles of architecture, we do have some core values which, from the outside, look very similar. Both communities have huge arts followings and support lots of live performances and concerts. We both have educational type lecture series and activities for our residents such as yoga and house tours. We both have end-of-summer arts festivals and crazy narrow roads that really don't support the huge influx of visitors these festivals attract (but we make do--shuttling people from far-off parking spots). Mt. Gretna retains more of its summer feel. I am not sure of the percentage of residents that live there year round, but I know lots of families who have summer houses there, as opposed to Arden which has lost that summer community reputation. Still, it is a good fit for comparison and at least gives people a reference.

"Oh," they say and nod their heads. It is enough to contemplate on a summer's evening dizzy with fireflies and mojitos. I will save my spiel on Georgism for cooler weather.

Honeymoon Phase

Arden is an intense place to live. The first months can be exhilarating as you feed off the energy of the village and put your whole heart into the experience. At least I did. I jumped right into the deep end of things: volunteering to cook dinner for the dinner gild, helping to decorate for the fair, starting a Winter Solstice observation. Some people find Arden to be a bit clannish when they first come, but I guess if it was that way, I was oblivious to it. I plowed ahead, not caring if I stumbled over the subtleties of the social hierarchies that were in place. What social hierarchies? I would walk up to people and start a conversation.  It isn't that my personality is such that I need a spotlight (I can be rather introverted about my extroversion, if that makes any sense), but people know my name here. I will introduce myself and find that my reputation precedes me. My daughter introduces herself to adults as Jill Althouse-Wood's daughter, since I am apparently a reference point now. I find this to be funny, because people did not know me where I lived before. If I was known as anything, it was as Jonah's mother. But it does go to show you that someone who has only been in the community for a short time can contribute and can have impact. This is both positive and negative. It can be positive if you have boundaries, but boundaries in Arden can be hazy things. Everyone knows your business; it's true. That can mean that folks come to your aid or it can mean that they bash you on the public forums on the internet. Sometimes over the same issue.

Case in point. Mark decided to take over the annual softball game played to commemorate the time Ardenites were jailed for playing baseball on a Sunday in 1911. The previous organizer, a man who moved in about two years before we did, was completely burnt out on Arden doings. He had put his heart into this town only find himself physically and emotionally exhausted from the charges he had led. And he had been lead on a lot of projects and committees. Mark decided to step in and make this game happen on a week's notice. When he made his intentions public, he had many people volunteer their help immediately. But then there were the curmudgeons who chimed in to make, what was essentially a pick-up game, into the most complicated and fraught of arrangements--to the point where we hope they do call the cops on us. Getting jailed for reenacting a point of rebellion in Arden's history would be so meta.

Speaking of the fuzz, New Castle County cops know us here. We in the Ardens are forever calling in suspicious cars, lost dogs. Certain residents report loud music, even if that loud music comes from concerts ordained by the town. Recently the village of Ardencroft has been having high stakes personality conflicts which require a police presence at town meetings. Insults became accusations became threats. An unhealthy escalation that, at its core, stems from folks who really care about their village. At least that is what I choose to believe. It is hard to wrap your head around it when you see at least eight police cars lined up on Harvey Road all following up on leads that pertain to Ardencroft village meeting chaos.

We are all heart here. I have not been to an Ardencroft meeting, but come to a village meeting in Arden. While I've not seen uniformed guards, I have witnessed the exquisite torture that goes into trying to get a new slide installed on the Arden Green. I myself am involved in a group trying to install a labyrinth on the same sacred green space. When trying to bring a motion before the village, you need to come with all the passion you can muster encased in a very thick skin. Coming to these meetings is supposed to be the antidote to the luster of Arden. The honeymoon phase. Ah, what bliss. When one is so enamored that all you can take in are the sounds of the babbling brooks, the sight of gilded forest canopy, refrains of Shakespeare, the aroma of the next Gild dinner wafting in the air, and the motion of the wave as you automatically lift your hand to greet your neighbor. But, beware the shadow side.

I've heard the phrase, "Ready to get the hell out of Dodge" from those who have had enough of the touchy-feely, in-your-face, full-on demands of village life.  It can suck you dry and leave you to the husk of yourself if you aren't careful. I'm not saying I will never reach that point, but I am trying to proceed with caution and gratitude. I moved here for a reason. I am not so fresh-faced, that I don't see the reality of the situation. I do know that sometimes even magic needs a big push from the little man behind the curtain. So far I am caught up in the complexities in a way that is messy but livable. But stay tuned to this blog. Take the temperature of what I have to say. If Utopia was all it was cracked up to be, we'd all be living here.

Arden...red, WHITE, and blue

Arden Dinner in White Sparkler Sendoff, photo by Joe del Tufo

I have been lax in my blogging. I have sent my novel off to my agent for review, and as a result I have no novel writing to procrastinate. Hence, no blogging. The effect is multiplied because it is summer, and I am busy, running around Arden in the beautiful weather--summer camp songs of my youth, popping into my head. Something about all the deep green foliage and the twisty roads and trails that conjure my first forays into selfhood. Ah, summer camp.

ACRA's summer program is in full swing now. This week they had an ice cream sundae party and played water "Hunger Games." The program is in its post-July 4th stride now and heading for the home stretch. Three weeks down and two weeks to go. I didn't blog about July 4th, busy as I was with our own doings. This year, Mark and I drove to Lewes where we hiked with our hiking group from Cape Henlopen to Rehoboth beach, ending our eight-mile trek in a glorious mess of marmalade-topped shredded Austrian pancakes at Kaisy on Rehobeth Avenue. Not very American, but a worthy celebration just the same.

Back home in Arden, our daughter Maren and her boyfriend participated in the Arden Games on the Green. With participants ages four to eighty-four, the games reflect friendly competition at its finest. How serious can you get over the sack race or three-legged race or slowest bicycle race? Plenty. The first year we came to the games (which was within five days after moving to Arden) we saw a youth painted to the likeness of Darth Maul from Star Wars I movie. He was killing it at every event. Who is this kid? Two years later, we know him as our daughter's boyfriend. He was nursing an injury this year, but still gave it everything he had. Other Arden teens painted themselves in a more event appropriate red, white, and blue. The games started with the ceremonial running of the torch around the Green.  Last year, our son got to carry it part of the way as part of his involvement as co-outdoor activities coordinator at ACRA's summer program. Arden doesn't have any officially sanctioned firework events in the evening, but those who are looking for a show know where to go unofficially. Invariably the whole town will hear about the debris on the Pettit Green the next day. We had to explain to our daughter that even though she didn't set off any fireworks, if she was part of the crowd who enjoyed them, she was also responsible for the mess and should go help clean it up. Who knows where traditions like these start or how long they have been around?

