Frittering Away Our Time

The day dawned quietly – well, it really hadn’t “dawned” at all; we were up at 5 AM to make an apple fritter run. Scott thought I was nuts. “You have to get them when they’re still warm, and before they’re all sold out! Believe you me, later, when you’re biting into warm, doughy but slightly gooey, apple-y goodness... I will be yo daddy!”

It’d been twenty years since I’d been there – multiple cell phones and the world wide web ago. I’d done my homework, though – double checked my coordinates, loaded up on fuel (my credit checked out, so I managed get a full tank) and stocked up on provisions: water, plenty of cash, and an appetite. We were Lancaster County bound, destination: Kreiders market! This was not our usual Lancaster trip – not our typical schmying around the local tourist traps – B&B’s, outlets, buffets. This was backwoods, Lancaster County life: Roots Farmers Market, resident quilters, and APPLE FRITTERS!

The road began to bend, the skies widened ahead of us, and the smell of farms (you know what I’m saying) rose up, carried on the dewy, crisp morning breezes. My stomach grumbled, calling for pastry plunder, the Kreider cache, glazed gold, baked booty. But I digress.

When what to my hungering eyes should appear…a sign – the unmistakable green logo, the peaked storefront reminiscent of HoJo days. I smelled apples; my heart leapt with anticipation. “There it is! Right there, right there! Turn, turn, turn!”

“Manheim Grill?  But… Kreider Commons?  They lease it out?  But…  We came all this… The website said…  Really?”

My stomach grumbled. All I smelled was fertilizer.