small.town.girl

Dogfish Head Beer is easily one of my favorite beverages. I am a fan not only because many of the brews are tasty, but also because the story of these craft brewed Delaware delights is so intriguing. The founder of Dogfish Head, Sam Calagione, was an English major who started a brewpub in 1995 at the age of 25. His brewpub grew exponentially since then, and now DFH is a mid-Atlantic empire, even seeing expansion in the face of 2009’s recession. DFH has built a culture around their ales, or perhaps the beer has evolved around the off-centered culture; the off-centeredness is seen not only in the taste of the ales themselves, but also in the employees and avid fans of their craft brewing, of whom my father may be #1. My Dad, Dan and I rang in the new year in Rehoboth Beach, DE at a dinner celebrating DFH’s 15 years in the brewing business and toured the brewery (with its new and improved visitors’ center) before we headed back to PA. Though I’ve done the brewery tour before, I was especially struck by the knowledge of our guide John and convinced that I do, in fact, need to evangelize this fabulous company’s off-centered ales to other off-centered people around the world.

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I became a substitute teacher somewhat out of necessity. In a faltering economy, I couldn’t afford to move to a new location to find a job, and my college degree and I were wasting away at a local convenience store making less than $8/hour. Teaching had been my original intention in college, but I’d been sidetracked by publications. I was lucky to know a few people who had gone through a training program to obtain emergency teaching certification, and they encouraged me to check it out. While the main point of the program is to staff the local intermediate unit, which assists local schools (especially with special education), many who take the training become day-to-day subs in mainstream schools. The training takes a mere three days and focuses on information that is more suited to the IU. Most of “what to do” was up to me to learn.

My first day was terrifying and exhilarating. I’d managed to find a better-paying seasonal job to round out my summer; my last day was Labor Day. I was looking forward to taking a few weeks to prepare for subbing by cleaning and organizing. Instead, Tuesday, September 8, I woke up at 5:30 in the morning to a phone call. I agreed before I really understood what I was doing. That was just the beginning, I suppose. In retrospect, the first day was fairly plain. It was 7th grade language arts, and one period I had a co-teacher who took the reigns. The regular teacher’s plans were superb–she’d thought of a lot in advance. The 7th graders were only in their 2nd week of junior high, so they had no idea that I was not at all aware of what I was doing. At the end of the day, I felt confident I’d made the right choice in pursuing teaching as a career.

When I look back, I’m very happy that I accepted that early phone call. It let me train myself and get my feet wet without falling on my face. I learned how to follow a lesson plan, how to relate to students, and even how to deal with trying to find a school I’ve never seen. Since then, I’ve had numerous other learning experiences with subbing. It’s trial and error, and what one can accomplish in a day depends on the type of students the school in question has. The demographics vary, even in my small county, and the students are sometimes less receptive to a substitute depending on their grade level and their level in the education system. I hope to detail some of what I’ve learned here, and to write about the experiences—good, bad and in between—so that I might learn more from them as I reexamine what I’ve done.

Sunday morning came far too fast. We woke up to the smell of breakfast cooking, and when I emerged from the bathroom, my birthday presents were waiting for me on the bed. Dan, of course, did a fabulous job. He framed a picture of us before our He Said Beer / She Said Wine dinner and one of my favorite pictures that he took on one of our outings (and he got frames that were my style, too). He also got me the Dandy Warhols vinyl that I had drooled over–and it’s signed! The mix CD that came as part of my gift beat the mix I’d made him in August, but I wouldn’t know that until the drive home from his house that evening.