From longstanding rituals to the stand-alone pop-up event. A week after July 4th, Arden joined in the trend (started in France?) of the diner en blanc. Participants wear all white and gather in a predesignated spot. They decorate a table with white and bring out a prepared picnic. Of course, Arden put its spin on things. Arden Night in White was a fundraiser for the new kitchen being installed in the Gild Hall. Ninety people who bought tickets, including us, met in the Gild Hall parking lot to process to the secret location for the festivities. Here is where I admit that Mark and I knew of the secret location. It was the back yard of our friends Cynthia and David. It is the same back yard where we first got our introduction to Arden back in May of 2009. It is a magical spot indeed, and the weather could not have been more glorious--an unusual July evening in which heat and humidity took a breather. The soundtrack for our procession and dinner was a fitting and quite impressive playlist of artists who had performed in Arden Concert Gild's shows over the years. Everyone got to work, setting the stage. So many beautiful tables. So many artful menus. The costumes were thoughtful and outrageous and a delight. One woman, not from Arden but who somehow stumbled upon promotion of the event, showed up wearing her wedding dress. She and her groom, who was not quite as obvious, had gotten married earlier in the day. They won the prize for best-dressed. How could they not?

While nobody else wore a gown, everybody brought their A-games and ratcheted the celebration to a higher level. I saw trays of cheeses, homemade aioli, lobster salad, white gazpacho soup shots, creme brûlée, appetizers so decadent they need to be eaten in one-bite allotments only-- off of white ceramics soup spoons. Our table featured an Israeli menu we recreated using recipes from the famed Zahav restaurant in Philly, and we served the fare in white Chinese food boxes for added whimsy (and convenience). As for the tablescapes: white crudités platter, lush flower arrangements, bird cages, lanterns, feathers, architectural elements, fairy lights, and textiles. With all the creativity, the prize for best decorated table was not as easy a choice for judges, but they managed to declare a winner.  It was a good thing that Joe del Tufo was on hand to document the glory with his all-seeing camera lenses. That man is a ridiculous light-bender and storyteller in his own right. The event was an unqualified success. Before the sparkler sendoff, we managed to raise about $3,000 for the new kitchen.

I don't know if I witnessed the start of yet another Arden tradition or if, like Brigadoon, the tale of this event will fade into the mists, to be talked about in reverent whispers for the next decade. I'm not sure we could improve upon the perfection that was had. Another possibility that was kicked around was an Arden tie-dye dinner. Something different indeed that would defy comparison. And it was suggested that we should wear the same clothes we wore to Dinner in White, only tie-dyed for that event. That would be a heck of a thing to do to one's wedding gown.

Gallery of photos from the event.

Songwriter Envy

Last week, I sent out my completed novel to my agent. To be more accurate, I sent her the completed rewrite of my novel, a process that took approximately nine months. Yeah. That's a very telling amount of time. I wish I could say that sending my book this time was a hallelujah moment, but I didn't even bother to break open the wine bottle that night, because the truth is that I don't know if this was a significant moment.

I have been working on this novel for over three years, sending versions back and forth across the ethers so my agent and her minions can return it to me chock full of notes which usually sends me  into a creative and emotional tailspin. I could have gestated two baby elephants in that time. My dad keeps asking me, "What am I supposed to tell people when they ask people what you are up to?" I know. People ask me, too. I don't know what to tell them. I'm working on it. It was easier when I worked on the first novel. I was employed (going all Clark Kent) as a fabric designer. Nobody suspected I was actually Superman working on a novel. They didn't ask. I didn't have to give out progress reports.

I have other novels that haven't seen the light of day and never will. I also have parts of novels that are in various stage of completion. I have often said that in my next life I am going to be a songwriter. If you write a song and it sucks, you just throw it away, grumble for a day or two, and write a new one.  It is true that I don't know exactly how long it takes most people to write a song, but my daughter can crank one out in an afternoon if she is fueled with enough angst. As her mother, I've given her the needed motivation on several occasions. (Taylor Swift's mom will back me up on this.)

Last night, we had the pleasure of sitting down with two musician/songwriters over drinks at our friend Cynthia and David's barn. Shawn and Jordyn,  newlyweds who make up the harmonic alternate folk duo, Flagship Romance, were taking a night off from their 60+ stop Honeymoon tour. (Let me be clear: although, I want to be a songwriter in my next life,  I'll let someone else take those songs on the road. I am not cut out for the gypsy life.) Flagship Romance have been past features in Cynthia and David's summer Barn Concert series, and Mark and I don't miss a barn concert if at all humanly possible. Being barn groupies, we pretty much invited ourselves over when we heard that Shawn and Jordyn were in town. We buffered our arrival with the gift of good beer. Know thy audience!

I told them of my songwriter aspirations which are basically novelists woes in disguise. They regaled us with stories from the road which is another reason to befriend traveling minstrels--to get the news from outer kingdoms. More than that, we all sat around in easy camaraderie, talking influences and nodding to great musical performances. We moved onto the subject of audience/reader interpretation of material and how an idea that started off in our head becomes its own magical creature once the public braids their experiences into what we mistakingly own as our creations.

Impromptu gatherings with the artist set are par for the course here--but never mundane. I count myself lucky to be able to have exchanges with so many artists and art enthusiasts, those who live here and those who are traveling through Arden. They are the springboards to important conversations. What is art? Who has ownership of it? How can we collaborate? How do we get paid in this new electronic economy? What other mediums inspire us? How do we make sense of our world? Craft beer lubricates these dialogs which always seem to end in song when the musicians are in town. I take these lyrics and melodies home with me where I process them over a night's sleep. My dreams take ownership of them--possibly to transform them into more of what I do. After all, they are part of the novelist's experience now. It is a true Möbius strip.

Flagship Romance headed south the next day, and with them went my songwriter fantasies. I am a novelist and sometimes painter. I know my place in the order of things. My book is in the cloud now. The cloud--an image that used to represent heaven, is my artistic purgatory. That's fine. Time to pick up a paintbrush.

