The Coffeehouse Journey

I know what you’re probably thinking: Why didn’t he do a post on National Coffee Day? Yes, Coffee Day has come and gone. It was on September 29th. There was a slew of deals on coffee nationwide as coffee enthusiasts celebrated a certain wondrous beverage. Why wasn’t I on top of it? Because my hometown was!

The weekend before Coffee Day, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, hosted the Coffee and Arts Festival. If you haven’t heard of it, you’re not alone. If not for a chance encounter with a single Facebook ad, I wouldn’t have known it was happening. Such are events in Harrisburg. They’re everywhere…but only if you know where to look.

The event was correspondingly small, as will this blog post be. It was small but lovely. It was also a race against time. Last weekend, a nor’easter was inbound, and, unbeknownst to us, it was coming early. I got there close to ten in the morning, and by then, I desperately needed some coffee.

As is the case at most festivals, there was more for sale than coffee. In fact, it took me a little time to find the coffee! It was worth it when I did. Independent Ground Coffee was in attendance with a massive stand. Briefly, a fellow named CJ started this operation in 2024. I call it an “operation” because Independent Ground has a warehouse in Linglestown, a roaster in Lebanon, and, since July of this year, a stand at the Hershey Towne Square Market. Whew! Their startup experience has been a whirlwind of activity.

The effort shines through in their product. The first I tried was their Ethiopian Yirgacheffe (alternatively spelled Irgachefe). Yirgacheffe is a town and district in south-central Ethiopia and is one of the homelands (possibly the homeland) of coffee. Ethiopia is at least the homeland of Arabica coffee; coffee had to adapt after it was removed from Ethiopia’s hot, mountainous climate.

This was a very clean brew; a sharp acidity mellowed the often citrus-forward nature of Ethiopian coffee in general. These must have been high-grade beans that met a very skilled roaster. A second coffee was available: an autumn pumpkin spice blend that shockingly was not overwhelming. I love what Independent Ground is doing with their roasts in terms of putting smooth drinkability over flash.

I bought a pack of coffee to take home: a truffle ganache and dark chocolate coffee. I don’t know what the base was for the flavor, but it hit the palate like a dark roast. I decided to cut it half-and-half with a Colombian. I’m glad I did, because the dark chocolate and truffle flavors are quite pronounced. Far from being disappointed, I’ve decided to use that particular blend often. A basic medium Colombian roast pairs well with these beans, especially since the leguminous Colombian grounds the dark, savory forward flavors.

I might have run into these folks before at Linglestown Christkindlmarkt a year or so ago. Something tells me a group of local coffee folks was there handing out samples and mentioned being Linglestown-based. Whatever the case, I’m thrilled to find a new local coffee startup competing with the big names like Denim. Nothing against them; after all, I gave them a positive review years ago before they became a veritable empire. That said, the local scene would stagnate without new blood. Though the festival was small and lasted only until noon, I’m glad I made the trek downtown.

I’m also glad I left before lunch. Two hours after I arrived at the festival, the skies opened up and drenched the entire region for four solid hours. I was at New Cumberland’s big Apple Harvest Festival when the big downpour began.

And with that, I think festival season might be played out. The temperatures are dropping quickly, and big events are becoming fewer and farther between. That means I’ll start traveling for the sake of traveling. I’ve got my eye on a place in central Maryland. It’s a small town with more than one coffeehouse, which means someone’s taking coffee culture seriously.

Until next time, stay caffeinated.

the street…

the bags…

the brew…

the brand…

the historical setting…

the calm before…

the storm…

I should have taken a photo of downtown Bernville, but I was flying far too fast down the twisting Garfield Road to stop. I didn’t even notice a downtown, but apparently there is one, according to the map. That’s what I get for rushing things. Then again, I already had a belly full of coffee, courtesy of Drover’s Grind in nearby Centerport. I noticed on my map that this little coffee drive-thru was only a few short minutes away after an hour-long drive, so I couldn’t justify not stopping to check them out.

The Bree’s Knees has an ultra-femme aesthetic with a hint of riot grrrl. It’s a 90s thing. Don’t make me explain. OK, I’ll explain: A deep-magenta punk edge dominates the visuals here, and you can see it all from Bernville Road. The coffee truck sits in the parking lot near Boyer’s Food Market. The vehicle is a blazing monument to pinkness (and such) that stands out among the undulating yellow-green fields and white fences of this all-business agricultural region. A little whimsy is a welcome sight.

That whimsy has only been around for about three months as of this publication. Well, the company Bree’s Knees has been around since 2022, started by a woman named Bree Poss, according to this recent article on the venture. The drive-thru is new, and it’s not the first time we’ve seen this sort of expansion on the Journey. Remember Wagging Tail up in Watsontown?

The coffee I tasted bore sweet notes of toasted caramel. Really a lovely flavor and texture. It was apparently an espresso blend, but the fact that it was explicitly a dark roast put the richness in context. I said “apparently” because I’m not sure if I got the espresso blend, or if that was just the particular bag I was shown. I was in a hurry, people were behind me, and I didn’t want to waste the barista’s time picking her brain! Either way, this coffee was artful and unique. Not surprising, given that Bree’s Knees has its own proprietary blends. Seriously, these people have a ton of coffee. An entire page of their website is dedicated to single-origin blends. That’s impressive.

