Sussex Cows...check.
Lake with unmoving party boats- check. What are they DOING out there? OK, OK they are party boats so they must be having a PARTY...
Sundays are not made for having an itinerary. Ideally if you are awake, and have had a very good breakfast (bacon egg and cheese on a toasted onion naan accompanied by copious amounts of strong coffee, very good indeed, oh, and a canteloupe for roughage) You can pretty much push off from the house and if someone else is driving, just GO. My agenda- reapply sunblock and don't fall off the back of the motorcycle. By the end of the day I'd accomplished one of the two. In the interest of building literary tension I will withold that bit of information for the time being.
We headed down the road and I began calculating just how many things I could do wrong just by getting dressed. Thing 1: Do NOT wear the cute thong sandals with the little shells on them to go riding because if you do you will realize at a crucial 70 mph moment that when you need to push down on your feet so you do not BOUNCE 4" out of your seat when you hit a bump the amount of traction they will give is absolutely zero. Fortunately, I am gifted with a generous, if shapely, center of gravity and bounced back down into my seat. Thing 2: Hair- the little claw style hair clip will turn into a vicious, ravening, scalp-eating beast if you try and stick it under a helmet and if you take it out, the carefully wrought French braid will fly out and whip across your face and you will spend the next 40 miles eating hair. At one point I was attempting to enjoy the scenery through the whipping hair foliage when Michael asked- "ever been to Space Farms?" As this sounded like a possibility for stopping and collecting myself, I spat out a mouthful of tresses and said as brightly as I could - "No..." and he turned the bike into a perfectly ordinary looking parking lot. I was completely consumed for the next ten minutes attempting to free my head from the helmet, liberate my hair from the clip and comb the major snarls out. . No joke, small children passing clung to their mothers in fright and pointed at me, the shyer ones whimpering softly. I looked like Cousin It after a Toni Home Perm
When the hair cleared I found myself looking at :
And:
I had no idea what I was in for. Space Farms is located in Wantage, New Jersey. There isn't a whole lot in Wantage except the Space Farm and well, lots of other more traditional Farms. The advertising claims it to be "World Famous". If it isn't, it should be as there cannot be two places like this on the planet- or so I thought- more literary tension here- hang in there I'll get to it.
Space Farms was founded in 1927 by Ralph and Elizabeth Chase. Originally it was a little gas station and general store that stocked " the few necessities the local people needed: salt, sugar, oyster crackers, corn flakes, bulk cookies, canned salmon, soda pop and penny candy for the kids". I guess not everyone needed oyster crackers and times being what they were, with three little Spaces to feed- Loretta, Edna and Fred, Ralph had a second job working for the New Jersey State Game Department trapping predators marauding farm animals. (Items in quotes come from the Space Farms website- http://www.spacefarms.com/ the most colorfully written document since the days of the Victorian bodice rippers and penny dreadfuls). It seems Ralph was a natural "sportsman" though I have never seen the sport in hunting- give the animal a gun and opposable thumbs and I'll think about changing my mind. Ralph mostly caught bobcats, racoons and foxes in the Spring when pelts were plentiful and rather than kill them, he'd pen them in behind the store and keep them alive until the Fall when somehow the pelts became more valuable- I guess a fox stole sounds a lot better in October than it does in July, unless you happen to be the fox in which case it sounds ghastly at any time. It seems that when the Fall came around the little Spaces (God, I love calling them that) had become attached to the animals and would not allow dad to off them for the pelts. Thus the Space Farms zoo was born- people would come to see the "wild animal" collection and along the way buy a soda- or some gas and the store began to thrive.
What I want to know is how in the HECK Mr. Chase got Mrs. Chase to be OK with Goliath. As you walk into Space Farms Goliath greets you- all ten taxidermed feet of him, with claws like sabers and a strangely intelligent and sad look on his face. At 2,000 lbs he was the largest bear in captivity according to the Guiness Book of World Records. Can you imagine the conversation?
Mr. Chase: Honey- I have a new animal for the collection
Mrs. Chase: Oh GREAT what does this one eat?
Mr. Chase: Nuts and berries mostly... no big deal really. We're gonna need a bigger cage though.
Mrs. Chase: What is it?
Mr. Chase: We might need to electrify the fencing too...
Mrs. Chase: What IS it?
Mr. Chase leads Mrs Chase outside to the chained bear who raises himself to his full height and greets Mrs Chase with a friendly paw swipe that properly aimed would have eradicated an entire herd of Holsteins. Mrs. Chase- having seen much in her years with her husband turned calmly to Mr. Chase smiles and says: "We'll let your Mother take care of this one."