Happy Arden Houseaversary

Today is the second anniversary of the day we moved to Arden, having signed on our house two days earlier. Two years ago was a day fraught with emotion and a few tears of frustration since we were moving ourselves--in the pouring rain no less. We rented big trucks from two different U-Haul places, but neither one of the trucks was available for us on the day we had reserved. Why go to the trouble of reserving a truck? We were stuck with what they had to offer--one smaller truck and a trailer attachment. Mark ended up making four trips back and forth from our Denver, PA, storage unit to complete the move. Cynthia and David, our friends who were the impetus for our move to Arden, brought us and the del Tufos (in moving hell of their own across town) some freshly fried cronuts to cheer us up.  Fried buttery dough with sugar did help. Cynthia didn't want us to hate her. She was pretty much solely responsible for every one of the teetering stacks of boxes. We call her the puppet master. She gets you to move--even if you didn't know you wanted to.

It was through her association that we decided to move to Arden. I've told some of the story before. Here is the rest. In December 2012, we called Cynthia and told her of our intention. She laid out a time line for us to sell our house and move to Arden in June. (This is where it gets eerie, because everything happened for us just as she dictated it to us over the phone.) After talking to us, she put out the call in Arden asking around to see if anyone was looking to sell in the next six months. Bob and Lon answered the call. I am not sure how serious they were about moving or if they were just putting out feelers. We came down in January to check out some houses in Arden. We weren't crazy about any of them. The last one we went to see was Bob and Lon's house on Green Lane. It wasn't listed. They didn't have a price, but we went anyway. They had chocolate covered biscotti set out for us which was a plus in my book. Also they had some pug art around the house, which made us think they had a pug--which they did. Their house was gorgeous, beautifully decorated in a European style that is more luxurious and ornate than anything we ourselves could pull off, but the bones of the house were good, and the kitchen and bathrooms had been recently updated. What really took the house out of the running for us was the scale. It was more house than we wanted. We wanted to downsize to something more manageable. This house had an in-law quarters. We had to say no.

Bob and Lon had reimagined and done work on another house across town--a smaller cape cod. Keri and Joe del Tufo lived there and loved it. The problem was that they had lots of house guests and could use more space. Even so, they didn't have the intention to move until Cynthia put a bug in Keri's ear. What if I could get you a house that was just like your house--only bigger? An in-law quarters would work for them. She showed them Bob and Lon's Green Lane house, and they decided they would buy it if certain conditions were met. I don't know what their checklist included only that, like our moving timeline, Cynthia seemed to oil the machine to meet all their conditions. Which left Joe and Keri's house available for purchase. As I have already blogged in Buying a House in Arden and Other Irrational Behavior, Part 1 and Part 2, we put our bid in for our house without ever setting foot inside. We saw the pictures, but what sold the house, even more even than the visuals, was the fact that we knew it had been redone by the same people who remodeled the Green Lane house. We knew Bob and Lon's work, their aesthetic, and we felt confident that the gamble was worth it.

So on June 27th, 2013, Joe and Keri purchased the Green Lane home from Bob, and we purchased the Hillside house from Joe and Keri. In a few twists of fate and two house moves later, Bob and Lon became Keri and Joe's current neighbor. We talked of doing a progressive dinner to see everyone's houses, but that never got off the ground. In kind of a backward way, I got the whole cast of characters together for dinner at our house. It had been years since Bob and Lon had been inside their former home, which had been their first home together.

Bob had moved into the house in 1999, and Lon joined him in 2003. Together they renovated the house, taking out walls, gutting the kitchen and upstairs bathroom. In 2006, they sold the house to Joe and Keri. We asked Bob and Lon to bring pictures of the house before the remodel, which they did. What fun to see what the house looked like. I need to get copies of some of the photos. Most interestingly, the kitchen (a smaller footprint than at present) had fire-engine red, high-gloss cabinets. We couldn't believe the chicken coops where the previous owners raised all types of fowl including turkeys. The landscaping was a lot more open than the mature plantings we have now. The house itself was sided in brown asbestos, which Bob updated with cedar shingles. They installed a gas fireplace near the kitchen which Keri and I raved to them about. What a great feature. Keri and I also both lamented that we didn't use the real fireplace which we found out from the photos used to be brick before Bob had it refaced in stone. We saw the difference of our master bedroom before the ceilings were vaulted. What a transformation. Bob and Lon put so much of themselves into this house. And the house that Joe and Keri bought. Bob and Lon had a photo album of things to show them as well.

We took everyone on a tour of the house as it is today and showed them some of the work we had done and told them of the projects we had planned for the future. They had forgotten some of the touches they had used. It was great to hear stories about how some of the changes came to be. What is also interesting is that all three sets of owners had different styles and aesthetics which the house supported. Bob and Lon decorated in their French Country lodge style with embellished antique furniture and old world charm. Their rooms made you want to hold a snifter of brandy and smoke cigars. Keri and Joe had a more relaxed cottage style with a stack of suitcases as a table and slipcovered furniture. I would classify our style of decorating as mid-century modern rustic--Mad Men meets summer camp. And the house accommodated us all.

When we bought the house, we inherited a black and white, group photo taken in the main room of our home during a birthday party in the 1960's. It was former owner Earl Brooks's, 70th birthday party. Given that we had two sets of former owners with us, we set out to recreate the shot. Something to pass on to the next set of owners when our time here is done. And, too, to commemorate a great evening spent with friends with whom we just happen to share the love of a house.

William Shakespeare, Arden, and me

Mark and I loved Arden on our first visit in May 2009*, could envision ourselves living here one day, but it may not have gone further than that had it not been for Arden's Shakespeare culture. Of our kids, one is an Anglophile and the other is an actor. Their Venn diagram of commonality doesn't include much, but you will find Shakespeare and Monty Python among their few shared interests.  Because Arden boasts the oldest outdoor Shakespeare theater in this country and has a history of summer Shakespeare productions that spans a century, we were curious about their latest endeavor, The Comedy of Errors. So for our second visit to Arden, in June of 2009, we brought the kids. Anything to foster healthy sibling interaction.

Shakespeare isn't just another quirky pastime for an arts community; it is central to the culture in Arden. This village was founded on the principles of Georgism and the Single Tax. Arden founders, sculptor Frank Stevens and architect William Price, met and honed their ideas of Utopia while members of Philadelphia's Single Tax Society. One facet of this society was the organization of a Shakespeare Club within the group. What does Shakespeare have to do with Georgism and the Single Tax? Performing Shakespeare was the training ground for competent public speakers. As they performed, the members were gaining poise and comfort in front of an audience. Their ultimate goal was to create great orators to spread the message of Henry George to the masses. Shakespeare productions became so central to architect William Price's life that when he built his family home in Overbrook, PA, he made the third floor into a theater to accommodate performances.