One bag I was shown displayed the label of Sonrise Coffee Company in Gordonville, PA. They’re a family-owned craft coffee roaster known for using certified organic beans from traceable sources. Gordonville is in the heart of Amish country, near Mount Joy in Lancaster County (making me wonder if the “son” part was a spiritual reference).

I’m keeping this short because…well…visits to coffee drive-thru trucks are supposed to be brief! For now, The Coffeehouse Journey will continue following the festival scene around Pennsylvania/Maryland. A few large autumn festivals are coming up in the next few weeks, though it remains to be seen how many will be on my personal map.

Until then, stay caffeinated!

the approach…

the sign…

the vibes…

the roast…

My relationship status with Pennsylvania’s backroads is “It’s Complicated.”

Without a global positioning system at my beck and call, I’d be lost out here in the cornfields of eastern Pennsylvania. Oh, these are beautiful cornfields. It’s just that most of them are owned by people who don’t take kindly to strangers pulling into their driveways to check their maps and turn around. Pennsylvania’s country roads may feel like they lead nowhere, but they’re home to a lot of people who moved here to get away from people.

I’d never been to Centerport before. I’d never even heard of it before today in the context of local coffee. Only while looking for coffee in the far-flung fields between Harrisburg and Allentown did its name pop up associated with the cafe. More on that later.

Centerport looks like it sits near I-78, but it doesn’t really. Geographically, it’s close, but to get there from the highway, you have to take a maze of small but bustling country roads. I think I mentioned it before: The melding of one field into another has a liminal and hypnotic effect. I could drive forever out here and feel like I was traveling through an eternal cohesive somewhere. Like the reflective lights on a highway on a dark night, it will sucker your attention away.

I almost missed the cafe. Driving down the main thoroughfare, The Drover’s Grind sits to the right in a nondescript white building in the middle of the suddenly-appearing town of Centerport. Oh, and by the way, Centerport doesn’t seem to have a port. There’s a picturesque, winding main street, though. The coffee shop’s parking is around the back, with the entrance facing a fork in the road. I mean that literally. Looking over my shoulder, I noticed a giant fork stuck in the grassy spot between the two diverging roads.

I walked into the cafe, and the owner, Kevin, was at the front counter (though I didn’t know him yet, of course). He welcomed me in, and as I ordered, I immediately started telling him why I was there. My eyes wandered around the room as we spoke, and I was sure he’d sense I was here for more than coffee. Some people look askance at bloggers. As a businessman, though, Kevin was all too familiar with internet travelogues. I came right out with it and told him I did this for the history and character of a place as much as for the coffee. Did he ever have a tale to tell!

The Drover’s Grind has been here in one form or another since 1818. It started as an inn, and the evidence is hanging on the walls. You can see it below. A drover, you see, is a driver of cattle or sheep. Eastern Pennsylvania has been farmed for hundreds of years, and the pride is on full display across the countryside. Signs abound, branding tracts of farmland with one family name or another.

Photographs lining the back wall were like windows into that past. Elegant couples, buggy workshops, and men at work on something or other stared back at me in stark relief. These weren’t just pictures. They were professional photographs, taken in an age when that meant standing still, looking your best, and knowing this image was headed for posterity. You won’t find Centerport’s history on its website references its incorporation in 1884 and a nebulous mention of the Patriotic Order Sons of America that met here. Instead, the history is scrawled into the terrain and structures like this cafe, standing atop a mountain of years.

The coffee itself brought back a flood of memories from February: my visit to the Poconos. Mauch Chunk was the brand, and the memory was of Jim Thorpe. Now, the coffee in the bag below isn’t the variety I had. Kevin was only too happy to chat with me about coffee varieties and their origins. I was specifically given a South American breakfast blend. I knew it before he said anything. A distinct nuttiness was present that I do (I believe) remember from Jim Thorpe. It was also quite flavorful for a breakfast blend.

Readers know that’s a specific ‘draw’ for me: a robust, leguminous flavor that normally comes with solid South American roasts. I endeavor to be as objective as possible, though, and this was certainly well-made from start to finish. I’ll be back for more then next time I come out this way for a festival-one was advertised for the near future.

Every town is the center of its own universe. Fewer than 500 people live in Centerport, but if a random white-sided building in that town can turn out to be a trove of history, then you can never know enough about the smallest place. Villages humbler than Centerport with storied pasts are out there…and those are the kind of places that have great coffee, I’ve noticed. History builds upon itself. A place that acknowledges its own uniqueness creates more of it. Food (and coffee) for thought.

Before leaving The Drover’s Grind, I took a quick look at the surrounding territory on my map. Sure enough, another coffeehouse was nearby. I’ll let you guess the name. I’d heard rumors about the place, but I was ready to save that trip for later. Here’s the thing: Later is imaginary. After a summer of challenges (which has segued into an equally challenging autumn), that message has come in loud and clear. There’s no reason not to hit a second location, and there is every reason to do it. I’ll post that second part of this leg of the Journey in a week or two.

Stay tuned, and stay caffeinated.

the cafe…

the seating…

the gear…

the story…

the history…

the past…

the roast…

the town…

the fork in the road…

Perry County, Pennsylvania, is often treated like a drive-thru county, and there’s a historical precedent. In 2010, two years after its approval, Perry County got its first traffic signal.

