The Losses Keep On Coming...

Believe it or not (and those of you who knew me in high school won't believe it), it is not often these days that I am brought to tears before 8am. But today I was.

I found this notice on-line:


I couldn't believe it, but then I remembered that Mr. Happy drove by the Black Bass earlier this month on his trip to Eastern Pennsylvania and he told me "It looked closed."

This was actually so inconceivable to me that I responded with something like "It often looks closed, they utilize the natural light that comes in from the river."

I think he then told me the parking lot was empty, on a Sunday morning, but I wasn't hearing any of it.

Sadly, tragically in fact, Mr. Happy was on to something (as he usually is).

I have been going to Sunday Brunch at the Black Bass Hotel with my family for over 20 years. When SMS proposed I knew immediately that that's where I wanted to be married, but I wasn't sure it would be possible. On a fact-finding mission with some of my college friends I asked the hostess if they did weddings. She said they did, that she had been married there and she offered to take me to the "Canal Room" (read: Basement!) that they used for weddings. As my friend and I descended the stairs and I caught my first glimpse of the private room lit only by white Christmas lights in the rafters and the diffuse sun that was reflecting off the river, my heart skipped a beat.

Despite some common misconceptions about me, I am a fairly flexible person. Sure, once I get set on something, I can be fairly stubborn, but I try not to get set on too much. I was set on getting married at the Black Bass. So, despite some obstacles, we made it work. And it was lovely, even in the 90degree heat and humidity.


I am devastated to hear it is changing hands.

My parents started going to Bucks County, outside of Philadelphia, shortly after they married in the 60s. If you've heard of Bucks County, you've probably heard of New Hope, PA -- once a cute little town for artists, motorcycle guys, New Age-y types and gay men and women, now just a replica of everything that is wrong with the Jersey Shore. As a family, we spent time in New Hope, but we also spent time 7 miles north of New Hope in Lumberville, PA (not to be confused with Lambertville, NJ which is just across the river from New Hope). When I was a kid, Lumberville consisted of a few houses and a handful of businesses.

• The 1740 House, where we stayed, owned by a man named Harry -- it had no TVs, no radios and only 2 pay phones where we would often find my dad calling in to the office;
• The Lumberville Store, where we would buy lunch for our canoeing trips and where I became addicted to Martinelli's apple juice -- it was owned by a man named Gerald, a former New York City Postman, who had come to work at the store years before and eventually bought it from his boss, and
• The Black Back Hotel, owned by an English man or a man with a huge love for England, who eventually sold it to one of his employees, a man named Michael.

Over the past few years The 1740 House was sold to a conglomerate who put tvs, phones and radios in all of the rooms and raised the prices to a prohibitive level, The Lumberville Store sold to a couple from California and is now, I believe, out of business and now, this.

I feel deflated. As amazing as I felt the first time I saw the Canal Room, that is how sad I feel right now.

Michael, the owner of the Black Bass, who personally handled all of our wedding plans was a pleasure to work with. He was accommodating, understanding and always willing to go the extra mile. Knowing he was in charge actually allowed me to relax about things on my wedding day. On the Monday morning after our wedding we were settling up the charges with him (he comped our 4 nights in the hotel!) and there was some confusion about whether we had taken care of everything, because everything seemed so simple and easy. SMS asked if there was anything else we needed to do. "Yes," Michael said, "Come back to celebrate your anniversaries with us." We always imagined we would.

When SMS and I decided to move West we knew there were things we would miss about the East coast, and I knew Bucks County would be one of those things. And it made it all the more painful to know we probably wouldn't make it back anytime soon -- we assume our trips will focus on New York City and Pittsburgh, not the middle of nowhere PA. The truth was, I had never gone more than year without at least having a meal there (I would detour between New York and DC during college, just to get a burger at Martines (which has recently relocated to a new building....)). SMS told me he loved me for the first time there (over pizza at Joe's in Lambertville, but close enough!). My father's ashes are scattered in Bucks County. Knowing that Michael is leaving the Black Bass, and knowing that means it may close or change so much that it is unrecognizable is a devastating blow to my idea of home.

My dad and Gerald at The Lumberville Store.

....this is not something I really needed to learn the day after Myron Cope died....

UPDATE
I was just about to publish this when I got an email from my mom that the neighbor I grew up next to has died. He was 61 and had a heart attack. He was a wonderful man with a wonderful wife. I think I am going to go back to bed.