When Price and Stevens actualized their dream of a utopian village near Wilmington, Shakespeare was at the heart--literally. They created an outdoor theater for performances off of the center of the main green.  The Field Theater exists today in almost the same form, with its simple boulder backdrop and circular bench seating, that it had when it was created in the early 1900's, though these days, it does boast better lights.

Arden can even trace its name and motto to Shakespeare's writing. I knew about the name. Arden Forest is the setting of the play, As You Like It, which is performed every tenth year in Arden. In the play, the characters exchange notes by tree-mail, posting letters on the trees of the forest. When we came to Arden for the second year (2010) to see the play, we went for a hike in Arden Forest and were thrilled to see life imitating art. All throughout the forest, notes were left for friends. Some were hanging from the trees with baggies protecting the words. Others were in jar or tins. We saw love notes from one dog to another. We were quite enchanted by it all. Even more impressed by this touch than we had been by the towel folding at Disney Resorts.

As for the motto? I hadn't realized that "You are welcome hither" was Shakespearean until I went to see this year's production of King Lear.  I groaned when I heard it spoken. I should have known! I like the fact that Arden is constantly surprising me with little tidbits of its Shakespearean history. The Craft Shop Museum (a building constructed in the Elizabethan style of architecture--another nod to Shakespeare's England) is featuring a historical retrospective of costumes. I have got to get over there to see them. I was awed by this year's costumes, all sewn by volunteers. I was one of the helpers last year and was privy to some of the behind-the-scenes process. The attention to detail is remarkable. With few sets to speak of (the aforementioned boulder), costuming becomes an even more important aspect of storytelling.

These days the shows feature professional actors along side some of my amateur neighbors.  (I really shouldn't discriminate. Some of the professionals are my neighbors as well.) It has been fun to meet some of the Ardenites we had been watching in plays all those years. They were more welcoming than rock stars, but we were still a little star-struck. As evidence,  I offer an example from my Time Hop, a Facebook post from four years ago, "Maren [my actor child] made a friend at the pool; the girl who played Miranda in The Tempest last night. Of course."

I know I have just scratched the surface of the ways the Shakespeare has influenced village life--and by default--me. I hope this blog post opens me up to even more tidbits. I love connection. Speaking of which, our son travelled down from Lancaster County specifically to watch King Lear with us. If Shakespeare can keep our kids tethered to us, I will have another reason to be grateful for the Great Bard.


* Of note--my novel Summers at Blue Lake contains a scene that takes place at an outdoor Shakespeare performance and perhaps influenced Arden resident Cynthia Dewick to tell me that I would love Arden and offer her "Little House" up to us for the weekend. Cynthia read my book because a mutual friend of ours picked it up for their book club to read. In February 2008, I attended the book club in Newark, DE, and met Cynthia for the first time.

Working the YES!

I grew up in a outlying part of town. We had maybe eleven houses on our street and a disproportionate amount of boys--mostly older than I was.  Most of my friends lived in clusters in neighborhoods that were further away than my bike could reasonably take me on a daily basis. In addition to being geographically remote, I was also put in my own reading group in elementary school because I was advanced. Stuck in a corner to do my work--at my own pace. Sometimes, I deliberately slowed my pace in my reader, hoping that one of the reading groups would catch up to me. They never did, and when I came to a play in my reading book, I never had to perform. I had nobody else with whom to act it out.  Nobody with whom to start a discussion. Because of these conditions, I felt very isolated as a kid.  Good for the imagination and a boon to literacy; books were my friends. I also had all the social awkwardness for which bookworms are famous. I was just missing the geeky pair of glasses.

I spent a lot of my childhood on the outside looking in. I watched my brothers play baseball in little league after they outgrew the backyard games I enjoyed playing. I heard of my friends' exploits second-hand because I was never there. They took the bus to the mall or the train to Duran Duran concerts, things I would never dream of asking my parents if I could do. It took me until 10th grade to work up the nerve to ask to go to a school dance. On so many occasions, I would hear of the parties or happenings, after the fact, and feel jealous that I hadn't had the experience.

I felt the same way living in Reinholds. I was so far outside the cultural center of Lancaster where we felt the greatest pull. Our church was in Lancaster, but we missed out on so much being so far away. Again, I was the kid on the outside looking in. I do have to remember that part of that period in our lives was also about raising kids and not being able to leave them so we could bop around on the arts circuit. Our move to Arden came at a great time when our kids were old enough that we didn't have to worry about leaving them for a night out or for a Sunday hike that lasted all morning. We are in the thick of things here, socially and culturally. I am in heaven. Always something to do.

About a year after our move to Arden, one of my friends said something off-handed about the way I said "yes" to everything.  All invitations. Any proposed adventure. Practically all the activities that are listed in the Arden Page. Jill will do it! She meant it as a compliment--the openness I had to it all. But it got me thinking,  Am I saying 'yes' to everything because all these opportunities are enjoyable to me or because I don't want to be the kid who is on the outside looking in?  My fear of missing out was so bad that Mark and I had to force ourselves to take a vacation last year. We wanted to go somewhere, but we did worry that we would be absent for some big Arden event while we were away. I specifically remember looking at the dinner gild menu for the week we would be gone and sighing that we would miss it. Never mind that we would be in the south, experiencing the bourbon and whiskey trails and eating BBQ, Hot Brown sandwiches, and Nashville Hot chicken.

Now that we are in Arden almost two years, I am being more discerning with my "yes"answers. It is true that we had to try out some of these happenings to see which activities we liked and what would stick. From all those yeses, we were able to figure out what was important. Yes, I want to walk with the Misty Morning Walkers and meditate with the Arden Sangha, but neither work with my schedule. I did want to go to Philly Beer Week with my hiking buddies, but I don't like big crowds and waiting in line, so I opted to see (and cry my eyes out while watching) the play Steel Magnolias at the Candlelight Dinner Theater.  We don't say yes to every concert opportunity, though we probably won't miss a Barn Concert at our friend Cynthia and David's venue if we can help it. We have learned to pass up invitations if we are tired or have had a string of activities. We, who at one time had a six month attendance record, have missed a Sunday hike here or there. And we have started planning a vacation with little thought as to what we will forgo while we are gone. (Okay--this isn't completely true. We asked Ron Ozer what Arden Gild concerts were going to be going down in the new season of shows.) But I am working on being in the moment. If I am enjoying what I am doing at the time I am doing it, then missing another event is not a reason to fret, and it is definitely not a reason to forgo enjoyment of the event that I chose--even if that event is a nap.

