Goin’ Up the Country

I’m going up the country, baby, don’t you wanna go
I’m going up the country, baby, don’t you wanna go
I’m going to some place where I’ve never been before

The Locke Modern Country Store was written up in the Washington Post recently and I read the story with great longing. Longing to take a ride out to the country on an Indian summer’s day and longing to have a general store of my own.

A great friend arrived from the land of gentle seasonal shift, Los Angelos, giving me the nudge I needed to drive west, where leaf-peeping precedes us by a week or so. Peak is still a ways off and while the orchestra of trees was just warming up, the top swaths of orange or occasional red flights of fancy were plenty. Maples are in the lead, as usual.

We got unlucky and lucky. I didn’t do my research and, whoops, the store, our lunch destination 65 miles out, was closed. On the stoop there stood a waist high single burner with an enormous pot steaming like mad. Somebody had to be home.

We begged (okay I begged). She led us through the kitchen, packed us lunch and sent us across to the meadow by the millstream. Paradise. No exaggeration. Meadow and millstream. And picnic tables. Paradise.

I’m going, I’m going where the water tastes like wine
I’m going where the water tastes like wine
We can jump in the water, stay drunk all the time

The Locke store makes a wonderful Turkey BLT. Himself was not happy about the lettuce and avocado. Extra for me! The bread was cushiony and slightly sweet, like limpa. Nice with salty country bacon. Jenn was not sure why I felt we needed three bags of Route 11 chips. She was right. One should always consult with Jenn before any undertaking. Believe me.

Route 11 Chips are grown and fried right out there in Virginia by the lovely folks who own the Tabard Inn in downtown DC. I know cause they first started slicing and frying on their farm when I was a chef at the Tabard about 20 years ago. Lord, I have eaten my share of Tabard chips. One morning I will wake up and every chip I should not have eaten will have materialized on my body.

I’m gonna leave this city, got to get away
I’m gonna leave this city, got to get away
All this fussing and fighting, man, you know I sure can’t stay

A rushing stream, loads of hard, green things, and a stick. Things from a tree that fell with a clump. They floated and were perfect for races. We could have left the boy there for days and our absence would have gone unnoticed.

Okay, I admit it, this post is just one big brag. We did have a great day out and I do think my son is the most amazing thing since sliced bread. And Jenn, well, every man who meets her is in love with her. There, I said it. And I’m not taking it back.

“Hold my stick, mom.” Did he take the picture? Who can tell? Waving the camera around, jumping up and down, crouching, smirking…

Whew. That was a close one. We would have gone hungry out there on the edge of the tundra. Next time you’re in Millwood, don’t make it a Monday.

I’m going up the country, baby, don’t you wanna go
I’m going up the country, baby, don’t you wanna go
I’m going to some place where I’ve never been before
Canned Heat