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We celebrated Dan’s birthday at the beach, but for my birthday I wanted to do something special to me. Twenty-five being a symbolic age, I wanted to do something “grown up.” My idea was to rekindle my romance with the Eastern Shore and visit Washington College now that I’ve gained some distance from it. There was also supposed to be a music festival on campus (which never came to fruition). Little did I know when planning this trip, however, that Chestertown no longer felt like home to me. I’d felt it a bit on previous visits, like when I saw the new dorms for the first time. However, this visit was to a different campus. I recognized so few faces, and I’ve known for some time that the general make up of the student body has changed since I was there. Needless to say, after our 90 minute drive to town, I was nonplussed. After visiting a few friends and grabbing lunch at one of the restaurants I miss most, Procolino’s, Dan and I departed for Rock Hall, a town 20 minutes to the west and right on the bay. While debating where to stay when we originally planned this trip, we’d considered the hotels in Chestertown, but I ended up deciding on a whim that I wanted to stay at a bed and breakfast–one in particular. The Inn at Huntingfield Creek had a website that lured me in and promised relaxation and comfort, and I thought it would be close enough to Chestertown that we could go back and forth between the two with ease.

When we finally arrived at the bed and breakfast, I tried to shake the foul mood that Chestertown’s changes had caused. The long driveway led up to a beautiful house, and as we pulled into a parking space, the awkward kicked in. did we go in the front door? How do we announce ourselves? Questions even Google can’t answer always rush into my head at inopportune times; they make interacting in the real world difficult because while I’m really just petrified with fear over doing or saying the wrong thing, it often comes across as rudeness. Luckily, in this case, there were three dogs to announce our arrival and one of the innkeepers–Jim–was quick to intercept us and give us a tour. He greeted Dan as the “person who asked the most pre-stay questions ever.” In Dan’s defense, most of the questions were mine. I’d started having nerves about the trip as soon as I’d given my credit card information, and Dan swooped in to help ease my overactive imagination’s fears.

The property of the Inn at Huntingfield Creek was absolutely gorgeous even though our stay fell on the cusp of fall. The path to the dock was bordered by soybeans and sunflowers. The field of sunflowers–probably majestic in the summer–were going to seed. The leaves of the trees were threatening to change colors, and some crunched under our feet. Inside, our room looked just as it did online. We had a large bed an an antique bathtub. The blue was rich and gave the room a relaxing vibe. Since it was too early for dinner, we thought we’d take our books down to the bay to enjoy the sunset. We set out, Dan with his Nikon and me with Sedars and King in my purse. The walk took us through those fields and a wooded area before opening up to bay grasses. However, the Chesapeake was so happy to see us that it tried to come up to greet us; the water had cut off access to the dock, and mocked us by seeping up further as we stood there. We returned an hour later after settling for secluded chairs by the pond and the scene was worse. Fish swam in the path, and our shoes squished in the grass. The sunset was breathtaking, and it symbolized that we needed to grab food. At the advice of our innkeepers, we went to a local restaurant called Harbor Shack for dinner. My entrée was basic, but our appetizer was scrumptious. I wanted to give myself a facial with that crab dip! After dinner, we drove to the ice cream shop down town, debating its hours and where to park. A young girl scooped our Butterfinger cones and gave me a cup of water after overhearing me talking about needing to take a pill. she complimented the purse Kate bought me in New Zealand, prompting me to make awkward conversation.

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Working for Hershey Entertainment & Resorts has its benefits. When I worked there in 2005, I had a free overnight stay at The Hotel Hershey, a beautiful, historical luxury resort. A lot changed in the four years, from the office building where Central Reservations is located to the different packages and experiences guests can have with their stays. My lovely manager, Michelle, made it possible for me to take part in The Falconry Experience, which is something new offered through The Hotel Hershey and Zoo America. What made it even better? Dan and his camera came along!

Very few resorts in the northeast have programs where guests can interact with birds of prey; in fact, the Hotel Hershey is the only resort in Pennsylvania that offers this option. Jack Hubley, a master falconer who works with Zoo America and does an animal-related segment on our local news, leads the program. He provides a background on the history of falconry–which is over 4,000 years old and likely began in Asia–and how it works as a method for hunting. Birds of prey don’t love their masters like a hound dog; they love meat. Guests meet the birds, too, which is both exciting and a bit sad. There are several Harris hawks, a peregrine falcon and a golden eagle caged and eager to demonstrate their hunting skills. The birds aren’t mistreated by any means, though. While they may not love their master, the master falconer does regard the birds with a great deal of respect.

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