Less than twenty miles from the capital city and center of annual political drama (Harrisburg), Perry County is nonetheless worlds away. It’s rare to Google a county and see that its primary industry is still agriculture. As health care and tech continue buying up as much of Great Valley as possible, Perry County remains outside their orbits, beyond their considerations, and halfway to everywhere else in the state.

I’ve reviewed plenty of coffeehouses here. From the stately Farmers Daughter cafe in New Bloomfield to Shermans Valley Coffee Company making countryside brew, Perry County is home to coffee galore. It’s never hosted a drive-thru coffee stop, though. That changed one year ago in July, when The Coffee Coop set up shop in the parking lot of Shermans Creek Inn; a locale that has far less to do with coffee than alcohol.

Confession: When I saw the name “Coffee Coop,” I didn’t know if it was a “co-op” or a “coop.” A cooperative, or a place for chickens to roost. It’s definitely a coop. Chicken place, I mean. Or, at least it was a coop at some point by the look of things. It’s a little brown-and-red barn located right off Route 34, a main artery of travel through Perry County that eventually takes you to Route 22, and from there to State College and its maze of highways that lead everywhere else.

It’s hard to describe exactly where Shermans Dale is, but easy to situate it. There isn’t a ‘downtown’ to speak of. I would have taken a photo of it if there had been. There’s a fire hall/general store, a slew of gas stations, and a plaza on a roundabout. It’s a place you travel through, unless you live there, and if you do, you’re probably living a pretty peaceful life.

This makes the Coffee Coop perfect for the place it is: between things. The owners pack a lot of artistry into a small place. I snapped a photo of the surprisingly homey interior. It has a 50s-vibe-meets-art-bistro feel at odds with the countrified exterior. I love the juxtaposition, and I imagine the people who run this place love art, even if their artistic focus is brewing coffee.

The coffee was a surprise: It was Lavazza. I should say, it’s surprising how popular that particular Italian standby is. Founded in 1895 in Italy, it has a reputation as a bulk supermarket coffee. The basic quality is undeniable, though, and it’s one of those brands that scales with the brewer’s efforts. In a recent Reddit post, someone expressed shock that they had an amazing Espresso only to discover that it was Lavazza. Well, just because something’s popular doesn’t make it bad, and people often forget that in Europe, the art of brewing is expected to be taken seriously. European brands seem geared towards that expectation.

My barista certainly did a good job. This was a breakfast blend, almost certainly a Colombian or similar Latin American roast, but with nary a hint of weakness. It had plenty of caffeine, though. It also had nice, subtle, nutty hints that were just hints, not foci. She did a really good job ot if, and I’m sure that comes from experience. Route 34 is a whirlwind of activity as car after car winds its way up the mountains and into the valleys of this corner of Appalachia, and she must be serving travelers on the regular. The takeaway is that the roast is only half the story of a cup of coffee; the brewer’s care is equally crucial.

I have to be honest, it took a few tries to find the Coop. Sitting (as it is) behind a wall of trees, I couldn’t see it from the direction I was coming on Route 34. I thought it was inside the Inn. Then, I approached it from the wrong direction, totally forgetting which side of the car I was sitting in. Hey, it was a long ride up into those mountains! Winding country roads and Pennsylvania’s unique geography help make central Perry County more isolated than it otherwise would be.

I could use a little of that solitude. This summer has been a blur, and not always a pleasant one. Harrisburg’s nature tends to add a layer of manic-ness to already strenuous situations. It’s been far too hot here to take day trips this summer, anyhow. I’m anticipating autumn days already. I have a few ideas about where the next coffeehouse I’m reviewing will be. No, I’m not divulging. Just whetting your appetites for more culinary flights of fancy down the backroads of the tri-state area.

Until then, stay caffeinated.

the sign…

the liminal situation…

the lovely coop…

the 50s…

the inn…

And then, the check engine light came on.

Starting in media res here, but it’s important to have context. I wanted an adventure, and I got one. Several adventures, actually, and they started two weeks before I set foot in the coffeehouse.

Adventure number one was Bluegrass on the Grass. That’s an annual festival happening the second Saturday in July on the green commons of Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Dickinson is a massive institution, and its performance spaces draw acts from around the state and beyond. I’ve been a lover of Bluegrass ever since the Firefly soundtrack captured my imagination as a college kid back in 2002. This event has become something of an annual pilgrimage for me. The Black-Eyed Suzies, Tessa McCoy & The State Birds, Charm City Junction, and Lonesome River Band all showed up and played awesome sets. Lonesome River Band was my personal favorite; their tunes had a powerful Newgrass sound.

Carlisle itself is a powerhouse for a few reasons. Being home to an historic college, it’s developed the archetypal institutions of a college town: Trendy restaurants, bookstores, and a main drag lined with curio shops, brewpubs, and hangouts. There’s a thriving antiquing scene, not surprising given Carlisle’s deep history, from early settlement to the Civil War and beyond. It was a crossroads of several Native trails and was a munitions depot in the Revolutionary War, right before the college was chartered in 1783.

It also has coffeehouses…tons of them. The most prominent of these is Denim Coffee. The storied Denim Coffee empire began in nearby Shippensburg, but the flagship stop emerged in Carlisle in 2016. Then, the brand exploded across multiple towns in Pennsylvania. I reviewed a Denim operation years ago, so I wanted to explore what was happening in the rest of Carlisle’s coffee scene.