I know I needed those months of opening myself to all of it, so that I could figure out what my priorities were. My yes-giving is a work in progress. I will continue to add meaning to the word until it becomes the shape of the life I want to live. For now, my child-self is particularly pleased to be part of the larger circle of life in the Ardens. To have so many friends and cultural events that are in walking distance is a complete luxury. I will continue to take advantage of all this abundance around me and say yes often,  but I am learning that saying no can sometimes be the most powerful yes of all.

Larryversary

Larry, David, Joe, Mark, and me at City Tap Room that fateful day

"I do not believe in meaningless coincidences. I believe every coincidence is a message, a clue about a particular facet of our lives that requires our attention." Deepak Chopra

Sometimes synchronicity is subtle. If you aren't paying attention, you might miss the clues the universe is giving to you. Other times, the powers of coincidence hit you over the head with a bottle (of beer). This weekend is our Larryversary, the anniversary of the day we met Larry. It isn't everyday that you meet someone and it is so momentous as to cause a ripple in the fabric of the universe. But that is what this was. Put it another way--Larry was an inevitability.

June 9, 2013. We had finally made it to the month of June, the month we would be moving into our Arden home. We had been living with Mark's parents for about six weeks because we were between houses. We weren't exactly stir crazy, not being in our own digs, but we liked to find things to do away from the house. As much to give Mark's parents a break as it was for our own good. It was Philly beer week and we had perused the website to choose one event of the 611 possible events. We chose to go to Local 44 near Drexel for their Russian River event. We especially wanted to try Pliny the Elder. The place opened at 11, but we wanted to get there early to make sure we got our quarry. Nothing worse than driving over an hour to Philly for a specific beer and then being told it had kicked. We parked the car at 10:30 and walked to stand in line to wait for Local 44 to open. And we could see that a line had indeed started to form.

As we walked up, Mark said, "Is that David with Joe?" I squinted. It sure looked like them. Sure enough, when we got closer, we saw that we would be standing in line directly behind David, our friend and the husband of our Arden realtor, and Joe, the guy from whom we were buying our house. It was a crazy coincidence; we couldn't have planned to arrive behind them in line like that if we had tried. That's when they introduced us to the other guy in their group--Larry Strange. Maybe we should call this our Strange-aversary. David had been the one to invite Larry and Joe on this outing. He knew Joe, but not well. Joe was more a friend of his wife, Cynthia. And though Larry lived across the memorial garden from David and Cynthia, they didn't know him well. They were new acquaintances. That was all about to change. I didn't realize it, but what I was witnessing was the start of the Fab 4, the core group of friends that would make up Mark's circle, perhaps the first circle of male friends he has had his whole adult life.

We got the last five seats at the bar when Local 44 opened. We ordered our Pliny, followed by Blind Pig, and Racer 5. We had some tastes of Russian River sours for which our palates were unprepared. We had poutine and other pub fare--and all of this before noon. While we drank and ate, we learned that Larry had children the same ages as our kids, with one heading to college in the fall, just as we had. He was an IT guy married to a fabric artist for almost 24 years. (We had been married 23 years)  Wow! Lots of crazy coincidences. When our bill came, the total was considerably less than expected, but we had had such a time getting the bill--the place was packed--that we paid it "as is" and tipped well. Perhaps, we shouldn't have, but we chalked up the cheap eats to the good fortune of the day as it had played out so far.

Out in the hot sunshine of the June day, Larry told us about this cool building that was open as part of Hidden City. The building, a long abandoned performance hall, was near where Larry used to have his business, and he had always wanted to see inside. Hidden City had allowed artists access the site, and using anything they found there, they had created an art installation. The concept was intriguing to me. I had a beer buzz, so I am not saying that I was one top of my game. We were in no hurry to get home. Sure! We're game! What we didn't know is that we were about to embark on our first Strange Adventure. 

Strange Adventures is the name of our hiking group that meets on Sunday mornings starting in September of 2013. That was three months into the future and after we had gotten to know Larry a little better. That June day, however, we didn't know of Larry's curiosity about city spaces and his penchant for trespassing. We didn't know that he knew the city like the back of his hand. I was in flip-flops as I followed him and the others through a hot labyrinth of streets that were strange to me. Along the way, Larry pointed out things like the closed abortion clinic whose doctor had just been convicted of murder. How is it that I am following some man I just met around the streets of Philadelphia to go see the inside of an abandoned building?  This was not how I saw my day playing out when I had awoken that morning.

Installation in Kingdom Hall of Pythagorus

Two miles and a few blisters later, we arrived at the building on Lancaster Ave. It was orange with sculpted details that hinted at past grandeur. The artists who had transformed the space had made a story to accompany the installation. This was the lodge of the followers of Pythagorus, perhaps something like the Masons crossed with something out of Indiana Jones. The Kingdom Hall of Pythagorus was a temple to mathematics, geometry, and the triangle. I myself, am a student of sacred geometry, so I was mesmerized by the installations in this abandoned building. Room after room of echoed triangles and eerily beautiful constructions. Some played with light. Others played with perspective and tilt. Each corner contained something unexpected. It wasn't like I had found my church, but it did feel like I had found my people. We were moving to a place where folks looked for gems like this to experience. 

 We walked back to our cars with a stop at another Philly Beer Fest venue to quench our thirst. We toasted to our adventure and ignored a few phone calls from Joe's wife, Keri. (Apparently, Joe was supposed to be helping her pack boxes so they could move out of the house we were moving into.) We had no idea that this was our new Sunday ritual, following Larry to intriguing places in the city and in nature. We didn't know that pubs and beer would play their part--so much so that these four men would start brewing beer together. Mark didn't know that these would be his best buds, but it did feel like something. If I felt as though there was a message in the day's coincidence, it was that Mark and I were on the right path to home. The universe was rewarding us for our risk to move to Arden. 

Installation in Kingdom Hall of Pythagorus

Tomorrow, Mark will be recreating the trek to Local 44 with part of our hiking group. Although I would love to go, I am not as enamored with the Beer Fest crowds. I went last year. I will bow out this year knowing that Mark will celebrate enough for both of us. I am going to go instead on a local hike with some of the women in our group and to see Steel Magnolias, playing at the Candlelight Theater. But I will raise a glass to Larry and wish him a happy day. I wonder if he calls it his Jillaversary.

