I stopped here once, yesterday, for about 5 minutes, but the woman inside at the counter was kind…read moreand gracious to a lost traveler, and it looks like a wonderful place to pick apples, buy baked goods, or sit down and relax with something tasty and filling to eat (the menu indicates they serve breakfast and lunch).
What was I doing up in this neck of the woods? Well, it's not totally unfamiliar to me. When I was a kid, I was part of a father-son group known in those politically incorrect times as "Indian Guides." Fathers and sons would go "camping" for the weekend at a place in Sussex County called "Camp Silver Lake" (not sure where it exactly was; my best guess would be Hardyston). My oldest friend and his father were also part of it, and that's where we bonded. If nothing else, Indian Guides was the start of what has been a lifelong friendship, and the pastoral surroundings are a beautiful memory.
Back in the day when I abused a number of substances, I would sometimes drive up this way, pop a Vicodin or Percocet (in my own defense, I never, ever equated such activity with driving drunk, as it was "prescribed medication," and I felt far more in control of myself than if I had been drinking alcohol) and feel exquisitely happy, as I experienced simultaneously pharmaceutically induced euphoria and the rapture of nature's glories. I had an epiphany finally and realized that this was dangerous, and stopped, but...at the risk of sounding like even more a pitiful a**hole than I do already...these are some of the happiest memories I have. The place and the pills.
Years later, I drove up this way with my birth mother and grandmother. We stopped somewhere to eat, and they had "Freedom Fries" listed on the menu. For all I know, they still do.
Still, it has been years since I have been in the area. My oldest friend's son is getting married up here in a few days, and I've been worried about having to navigate some of these roads at night with my cataract-afflicted eyes. I figured I would take a trial run by day to familiarize myself as to where I had to go.
I used Google Maps, which was probably a mistake. Going up Rt. 23 was nice, brought back old memories of driving up here with my dad (I was reading "Dracula" at the time, and the surrounding woods, mountains and lakes looked to the child that I was like the Transylvania described by Bram Stoker in the book).
Soon, though, I was diverted to back roads and had trouble keeping my sense of direction intact. People drive fast on these back roads and several times I had to pull over to let them pass (1 truck drove by me with an enormous American flag fluttering on 1 side, and a "Don't Tread On Me" flag fluttering on the other, and I wanted to call out, "You think you've been tread on in the past? Wait till you see what's coming!" but...of course...didn't).
At 1 point, I stopped at a gas station and asked the attendant if he knew where a particular road was. With great force, he shook his head no, looking as if I had asked him to direct me to a barren outpost near Azerbaijan. Turns out, the road in question was about 10 feet beyond the gas station. Thanks, pal.
Somehow or other, I got onto what I thought was the right road, but, frustratingly, I reached the end of it with the wedding venue nowhere in sight. In desperation, I pulled into the picturesque Pochuck Valley Farms parking lot (parking wasn't a problem) and went inside.
The counter was in front and towards the back, someone in a kitchen was cooking food that gave forth a delicious aroma. I was worried when I asked the woman at the counter about my obviously erroneous (or, knowing myself like I do, misinterpreted) directions, I was going to get the same negative response as I got from the gas station guy. Instead, she was very pleasant, patient and helpful, taking out her phone to map out what I had scribbled on a piece of paper more precisely.
Feeling somewhat guilty and wanting to repay the woman in some measure for her kindness, I went towards the dining area to pour myself a cup of coffee. The dining area was crowded with young people seated at tables, and they seemed to be enjoying what they were having. Paying for the coffee at the counter (and treating myself to a Twix candy bar), I thanked the proprietress for her help, drove carefully back up the way I had come, and found the wedding venue that I had somehow overlooked in my nervousness and frustration.
This looks like a great place to go if you're into picking apples in a pristine rural setting. The sit-down menu looks tempting, and the pies and baked goods (baked by Diana) look scrumptious.
Obviously, my experience with them, so far, has been very limited, but I would like to correct that in the future and avail myself of at least some of the many things they have to offer. Seems like a perfect destination for solitary travelers like me, couples, student groups, families.
Don't bring Fido, though. Only "trained service animals" allowed.
