One of the good things about being in the U.S. now are the many opportunities for wonderful weekend getaways. And though my 11-year old is extremely well traveled internationally, she has far less experience in our home country. It is important to me that she has the opportunity to see sights around the U.S. that also introduce her to the variety of cultures, history, people and places that our nation offers.

For the Veteran’s Day weekend, I decided C and I would visit Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I have vague memories of visiting the area when I was a child, perhaps 8 or 9 years old, with a friend and her mom, also a single mother. But other than having spent a day there, I had no other recollections. With good weather and a fair amount of trees still in their autumnal leaf glory, Lancaster seemed a great place to get away from our every day.

Our first stop in Lancaster was the Bistro Barberet, an authentic French restaurant and bakery owned and operated by an award winning French chef located in the historic downtown area. C loves French pastries and desserts and insisted she needed some bona fide macarons a.s.a.p. She left with the macarons, which must have passed muster as she ate every one of them (I got none).

Next we headed to the Lancaster Central Market. Founded in 1730 as part of the town’s original design, the market is the longest continuously operating public market in the country. It’s 60-some vendors offer a little bit of the old – from fresh local produce, homemade canned and dried goods, and family-owned meat, seafood, and poultry options – to the new, including Puerto Rican, Thai, and West African foods. Once inside, C immediately made a beeline for the West African stall as she identified the flags of Guinea and Liberia on the stall at once. Though we had not really immersed ourselves into the local food scene in Conakry, the flag was a pleasant reminder of both our personal journey and the international connections around us. C really loved the market. She tried the local favorites like soft pretzels and whoopie pies, and declared the market a wonder that she wished were closer to us.

Hankering for something a bit more substantial for lunch, we headed up the street to Brooklyn Pizza Gril & Pasta. It was a little chilly and overcast with a slight drizzle outside, but the wafting smell of fresh baked pizza, the heat from the ovens, and the cheery welcome from the staff was very welcoming. There are only a few tables and we perched on bar stools at the small table in the window as we chowed down on delicious hot and greasy New York style pizza as upbeat salsa tunes encircled us. Fantastic!

That afternoon we had bookings for the Amish House & Farm tour. For some reason, I thought the tour meeting spot would be just nearby, and when I learned I had a 25-minute drive we made a hasty retreat over. I was a little surprised to find an 1805 farmhouse in a Target-anchored shopping center, but we ended up having a wonderful tour. We started with a 90-minute bus tour through the surrounding countryside accompanied by commentary from the guide on the history and culture of the Amish. We made three stops at Amish businesses along the way. At the first we never even got inside the store as the small petting zoo with adorable goats, the soft pretzel stand, and the large bin of free pumpkins kept C and I plenty busy during the 15-minute break. The second stop was a small single-family run housefront store with handmade goods, many made by the family’s children. At the third, we spent nearly the entire time in the barn as C and several other children from the tour oohed, aahed, and cooed over a little of adorable havapoo puppies for sale. Back at the farmhouse, we had the opportunity for a further 30 minute tour of a mostly typical Amish home. Though I think the puppies were C’s favorite (ok, maybe mine too), the tour was very educational for us both.

We were to also have a self-guided tour of the adjacent farm, but with the recent time with daylight savings, the farm was far too dark to check out when we finished the house tour. We drove on to our hotel–the delightful Red Caboose Motel in Ronks, PA, where we would spend the next two nights in a renovated train caboose. We loved our room at once – it was cleverly converted and very cosy. C had her choice of 4 bunk beds but chose instead to squeeze in with me in the double; though she often asserts her independence, I think she might have been intimidated by her first stay in what essentially looked like a train yard. Dinner (and the following morning’s breakfast) was hearty portions of Americana in the Casey Jones’ restaurant where patrons sit in two train dining cars.

When we woke up the next morning there was frost and a fine mist hovering over the ground. Though chilly and in the upper 30s (Fahrenheit), the sun and sky were bright and clear. Before breakfast, I grabbed my good camera and did a perambulation around the property. The view across the fields was absolutely stunning. I do love our neighborhood in northern Virginia, but though the residential streets are tree-lined and there are plenty of parks, it cannot compare to the beauty of open land. I do not think I am designed for country living, but I sure do enjoy taking time to drink it in.

It was a very good tour. C, who has often seemed bored by house tours, was well-engaged by the former 5th grade art teacher turned tour guide. We were also a small group of six; in addition to C and I there were two 20-something male history buffs and, as luck would have it, a just retired Foreign Service couple. What are the odds? There were a few things that struck me as rather extraordinary about the tour: 1. the 20 minute introductory film makes no bones about the controversy surrounding the man and 2. that so much of the furniture and decor were not only original to the house and family but that we were free to move around (though not touch) the rooms. In nearly every home of a person of such historic value, the rooms are cordoned off in some way, with either carpet runners you must stay on or by stanchions or plastic barriers that allow guests only too close.

We crisscrossed the county again, grabbed lunch at a small mom & pop taqueria, and then headed to the Strasburg railroad where we would board a luxury lounge car for a leisurely 45-minute out-and-back ride on the country’s oldest continuously operating steam train. C’s pre-teen tendencies were beginning to show as she grumpily dropped into her velvet armchair; though the fun of an historic train ride did not perk her up, an cold tea and an M&M brownie did the trick and soon enough she conceded it was sort of interesting. I enjoyed the ride, though would have liked it more had it been a wee bit longer. It felt that as soon as we got going it was time to turn back and then it was over.

After breakfast, C and I headed to Wheatland, the preserved home of the 15th President of the U.S. James Buchanan. Buchanan, thus far the only bachelor president and the only one from Pennsylvania (though some are now divided on that President Joseph Biden was born and lived the first decade of his life in the state before his family relocated to Delaware), was a controversial figure who, though an accomplished statesman, is probably most remembered (when he is remembered) for presiding over the succession of the southern states and the start of the Civil War, which began just six weeks after he left office.

After the train ride, we drove along the back country roads visiting a few of Lancaster’s covered bridges. I had not realized at first that there would be so many such bridges as they are often more associated with New England, but there are at least 20 of them in the county. We passed by four of them, but it was the Kurtz Mill Bridge, dating from 1876, that provided the best opportunity to really see a covered bridge due to its location in the county’s central park.

On Sunday morning, I took one last stroll around the Red Caboose Motel grounds, listening for the clip-clopping of the Amish carriages on their way to a friend’s or neighbor’s home. C and I then packed up and made one final stop in Lancaster, so I could take a photo of the Lancaster County Prison, which the mid-18th century town leaders decided should be built like an English castle. Just another unique feature of Lancaster, I suppose.

I was reluctant to depart and head home; it was a great weekend away.