I attempted to do that during the festival, but there were two problems: Most of the coffeehouses were closed by late afternoon on a Saturday, and the traffic was not fun given that there was a classic car show in town the same day as the Bluegrass show. That’s a lot of places *not* to park, so I knew I had to come back later. Collect info now, return later to actually do coffee. The place I found that seemed interesting and unique was Mad Roast. To quote the Zoomers, there was just a “vibe.”

Vibe counts for a lot in coffee culture. Mad Roast has a distinctive one of those, and I’m still trying to place it. It was so…colorful. It wasn’t like a bohemian den or cavernous bookshop. Nor was it trendy and commercial. It was its own thing. It was also understaffed. I’ve noticed that at a lot of coffeehouses these days. Economy, I get it. That said, there was a clear demand not just for coffee, but for expensive coffee.

One young and overworked barista with a thousand-yard stare was trying to handle a line of customers backed up nearly to the door…and every single one of them (except me) ordered the most elaborate and expensive caffeinated concoctions imaginable. Few things exasperate me like wanting a simple black coffee and having to wait because the only person in front of me ordered eleven triple-dipple mocha-choka organic half-cafs with exotic Alaskan kelp or something. I tried not to give a look, but I knew I was. When I finally got to order, I made it clear they did a good job given the situation.

Here’s a good place to mention that you can’t actually get a drip coffee here. That’s one downside. The closest they can do is an Americano. Here’s the good news: The coffee is Square One coffee from Lancaster, PA. More good news: The barista makes it strong. I mean, this was a brew. The richness cut the sour astringency (yes, it’s innate if your drink is too watered-down, don’t fight me on this) of the thinned-out espresso that is an Americano. A person in front of me intoned that their coffee was too strong. Heretic. Just put some dang water in the…never mind. I thought the extra potency in mine suited the typical richness that’s kind of a Square One hallmark. Caramel and dark fruit were on display here, and it was beautiful.

Before I left, I did manage to get the other person behind the counter (an equally overwhelmed cook) to tell me more about the establishment. It’s only been established recently. January 1st. It’s fantastic to see places like this thriving in a town with an already-established coffee culture. By the way, if fancy-schmancy coffee is your thing, that’s certainly Mad Roast’s niche, because in the end, their mixtures were as lavishly candy-hued as the decor. Getting coffee here is as much about dopamine as caffeine, I gather.

I started my car. That’s when I heard it: ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk. It felt like I was backing over something. Nope. It was the engine choking. OK, so that’s one thing more exasperating than the person in front of you taking forever at the counter. Maybe it was karma for my impatience. At least the car didn’t strand me. The engine light stayed on, but the reverberations quit, and I was able to take the backroads home from Carlisle. It felt like ignominious defeat. Like, when you picture ignominious defeat specifically, that’s how I felt. Like I was slinking home with my hoodie over my head.

Really, though, it wasn’t defeat. I found the coffeehouse (and it was good), got it reviewed, and started the blog post in my notes before the car started getting wobbly. I’ve gotten to coffeehouses before and experienced such bitter disappointment that I haven’t even reviewed them. Mad Roast was certainly not that. There were also a slew of accidents on the highway that day, as I’d found out when I got home. Taking the backroads home for the sake of the engine got me home safely. One has to wonder. That’s all. I’m ruminating out loud. That’s what blogs are for, right?.

I think I’m just on edge. This has been a summer of managed expectations. I’ll leave it at that. If there are any more festivals worth going to in August, I’ll find coffee there. I also have a family reunion up north, so that’s another possibility…assuming my car isn’t a paperweight.

Truth be told, I’ll walk to coffee if I have to. If I were pretty, I could get my simps to send me coffee and do an ‘unboxing’ and get a million views. Well, I don’t have simps, so you’re stuck taking road trips with me in my occasionally-functional vehicle. It heads to the shop today, so cross your fingers.

And stay caffeinated.

the urban ambience…

the buzz…

the beans…

the seating…

the niknaks…

the tent city…

the bluegrass…

the bluegrass, too…

Do you have summer teeth? You know, summer here, summer there?

My next dentist appointment is over a month away, and it’s already on my mind. I’ve got a lot on my mind this summer, a lot more than I thought I would when spring dawned. More issues, commitments, and concerns. A few deadlines thrown in for good measure. I’m fighting against the easy comfort of stasis and dissociation. In that spirit, I’m pushing myself out the door. Never let your horizons shrink, folks.

Summer itself is on my mind. I’m typing this a week after the summer solstice. A week since my friends on Facebook were vociferously debating whether the summer solstice is a Christian thing (St. John’s Day) or a Pagan thing (Litha). I made a post that linked to a Wikipedia article about the fascinating Megalithic origins of the solstice and how it represents a spirituality predating the debate itself. Nobody liked the post yet.

Perhaps it’s life’s absurdities I’m trying to hide from.

Travel is a good way to do that, especially when you travel to nature. It’s not cool enough to do that, so the next best thing was to attend a festival dedicated to nature: the Solstice Festival in Mount Joy, PA.

