I’m unreasonably fond of the rolling corn ‘n’ cow country in the southwestern corner of New Jersey. Not that Pitman is such a hectic place, but since I discovered it, my idea of peace and relaxation has been rolling through here on a bike. These days it’s not practical – no bike in NJ, not enough time – so it’s down to cars to provide the transport to the scenery.
And it’s up to Farmer John to provide the deli. I thought the whole market was called Farmer John’s, which led to some problems in tracking down an address and phone number (no one’s ever going to call it, but it’s important to maintain standards, don’t you think?). FJ’s is the restaurant part of the operation, making your basic country-style junk food in a place where there aren’t a lot of restaurants around.
The main part of the operation is just selling knicknacks. American flags, postcards, goat-milk soap, preserves. Windchimes. Crafts.
Did y’all really shoot these around Salem? I guess it’s possible. I wonder if they’re for sale.
I know for sure that the bears are not for sale.
But the ice cream is, and that’s all we cared about this afternoon. Every time we stopped the car to poke around a farmer’s field or commune with poodle-headed alpacas, we were reminded that it was 95 degrees. Up from the 70’s only a day or two before, it was enough to stop you as soon as you opened the door.
Bring it on, mama.
Bring it on home.
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