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Stockton, NJ

I’ve come to realize that I really, really like colonial style.  Big red wallpaper with big red stripes, pineapples everywhere, houses made of stone.  The whole country estate, pastoral ideal, yeoman farmer thing.

But, y’know, without the oppression and slavery that seems to come with it.

We spent the weekend at a lovely B&B in Stockton, NJ, which is right next to the Delaware River (as in, “Washington crossing the”).  We haven’t had much time to ourselves, just the two of us, and His birthday is coming up next week, so we thought we’d get away.  It was just lovely.  We stayed in a converted colonial farmhouse.  It had sheep.  And pineapples.  And bizarrely shaped canopy beds with netting over it that we spent a good amount of time trying to reverse engineer.

Maybe the colonial thing is just an extension of my obsession with fiber arts.

We also rented bicycles and acquired ourselves a picnic lunch and spent much of Saturday just pedaling and trying to pick the perfect place to splash down to the water to eat our sandwiches.  I haven’t been very hungry since the weather became hot, so I’m afraid I didn’t do my sandwich much justice at all, but I had a grand time eating it and splashing my feet in the river from on top of a log.  Sitting on logs makes me really happy.

Exhausted from our cycling, we took a nap and then woke up to go into town, where there was a music festival going on at one of the local restaurants.  (All the restaurants were amazingly good — and expensive — which goes to show that their economy is tourism.)  We had one of the best meals of our lives, while watching two youngins in skimpy bathing suits make out (and then some) on the one corner in the center of town.  I mean, where else would you?

We took a walk out onto one of the many bridges spanning the Delaware and watched the moon over the river.  It would have been perfect, if someone hadn’t disappeared in the river earlier, so our romantic talk was punctuated with sirens and an airboat, which is the loudest thing you can imagine on a river that still.  Not much for ambiance, but the moon was still nice.  There’s just something about a full moon on a river.  It reminds me very much of where I grew up, which is just a happy thing.

By Sunday, it was definitely time to get back to the home front and check on the cat, who has been recovering from an illness.  We stopped at Washington’s Crossing and oohed and ahhed at the “Washington crossed the Delaware near here” signs and took lots of pictures of the river and the geese of the river.  It was a beautiful weekend away, filled with many naps and quality time and nature and pretty memories.

But you’re not getting me on that river one on of those colonial boats.  That current’s swift.

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