Now, the first concern regarding any festival and travel plans thereto is ascertaining the presence of victuals. Coffee certainly counts as a victual, especially when the festival starts in the morning and goes all afternoon. I checked the map to see if there was anywhere here that I hadn’t visited yet. Sure enough, Rise Bake Shoppe sounded totally unfamiliar, so I assumed it was new. As I would find out, it’s been here since 1998, and I’ve just been so absorbed with visiting locations far afield that I’ve neglected some places that are pretty much in my backyard.

Mount Joy is fairly close to Harrisburg. It’s a short jaunt down Route 283 towards Lancaster. There are two kinds of small towns in Pennsylvania: small towns and “small towns.’ Insular farming villages and nigh-abandoned coal hollers make up the former. The latter are the former that, for some reason, became havens for tourism. Mount Joy is one of these.

It was settled by Protestant Scots-Irish and named after the Mountjoy, a ship that broke the Catholic siege of Derry in 1689. Its proximity to other major early settlements in eastern Pennsylvania’s fertile southern valleys all but guaranteed the town’s success. The population is still growing, due no doubt to its being right off the ramp from a major Interstate, possessing its own railroad stop, and sitting at the junction of several other roads.

The traffic situation is kinda wild, or at least it was that day. I had to stop outside the town to check my map because I could tell early on that, especially with Main Street shut down for a festival, there would be no way I’d be able to turn around and get back out if I went the wrong way.

My recalculation point was a plaza. In that plaza sits Rise Bake Shoppe & Coffee Bar. Food is definitely the focus here. Baked goods are on display everywhere. They’re in glass cabinets. They’re on shelves. They’re on tables scattered around the room. The scent of fresh-baked bread is a dream scenario for hungry travelers on I-283. Coffee pairs well with baked goods, not only in a cultural sense, but in a practical one. I don’t know why I just typed that sentence; it seems obvious that the two go together. In fact, it’s important to remember that the first coffeehouses were in the Yemeni port town of Mokha. Sufis drank it. Traders spread it. Coffee shops have always been for people on the go.

All I needed was coffee that morning, and I found something of an overabundance. There were two brands of coffee for sale: the venerable Green Mountain coffee from Vermont and Whiff Roasters from the nearby town of Lititz. I had to get both, of course. I tried the Green Mountain breakfast blend first. It was certainly a breakfast blend with the normal characteristics. It was a bit weak for me. Oh, it was nice, and the sense that it was of craft quality was there, but the astringency was there, too, as is often the case with light roasts. Fine for parents on road trips.

The second was the Whiff Mudslide, a flavored coffee featuring double dark chocolate and Irish cream. I don’t normally do flavored coffees on this blog because I find it more interesting to let the beans speak for themselves without anything added. I’m glad I made an exception here. It was beautiful. The flavoring didn’t overwhelm the natural component. It had that dense and sumptuous quality I’d found in another recent blend. Mudslide was one of those coffees you can (or at least should) roll around in your mouth for a while to aerate and let the flavor pop.

After filling up on caffeinated goodness here, I headed into town for the Solstice Festival. It exceeded expectations. Small town festivals can sometimes be underattended. Habitual festival-goers (like me) have a preconceived vision of the ideal event. We want a small town with a big fest. A remote locale with a cosmopolitan feel. That simple idea is hard to execute. Pennsylvania’s small towns that sit near larger settlements do it best. The Philly countryside, the Poconos, Linglestown. It looks like Mount Joy deserves a spot among these.

People came in droves. Medieval bards were playing piratical instruments. There were folks on stilts walking around. Vendors lined both sides of the street, selling everything from art I can’t afford to food I can’t afford. I got exactly one cookie, but it was a good one. The spiritual aspect of the solstice was there, too. Well, let’s say it was spiritualist-coded. Nothing official. Lots of fortune tellers and other new-age folks were commemorating the metaphysical aspects of summer. A street fair with a higher meaning. Everything that matters is spiritual in a real way, though, isn’t it?

Consider: If you don’t accept a metaphysical aspect to existence, then ‘meaning’ is meaningless, and nothing has purpose; ascribed purpose is a contradiction in terms, like ‘personal truth.’ If you do accept a metaphysical component, then existence and higher meaning are inseparable. Might as well show it (and celebrate it)…if it’s a good higher meaning. And if the divine is the progenitor of ‘good,’ then any righteous purpose, purpose rooted in the nobler aspects of spirit, and the virtues upon which they rest, is logically of a higher order (and cause for celebration).

Well, that’s my position. Some of you might be throwing things at the screen right now.

Something else I’ve learned: I need to look at towns like Mount Joy more carefully. Some towns in Pennsylvania are undergoing a true Renaissance. Others never stopped being crossroads of history. Hopefully, a few more festivals will be in the offing in places like this, and I can absorb the local zeitgeists (and beverages).

Until then, stay caffeinated.

the shop(pe)…

the goods…

the baked goods…

the extra wares…

the extra rooms…

the view…

the menu…

the festival…

the history…

the time…

In previous posts, I said that the Journey’s schedule would be determined largely by festival season in Pennsylvania and beyond. Well, festival season has begun in earnest, and this find is an indirect consequence of it.

An indirect consequence, you ask. Yep. Let me explain:

It was a dark and stormy day. The Wetlands Festival had begun in Wildwood Park in Harrisburg, PA. As per usual, the weather was not cooperating. The first few hours were moderately dry, but right after lunch, the skies opened, and rain poured. I’d just finished a fantastic burger by Williams Catering (my favorite festival food, by the way) and was looking for shelter. So was someone else! Trapped under a white vendor tent by circumstances, I started playing a bird-identification game with a woman named Eden… who, as it would turn out, would lead me to a coffee paradise.

