I Scream, You Scream...

One of my favorite memories growing up was the trip down to Delaware for a week every summer. The week away was not my favorite part. No, I was all about the trip home. Before the Blue Route was complete, allowing anyone along the eastern edge of PA to hop on the turnpike, which turns into I-95, and therefore hit all points south as far as the Keys, you had to take a series of lesser highways. If I recall correctly, it was something like Route 100 to 13 to 113 to 1. And then home in reverse.

And when we hit Route 100 coming north, we knew we were almost home. And when we were only 8 miles away, I think it's the town of Bally or Barto, not entirely sure, we'd come to the Longacre's Dairy. Only 8 miles away, you'd assume we'd be so eager to get home that we wouldn't stop for anything. Not so! Longacre's Dairy had the best ice cream, and back in the day, you'd get three scoops for, like, $1. Dad would park the van, towing the boat, and we'd pile out, go inside to order, and then come back out to sit at the picnic tables, trying to find the perfect balance of eating fast enough to avoid drips but not so fast as to bring on an ice cream headache.

Soon enough the summer would end. Childhood itself would pass by like the trees along the highway. But, as Bogie said, or would have said if he'd ever visited PA, "We'll always have Longacre's."

Today is the Friday before the third Sunday in July, which happens to be National Ice Cream Day! Longacre's is closed on Sundays, or it used to be, but buy yourself a cone of your favorite flavor and find a shady spot to eat it, and savor the ice cream and memories of years gone by.