Small State, Big Heart

I know a lot of people don't understand how things in a small state work. Coming from Pennsylvania, I know I didn't. Delaware is intimate. By that I mean that everyone knows everyone. You are one degree removed from every other Delawarean. In some ways the state of Delaware seems smaller than Lancaster County. We have three counties here, the most populated being New Castle County where we live.  Delaware also includes Sussex and Kent Counties. I'm not sure what goes on in the county level government when the state is so small. That is something I want to investigate. Contrary to PA, Delaware cuts out the middle man of the county level wherever it can. It also makes for better streamlining of services. For instance, we have DELJIS which is the Delaware Criminal Justice Information System. This is state wide and provides timely shared knowledge of anything that goes on in law enforcement/courts throughout the state of Delaware. This is unlike Pennsylvania in which county systems are in place and may vary from one county to another.

Another thought that comes up: Mark and I wonder what it would have been like running at the Delaware State Meet for track and field in high school.  Our district meet in Pennsylvania (maybe even our 2-county "county meet") was bigger than the whole state contest here. Do they even have county meets in Delaware? How hard is it to qualify for the State Meet? It's fun to be a big fish in a small pond. A year and a half ago, Mark and I walked across the state of Delaware at its middle. It's fun to brag that you've walked across an entire state. It only took us four hours.

Being a small, closely knit state, this also means that people band together in good times and bad. The recent death of former Delaware Attorney General Beau Biden is an example. Everywhere I go, people I know are recounting their experiences with the politician and his father, Vice President Joe Biden. (Joe Biden lived in Arden in his youth. Occasionally and without fanfare, he passes through here and wanders into Gild Hall to see the old place.) The shock and mourning for Beau are real. And it isn't just about the traffic headaches that this funeral is causing in Wilmington. People remember young Senator Joe Biden taking the train home every night from D.C. to be with his young sons, survivors in the automobile accident which killed Biden's wife and daughter. They remember Beau's service to this country when he went to Iraq as a Major in the National Guard. We had high hopes that he would become Governor one day. Many examples show just how the Bidens care about the people of Delaware, and the feeling is mutual.

I must admit that I feel a bit like an in-law at this Delaware Family Reunion. I haven't been with the family very long. But the standoffishness is on our part. Delaware has been a welcoming family and has claimed us as their own. Maybe we will never rise to favorite son status or have the kind of funeral that closes roads, but we are slowly making our own web of friends and acquaintances. A small eco-system. One of its state nicknames is the Small Wonder. I agree, and I am happy to call it home.

Life Passages and Landscapes

In a week's time I was back in Lancaster County for three of life's passages: a wedding, a funeral, and a graduation party. Driving back to Lancaster County is like going back in time now, as well as space. Any time I go back, I return exhausted, as you imagine a time traveller would be. In the past week, I  revisited parts of my own life--my wedding, my various graduations, funerals of loved ones as well as participating in the events that were in real time. It made for a long week, but one filled with love and connection and reflection all taking place in familiar backdrops.

I come from a tradition in which religion plays a big part in these life passages. God is invoked. We pray for those who are transitioning from singled to marriage and from life to death. It is a comforting ritual, and yet it is something that is increasingly foreign to me. I don't look for the divine. I look to pattern. These days, I tend to reach for poetry and nature in these moments. Nature because it is always in flux. It mirrors the changes in my life back to me, and I am soothed by the way it resurrects itself at every turn--especially this time of year. Poetry,  for its rhythms. I have my favorites. Mary Oliver unites nature with poetry in a way that seamlessly joins my two supports. John O'Donohue is especially observant as he councils us to bless the changes with our attention to them. I access his book To Bless the Space Between Us the moment the wind starts to pick up in my life.

Years ago, I listened to an interview John O'Donohue gave with Krista Tippett's On Being in which he talked about physical and spiritual landscapes and the intertwining nature of the two. "What amazes me about landscape, landscape recalls you into a mindful mode of stillness, solitude, and silence where you can truly receive time." The interesting part was that I was listening to this interview while walking near my home in Reinholds. For those who have not been there, I lived in a place of rolling fields. The view changed with those hills, but on many points in my walks, I could look out and survey miles of farmland. I passed million dollar homes on my walks, shacks, a one-room Amish schoolhouse, four different breeds of cow, not to mention goats, chickens, and the occasional fox family. Where there are chickens, there too are foxes. Walking there was expansive. It freed my mind by making me small. The sky was endless.

The landscape is much different in my new home. I cherish my hikes in the woods. Here, in this setting, the woods embrace you. You are folded into nature, a secret part of it. Your eyes close in on the trail before your feet, so you don't trip over the terrain. If you see the sky, it is through peepholes atop the canopy. Some days I even have to speculate at the weather, because I can't see enough of the sky to see for myself. Walking is an interior thought process here. Sometimes that isn't enough of an escape because I am already wired for introspection. It is when I am too much in my head that I long for the wide view.

I never thought, with all the nature of Arden, that I would miss my previous walks, but I do. I miss the open landscape enough that I am homesick for it at times. Our hiking group helps with that. We do get to see some vastly different terrains on our walks. We even add the urban skyline and the ocean view to the mix.

In addition to marking time and ceremony in Arden, I will continue to travel back to Lancaster County to share in the life passages of family and friends that happen there. As I move between the two landscapes I am sure they will have an impact on how I experience these points of transition-- whether I take the wide sweeping view of life, seeing all the points that led me to this one, or if I choose to take up residence in the immediacy of situation. Either way, I am happy I get to project these landscapes over the screen in my mind and merge them with the moments in which I live.

Arden House & Garden Tour

The first weekend we came to visit in Arden, Cynthia took us on the House & Garden Tour, an event sponsored by Arden Community Recreation Association (ACRA). The tour isn't open to everyone. You have to live in the Ardens or be guest of someone who is a resident. It is a free event designed to show off house and garden projects and remodels to neighbors. We saw more than a handful of houses on that first Sunday. Coming as we did, from a cookie-cutter development that varied little from three main house designs, seeing the variety in Arden houses was a rainbow feast for our beige-weary senses.