I’ve been to Fort Hunter Park more times than I can count. Festivals, events. So many things happen here over the course of a year. That said, I rarely head further up the road because there’s rarely a need to. What’s north of Fort Hunter besides an on-r/amp to US-22? There is coffee. Specifically, there’s a coffee cart-cum-food-truck with a drive-through window; a setup that’s becoming increasingly popular around here. I knew nothing about it. Certainly, Google Maps had been silent until I zoomed in on Fort Hunter Park and typed ‘coffee.’ I only did that because Eden told me that some sort of coffee place was extant somewhere north of the park. The mystery deepened until I saw some photos of the coffee spot: It was a craft coffee drive-thru!

A bit of context: Roadside coffee trucks have been a staple of life in the Pacific Northwest for years. Only recently have I begun to see this institution explode into other states like Pennsylvania. It fundamentally makes sense, though. Pennsylvania is in many ways a drive-thru state. It’s a transportation hub, and chain coffeehouses like Dunkin’ Donuts are ubiquitous. Why not something more small-batch and artisan?

Enter Torina Espresso at Fort Hunter Park. Or, TO Espresso as it’s also known (the T.O. standing for Torina Original). Torina has been around for only about two years, and it’s an operation built on partnerships. As implied by the name, Torina has recently partnered with Fort Hunter to bring roadside craft coffee to park-going families, riverside anglers, and road-weary travelers alike. There’s another partnership worth mentioning: Torina sources its coffee from what might be my favorite roaster: St. Thomas Roasters in Linglestown, through which they formulate their own proprietary espresso blend.

Finding the place was a bit of a struggle, unfortunately. There are signs, but the location is deceptive. You’ll see what I mean in the photos below. There’s a gorgeous, historic stone building that would be perfect for a coffeehouse…if it weren’t empty. There are plans in the works to fill it, but for now, just know that this is emphatically not the coffeehouse. The cafe is right behind it in what would be the back parking lot.

The ambience is gorgeous. One side abuts a green space, and the other overlooks a fishing spot next to the mighty Susquehanna River. I parked in the front lot and walked to the cafe, hoping I wasn’t parked illegally. I should say “we.” Eden met me there, with neither of us knowing exactly where it was or what the rules were for entering or leaving the cars (of course, if you like this type of adventure, that’s part of it…). Parking is a funny thing in Harrisburg.

The coffee here is no joke, though. It was fantastic. No surprise, given that the beans come from my favorite roaster. Even so, this was expertly prepared. The owner obviously knows her craft. I was especially impressed by the variety. When I heard the phrase “espresso bar,” I worried that it would be the only offering. Check the menu below. Espresso is most certainly not the only option. I got a Colombian roast. It was a textbook Colombian, nutty and rich. She makes it nice and strong, too, even in the morning.

I should mention this location isn’t static. Torina travels. The espresso truck is set to pop up at several upcoming events in the region. We need more of that. Festival victuals are everywhere. Good ones are hard to find. So are reasonably priced ones, and this came in at about seven dollars for two 16-ounce coffees. That ain’t bad at all. At a festival last weekend, I saw a lemonade stand charging seven bucks per cup. Torina will thus be a welcome sight on many levels when they show up as part of the food truck constellation at carnivals and such this summer.

It’s often been the case that the best festival experiences I’ve had involved chance encounters. Whether that means meeting a fellow adventurer like Eden, or finding a great band (or great coffee), it’s been the unplanned (and, dare I say, cheap) events chalking up win after win in terms of quality and fun. That feels like the tone for this summer: Let the journey take you on it.

Until next time, stay caffeinated.

the unoccupied building…

the very occupied building…

the goodies…

the full list of goodies…

the park across the road…

the ambience…

Let’s jump right into this.

I had just left Daily Drip and was eager to explore the rest of the town. You can’t park anywhere downtown without ending up in front of a “Historical Site” or a plaque or statue of some kind. Such is the Pennsylvania/Maryland border. Nothing important, just the future of natural rights and civil society at stake in a war for the future trajectory of the Republic. McConnellsburg is very much a town where the voices of past and future blend into a fugue.

Throughout McConnellsburg, old buildings are repurposed for new uses, but I couldn’t find a case where tradition did not reassert itself, even in the most modern reuse. Case in point: Clugston’s Market and Cafe. I’m not sure about the market itself, but the coffee spot here opened in 2016. Clugston’s is a massive boon to the town. There’s a plethora of food there, and plenty of space to enjoy it. It’s an “everything-mart.” Clugston’s is attached to a larger building that apparently has some historic cachet (see below) and is adjacent to several other buildings with even more of it (see further below). The Antietam Iron Works itself is a functioning iron crafting business that uses domestic steel.

The cafe portion of Clugston’s Market and Cafe was another example of urban/rural collision. On the one hand, the market epitomizes small-town Pennsylvania. It’s local and agrarian to the core. On the other hand, it’s polished, elegant, and the decor has an artistic whimsy that really stuck in my mind long after McConnellsburg was in the rear view mirror. Here’s a little secret: People who care about the past also tend to care about the future. Studying the past in depth gives you perspective. Perspective lets you see past preconception and bias. When that happens, you take the lessons of the past and apply them to the future while accepting the best of modernity, because now you can tell the best from the worst. Perspective.