Aside from a an incredibly extensive collection of stuffed wildlife like Goliath the zoo features ..."bobcats, tigers and lions, buffalo, hyena, wild ponies, timber wolves, various types of foxes, bears and deer, leopards, monkeys, jaguars, coyotes, llamas, yaks, snakes, and hundreds more. This private collection of North American wildlife is the largest in the world". Sorry I missed the yaks- the hairstyle always reminds me of my Uncle Milton's comb-over. The zoo does boast the record for the longest survival rate in captivity for grizzlies, bobcats, pumas and jaguars. My guess is they got a look at the fellas inside and figured better outside and caged than inside with a pair of glass eyes and a view of the concession stand for eternity.
The rest of Space Farms was a riot of wicker baby buggies, civil war surgical kits- endless indian arrowheads, hatchets and pestles and guns, LOTS of guns. They hung from the rafters like some odd malevolent species of bat. Cuckoo clocks and Indian tapestries shared space on the knotty pine walls and the entire effect was 50's rec room meets the Field Museum. There was also an explanation for all the...stuff. It seems during the Depression folks who might not have been able to pay for the things they needed to buy from the store would barter with their belongings which would be hung on the walls until the time when the family could pay the bill and reclaim them. I think it was Mrs. Space who might have coined the now oft mis-quoted phrase "Don't take any wooden Indians" Mr. Chase, who was probably trying to keep Goliath from consuming his mother at the time and might've missed that request- he took more than one... of everything. The Space Farms' collection now occupies ELEVEN buildings on over 4 acres. I wanted to mention this roadside attraction to my friend Miriam whose husband is an avid collector and kitsch fan, but I think she'd be afraid he'd get too fired up and start acquiring local lands to expand his own archive of.."collectibles".
After the whirlwind tour of Space Farms- we actually never left the concessions area-I looked out the door and saw a perfectly lovely bear pacing out in the grass behind a ten foot chain link fence- I just got too sad. I have a problem seeing animals caged- but I loved watching all the families with their little kids oohing and ahhing and pointing. Walking around there felt very much like another era- when families went out together and spent the day in each other's company. Bears in captivity aside- I liked the way that felt.
But wait there's more. Remember I thought there wasn't another place like Space Farms- I was wrong...
We headed to Mount Arlington to a restaurant called Pub 199. As we drove in I read the billboard sign advertising 2 dozen steamed clams for $8. As it was nearing 6, I was really hungry, breakfast being a mere dim memory (still good, but dim). I was ready to eat anything. Two dozen clams sounded like a good start. The moment I walked in the door I realized that this place had been owned and decorated by Marlin Perkin's twisted twin brother.
Welcome Hunters indeed. This place was COVERED in taxidermed animals of every shape and size. And not just your local lynx and pheasant- a giraffe gazed directly over our table from the wall above, in the corner a mother bobcat appeared to attack her young and far back near the 2 story fireplace hung a doleful rhinoceros head. Quails and pheasant dotted the rafters. Not to say the place was completely without a sense of humor- there was an authentic jackelope head (with certificate) hanging next to the list of daily specials. Fortunately for me they were not offering jackelope on the menu that night.
In the interest of continuing to have no agenda I let Michael order- We split some clams and Michael ordered.. a lobster.
When it arrived people at other tables moved back to make room. This crustacean was big enough to warrant its own zip code. I named her Nelly (as in whoa) One of only two lobsters in the 7-9 pound category at the restaurant that night Nelly was the talk of the entire Pub, people came from other rooms to admire her gleaming red carapace and 14" antennae. I was more than a little intimidated- I'd never tried to eat anything that, had it been alive, would have stood a fighting chance at eating me- or at least giving me a heck of a pinch. In truth, ultimately with a little butter and hot sauce- Nelly was mighty tasty.
After dinner (I will spare you the details of the carnage- I only agreed to eat the lobster if Michael dismembered it while I peeked through my fingers)We headed back to Jersey City and I watched cars go by, realizing that despite the evening chill as the sun set I was my own heat source. My arms and nose were INCREDIBLY sunburned. Suddenly Michael pointed at something on the left. At 77 mph on a 4-lane highway there's a great deal going by, really really fast, I squinted and then I saw him...
After everything I'd seen that day, all the caged, stuffed and boiled animals; the Neopolitan mastiff's big jowly drooling face was incredibly beautiful to me. I watched him hanging out the tailgate enjoying the breeze. I decided he knew best how to have a Sunday and followed his example and just enjoyed the breeze. I think I only drooled a little.
:) X
No comments:
Post a Comment