When it comes to architecture,  Arden started modestly, but purposefully. One of Arden's two founders was the architect Will Price and he imbued the early Arden houses with the style of the Tudor Cottages. I have been doing some reading about the early planning of Arden and discovered that one of my oldest and dearest friends lives in a neighborhood in Wayne, PA for which Will Price was a prominent architect. I happened to visit Missy a few days after this year's house and garden tour. Missy is more than an architecture buff after getting her Master's Degree in Interior Architecture and Design from Drexel. She showed me examples of Price's work which was loftier in scale than the stuff of Arden, humble by comparison.

Treehouse built by Jeff Politis

Humble is a good word to describe Arden architecture. The focus of Arden was always community. Small, but meticulously gardened lots, giving way to large public spaces where the real action happened--from baseball games to hop-rocking and from live theater and shows to the Arden Fair. The cottages were not meant to denote your status. That was to be kept under wraps as you linked arms with those from all socio-economic levels. Still, Ardenites aren't Amish. Pride is not a sin. We like to show off our palaces. But here, palace is not a celebration of how much square footage you can cram under one roof, but how many stories you can build on one foundation. This year's tour included The Jungalow, a home built for Upton Sinclair with monies from the Fels-Naptha Soap fortune (the same fortune that financed Arden). The Jungalow, in its present state, bears little resemblance to that cabin, but features remain in the original part of the house: the paneled walls, the built-in-book shelves, the craftsman-era fireplaces that are ubiquitous in early Arden houses.

G-Arden--community garden of Arden

Other spots on the tour included a magnificent treehouse, built by Arden's newly elected town chair, who is on sabbatical from career and really enjoying his time with his young boys. We saw the original farmhouse of the farm that eventually became Ardencroft in 1950. The Craft Museum was also on the tour.  I helped letter a sign for the G'Arden, which was the final destination before everyone went inside the Buzz for a lovely reception featuring Beverley Flemming's wonderful tea sandwiches. After the long walk (this was on top of the five mile hike we did earlier in the day, I couldn't keep away from the chicken salad.

I am still learning about the founding and design of this town, discovering its influences which include the socialism of William Morris's Arts and Craft's Movement and the open, public spaces of Central Park designer Frederick Olmsted. I hope that I can document some of what I uncover in this blog, because it really is a fascinating glimpse into a very specific slice of American history. What happened in the building of Arden is a result of what was going on here and in the world in 1900. As an Art History minor, I am fascinated by these artifacts. As a writer I am inspired by the stories.

The Barn

As an outbuilding, it was so new that it hadn't been treated yet with stain or paint. When we first came to stay with Cynthia Dewick and David Gerbec at their Little House in Arden, you could still smell the fresh wood waiting to be cured by elements.  We sat with Cynthia and discussed the color she was thinking about staining it--a green to go with the trim of the house. The barn had been built by Amish men using the older methods and more secure connection of wooden pegs instead of nails. According to Cynthia, the builders sang as they built it. Perhaps that is what sealed its destiny as a music venue.

Our kids were the first people to sleep overnight in the barn in the blue swinging daybeds suspended from cables from the barn's high ceilings. Cynthia and David have a design sense that is at once sophisticated and casual--culled from magazines, a love of good typography, and travels in the Southern United States. Sitting on the swaying day beds, drinking good wine, if the motion overwhelmed us, we could catch our feet on the huge lacquered stumps of trees that were both coffee table and foot stool.

Joe del Tufo was the first to suggest that the barn be used as a house concert venue. Cynthia and David didn't quite know what this house concert deal was all about. But Cynthia approached a musician who was opening for an act at the Gild Hall, and soon she had booked Angela Sheik as The Barn's first act. From there, Cynthia has been able to book acts from all over the country. House concerts give musicians autonomy that few big venues can match. And the paydays aren't bad either; most places give them 100 percent of the house earnings. At $15-20 per person suggested donation, they can make more than they do in larger clubs that sometimes penalize artists if they can't bring in the crowds.

The Barn, photo by Joe del Tufo

Mark and I, living in Pennsylvania in the days before our Delaware dreams, didn't hesitate when we were invited to the first barn concert. I didn't matter that it was a weekday; we were there, driving the hour and half to Arden. We have been constants at The Barn shows, missing only one show in the three seasons of offerings. We have joked to Cynthia and David that they need to get engraved nameplates to affix to the backs of our chairs. We used to sit up front, but for the latest show, Keri saved me a seat on one of the the day beds, which are unhooked from their cables and set on the floor in the back to use as cushy seating for the shows. It is a different perspective seeing the show from the back. I got to witness the concert playing out on the faces of those three dozen lucky folks in attendance.

This past weekend, we were treated to the music of Matthew Ryan and the Northern Wires. Mark and I had heard Ryan play solo at Burlap and Bean, a coffee house in Newtown Square, PA, almost a year to the date of his show at The Barn. At that time, he was just returning to the stage from a hiatus, and he apologized as he stumbled on some of his own lyrics. While that, too, was an intimate listening room environment, it was a different concert than The Barn. Audiences in The Barn are leaned-in and primed for musicians' confessionals. It is as much a venue for story-telling as for song, and we always leave the place feeling as though we have been let in on a secret. Matthew Ryan was witty and self-aware as he referenced favorite poets Seamus Heaney and Leonard Cohen. He was coy when he revealed that he now lives in Beaver, Pennsylvania, a place name that is so lost on itself that residents fail to see the titillating double entendres in many of their town slogans.

Matthew Ryan performs at The Barn. Photo by Joe del Tufo

Then there is the music in The Barn. I am convinced that wood makes for honeyed sound. Something about the material adds richness to the vibrations. I've experienced it at The Gild Hall and heard tell of it when we toured Ryman Auditorium with its long wooden church pews. The amber lighting, a mix of bare Edison bulbs and mason jar candles, adds to the feel that you have stepped into back into a golden age before screens reflected blue light into our faces. At Ryan's concert, fabric artist Linda Celestian debuted a large artwork which acted as backdrop. The aquas of the curtains added another dimension. As did the band. Saturday night's concert marked the first time for a band, rather than a solo or duo act. As evidence, a huge van was parked in Cynthia and David's driveway, rather than the usual beater car of a traveling musician. They brought down the house and made Cynthia glad she preemptively told 84-year-old neighbor Ruth Bean to remove her hearing aids before she went to bed. After the show--in a continuation of the confessional and perhaps due to some celebratory Jameson shots-- we found out that band member Bones was the bass guitarist from Midnight Oil. Respect.