That brings us to my own perspective on the coffee: It comes courtesy of Omega Coffee Collective. It’s a startup located in nearby Chambersburg, just like the last coffee spot. It’s a boutique roaster that began operations on December 2nd, 2023. Actually, that’s when the store opened; they’ve been doing fairs and festivals since 2022. That’s how a lot of small coffee roasters get their start these days. The festival scene is booming.

I got the 12.02 blend. The name is a tribute to their opening date. It was a blend of South American “Washed Process” coffee and a “Natural Process” Ethiopian. In retrospect, that makes a lot of sense, given the flavor palette I was experiencing. There was an unmistakable chocolate flavor. There was also vanilla, though it didn’t present as vanilla on its own; rather, it mellowed the chocolate, which was otherwise quite pronounced. It was light but not too light; I’d say it was more robust than the previous offering, but it remained suitably jaunty for travelers on the go.

Go, I did. For a walk through history, I mean. There was a massive courthouse to the left as I walked back to my car, and I had to take a closer look. A war memorial overlooked a massive bandshell that was unfortunately unoccupied. Another thought quickly entered my mind: I want to see McConnellsburg at its most active. That wasn’t today. There are so many sites of interest here, but few seemed occupied at the moment, which left me wondering exactly when those moments might be. When does this town come alive? What do festivals look like here?

One lively location was a vintage store just starting to get settled. It’s called Guess Where Thrift, and there’s a manic assortment of clothes, books, old VHS tapes, DVDs, old bottles, and other interesting objects of the past kept safe for people like me who need a bit of that in our present. The Fulton County Chamber of Commerce advertised the grand opening on its Facebook page. I’ve never seen a town get behind a new business so actively. Sure, a CoC will often give a new place a shout-out, but there was actually an event: a Grand Opening on April 15th. The Facebook post for the event was full of comments from local people hoping to shop there soon. McConnellsburg isn’t just a small town; it’s small and close.

I’m writing this almost a month after my visit. April was busier than I’d thought it would be, and this adventure was far more involved than I’d assumed it would be when I started planning it. Clearly, the coffeehouse surge of 2020-2025 had a massive impact on Fulton County’s coffee culture. I hope there’s a festival around here soon. After all, May starts festival season, and events will be happening everywhere. Some have to be happening in or around Fulton County. In Bedford County, just to the west, a town called Everett looks promising. I’m not promising the next review will be there, but I should be traveling to festivals starting…well, starting now. That means more small towns, cultures, and coffees to explore over the next two months.

Until then, stay caffeinated!

the sign…

the plaque…

the place…

the menu…

the stuff…

the space…

the time…

the brew…

Two C’s. Two N’s. Two L’s. It’s hard enough to spell McConnellsburg. It’s even harder to get there, but I did exactly that on a cold April morning.

I took this trip right before the big heat wave hit Pennsylvania. As I type this, another freeze has replaced the heat. Neither will keep me from drinking coffee or going on a road trip, especially when it’s to a place I’ve long wanted to visit. I’ve had McConnellsburg on my mind for a while. It’s the county seat of Fulton County, PA. If you haven’t heard of it, I’m not surprised. It’s the fourth least populous county in the state. Known largely for its agriculture, Fulton County sits at the bottom of the state, surrounded by trees and mountains. It’s also filled with surprises.

The McConnellsburg Historic District was recognized in 1993 on the National Register of Historic Places. For a town of less than 1,200 people, that’s impressive. A staggering 144 structures make up the district, including Fulton House, a stone tavern constructed in 1793, and the log home of Daniel McConnell, built in 1760. There’s also a slew of Civil War markers and war memorial plaques, especially near the surprisingly large Fulton County Courthouse (which also sports a bandshell).

The ride into McConnelsburg was harrowing. You either have to take the Turnpike or head west from Chambersburg. Either way, you’re headed over the mountains and into an isolated valley, through either Cowans Gap State Park or past Tuscarora Summit. I would not want to drive through the latter in winter. Grades aren’t too steep, but the road is winding, and if you make the wrong move, the fall is, well, precipitous.

Amazingly, there wasn’t just one good coffeehouse here. There were two. The second deserves its own post, so hold yer horses, Pilgrims.

Only one showed up on Google Maps. It was The Daily Drip. From the name, I expected at least an approximation of bougie. I mean, it sounds a little hipstery, right? Wrong. The Daily Drip is high quality, but all business. It’s a drive-through coffeehouse. In operation since 2022 (please correct me if I’m wrong!), this location was at one time attached to Sister Suds, a local liquor shop, before moving to its current spot. It’s clearly a community staple; there was a line in the afternoon. There’s also a second location in Chambersburg, and Daily Drip was voted best coffeehouse in the Tri-State Area (I’m still trying to figure out which three states those are) in 2024 and 2025. It’s quietly a big deal here.

I didn’t know what to expect from the coffee. Naturally, the coffee wasn’t what I expected. I’ve no idea from where they source their coffee (they obviously have it roasted for them in specialty orders), and didn’t have time to ask because I was holding up the line, but now I want to know. It was smooth and leguminous from the outset. An almost peanutty taste and mouthfeel dominated, and although it was a lighter blend, there was nary a whiff of the astringency I expected. A really solid offering.