The Barn has ruined me for all other music venues. It is the place and the people, but it is also the music. If I had to reduce my CD collection to just the ones I bought at the shows--and one always buys the music offered out of the minstrel's suitcase--I would lead a well-soundtracked life. With Alternate Route's Nothing More and Barnaby Bright's Gravity, Angela Sheik's Run for Cover or Flagship Romance's Treason,  I could choreograph the rest of my days. Because it has no heating, The Barn only hosts shows in warmer months, and with the 2015 season open for business, I suspect that my CD collection will grow in spite of my current state of bliss.  To quote singer Susan Enan--Bring on the Wonder.

99 Elephants a Day

Seven years ago, I helped bring Fine Arts Day to my daughter's elementary school. Helped being the operative word. Art teacher extraordinaire Michele Swoope did all the heavy lifting. The day starts with an assembly. The last two times I have been back this assembly has featured a local rock band. After that, each grade level attends half hour presentations by six visiting artists. Also included in the day are two hands-on art experiences and a lunch time date with the Van Gogh Bus (traveling art museum out of Harrisburg PA).

Some of the 36,000 elephant prints created by Suzanne Fellows in 2014

When Michele announced this year's Fine Arts Day, I asked if I could come back as an artist liaison.  I used to be a substitute teacher when Michele was out. It was my favorite assignment as a sub, and I loved the kids. This year, it was my pleasure to be with Suzanne Fellows as she made her presentation. Suzanne is an artist/activist with a studio space in the Goggleworks in Reading, PA. In 2014, she started on a project to save elephants from poachers. She had learned through some internet research that 360,000 elephants were murdered for their tusks in 2013 alone. She decided to do something about it. She launched a campaign called 99 Elephants a Day. Every day of the year 2014, Suzanne dedicated herself to making 99 small elephant prints to represent each of the elephants killed that day. At the end of the year 2014, she had made 36,000 of her tiny prints which were the size of artist trading cards (2.5" x 3.5"). She continues to sell her prints, mostly through Etsy, for $9 and sends 1/3 of the money to the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, specifically to foster orphaned elephants. In 2014, she was able to foster 27 baby elephants. Elephants have always been my favorite animal. As a kid, while other girls were learning to draw dogs and horses, I was sketching elephants. Babar was among my favorite children's books. Perhaps that is why I have such an affinity for Suzanne and her cause.

The presentation hit home with the students as well. It was important for them to hear the message from someone who uses her art to change the world.  I was proud to be a small part of it. We started Fine Arts Day so kids could see the role of art in their community, and so that they could see the range possibilities for careers in the arts. Being immersed as I am in Arden's artist community, I see that the arts are more integrated with life here. Children are used to seeing the guest artists that come and go as visitors to their summer program. They attend youth Shakespeare workshops, attend outdoor concerts, and see all those neighbors who are artists selling their wares at The Arden Fair. While I would love to create a whole world of artist utopian communities in which to indoctrinate our children to the powers of art, I realize that is an overreach. Until that those dreams come true, I will gladly make the pilgrimage back to Reamstown Elementary and bask in that singular sphere of influence. Does that count as art activism? I don't know. But it puts me in hopeful place to think about changing the world through art.

The Dark Side

Mark and I had a fight the first weekend we visited Arden six years ago. Actually, we were embroiled in ongoing personal gunk in the months before we came to our first Arden getaway. The muck we were going through wasn't the kind of stuff you fight over, more like the kind of thing you for which you band together as a couple. Still, the situation was long, drawn out, and it was taxing us. We needed the mental, emotional, and physical break of a weekend away more than anyone could possibly know.

It started off on a bad foot. I met Mark at his work which was half-way to Arden. He couldn't get out as quickly as I wanted, so I had to wait for him. But soon we were on our way. Not sure why, but we stopped for a Chadd's Ford wine tasting along the way. I guess it was to soften the edges so we could officially get ourselves into weekend mode. I have documented that weekend in other blog entries, but never told the story of the fight we had. I believe it was our second night. We were walking back to the Little House from seeing a musical at the Candlelight Theater. It was dark, and I couldn't see where I was going on Arden's strange, curvy, bumpy roads and paths. I wasn't used to the dark. I don't even like driving in the dark. Mark didn't slow his pace, telling me that my eyes would adjust. I am also someone who falls. I am the kind of person who trips over her own feet, while Mark is the type of person who did hurdles in high school.  He flies over obstacles, and could cross a raging river on a tightrope if he needed to. Did we have cell phones to use as flashlights? I'm not sure. If we did, Mark scoffed at using them. The whole exchange got heated. He stomped away while I fumbled in the dark, in tears. I am sure that the dark wasn't the real reason for the fight. We made up that night, but not right away.

Six years later and we are at a Brews and Bands event, the last concert of the season at the Gild Hall. I wanted to leave the event earlier than Mark did. I got the key from him and walked home by myself--well after midnight. After you get beyond the Gild Hall parking lot, it is dark. No street lights for these quirky camp roads of ours. I had my phone with me, but I didn't need to use the flashlight mode to see or to be seen. I just walked that last half mile home in the quiet, dark of the night. I have developed my night vision in Arden. I love walking around here after dark. It really does awaken the senses and sharpens the mind even as it is relaxing it. I am not more sure-footed than I was, but I am more trusting in my ability to navigate. I know, from repeated wanderings, where the roads curve and bump. As I was walking. I looked up at the stars and, as I was freshly dosed with allergy medicine, I breathed deep. In the dark stillness, I took myself back to that first night walk and remembered how on edge we both were. I wish I could reach out to my younger self and tell her how things would turn around. I wish I could tell her that she didn't have to fear the dark places in her life because the dark is the place from which the seed gathers energy, cracks its hard shell, and starts to grow. Most of all, I would love to tell her that yes, she would make Arden her home one day, and it would be transcendent and worth the trouble of getting here.

Last night, I came home, locked the door, realized that Mark didn't have the key, unlocked the door, and went to bed. At 5:30 AM, I discovered Mark wasn't in bed. I panicked, wide awake, and reached for my phone.  Had something happened to him? Had he falling a ditch somewhere between here and the Gild Hall? Had he been run over? I saw then that he had texted me that he had been locked out and was sleeping in his car. Apparently, I hadn't completely released the lock when I attempted to unlock the door last night. I ran outside and ushered him in. He was cold, but unharmed. Not angry. It will make a good story. I love this man. I love this place. I am beginning to really love the dark.