The only sad part was…no coffeehouse. At least, there was nowhere here to sit down, though I can see why nobody minds the lack. McConnellsburg is a crossroads for people heading through the mountainous south. Resorts abound in the Laurel Highlands far to the west, while farmers work fingers to bones in the fields between the ridgelines. Nature can be rough in Appalachia, especially when the seasons are confused in a Pennsylvania April. Hence, the need for coffee and for little towns like this to be centers of industry and community.

I’ll show two photos of the coffeehouse below. The rest will be of my walk around town. You might have noticed, I’ve started linking to sites of interest. I don’t think it detracts too much from the travelogue format and word flow. If it does, let me know. In another week or so (to let the post work its way through the algorithm), I’ll post the rest of this leg of the Journey. Until then, stay caffeinated!

the looming mountains…

the roadside history…

the welcoming sight…

the coffee shop…

the downtown street…

the cabin…

the courthouse…

the fulton house…

the story…

the history in paint…

It wasn’t just that there were two coffeehouses side by side. There were two magic-loving coffeehouses side by side.

After leaving the last coffee spot, I now had three beverages in my hands. One was my coffee from King Coal. Another, my hot chocolate from the same place. The third was, of course, the coffee I’d just bought at the wizardly place. That’s too many coffees and too few hands. I quickly chugged the cocoa, took two last, lingering sips of the coffee, and chucked the three cups into the nearest public trash can (of which there are many). Seriously, this town has Disney-level tourist infrastructure, down to a row of blue port-a-potties abutting one nearby alleyway. With only my backpack weighing me down, I began the long trek…next door.

As I said, two coffeehouses share the same half-block of space. I walked down a liminal alleyway between the two, and the preternatural appearance was prophetic: Curiosities Coffee and Ice House also has a magical ambience. Alright, they’re very distinct magical ambiences. The last was more of a wizardly den, while this one was more of a…Well, I don’t want to tempt copyright laws by saying it. Imagine rabbits. White ones. Think about tumbling down a ‘hole’ of sorts into a ‘wonderous land,’ if you will. It just gave that vibe.

It was also busy. I was second in line after a large group that just happened to order each dessert item (there is a large array of these) and every triple-dipper-mocha-choke-a-latte on the menu. A line rapidly formed behind me, but the staff handled it with aplomb. They’re probably used to it by now. It wasn’t even close to dinner at that time. It was barely three in the afternoon. I can see now how two coffeehouses can coexist in the same space: There’s indeed enough business for everyone.

The coffee was, appropriately enough, from Mauch Chunk Coffee Co. The roaster has been in operation since 2013. It’s nestled in the Pocono Mountains’ foothills and seems to be something of a local institution. I got the Honduran roast. Again, clearly small-batch-style craft coffee was in evidence here. It displayed the characteristic Honduran richness with subtle cocoa hints. They were very subtle in this case, with the coffee presenting itself as a lighter breakfast blend. I feel like I’m on repeat saying that. A lot of the coffee here in Jim Thorpe leaned light. Tourists on the go don’t need (or seem to want) the veritable meal that darker evening roasts can be.

With that last coffee in hand, I made my way up famous Broadway. The name is apt. There’s a gorgeous opera house (The equally well-known Mauch Chunk Opera House) on the way up the hill. I didn’t have time to catch a show, but there is a massive lineup of music planned for the spring and summer, including a bevy of tribute bands.

I kept walking for what seemed like forever, and finally, my last goal came into view: The Old Jail Museum. Finished in 1870, the jail was Carbon County’s prison until 1995. The Old Jail is most famous for its connection to the Molly Maguires, a band of Irish advocates for miners’ rights up here in coal country. Conditions were truly horrifying in those mines. Even so, debate rages as to whether the Molly Maguires were desperate, maligned freedom fighters or violent agrarian guerrillas. The truth is often somewhere in between and buried under the stones of history. “Self-help organizations” blurred into gangs, and the “businessmen” they confronted could be little more than parasitic robber barons. History is messy because the human mind and heart are.

Speaking of history’s stones, one stone in particular stands out here. Four men were hanged at the Old Jail on June 21st, 1877, known as the “Day of the Rope.” Before being executed, one of the men put his hand on the floor of Cell #17, stating: “This handprint will remain as proof of my innocence.” The handprint remains to this day, despite constant attempts to remove it. The Jail has become a pilgrimage site for paranormal investigators. No, I didn’t take a picture of it. I didn’t want to do that just for clicks, likes, and reportage. Reverence matters.

With that in my mind, I walked back down the hill, stopping at an art gallery (pictures weren’t allowed), then got back to my parents, who were having a grand time at the station. I wanted to savor the last few minutes in Jim Thorpe after waiting all winter to come here. That said, I also wanted to get home before the mad rush hour traffic on I-81 made dinner an iffy proposition. Getting out of town was fairly easy, but don’t try to cross two lanes of traffic to get going in the right direction. Go the wrong direction, then double back. Even the wrong direction is scenic here.

With that, our exploration of Northeast Pennsylvania is at an end (for now). So, what’s next? Is the blog ending? Oh, heck no. As Marine Corps General Oliver P. Smith once said, “We are not retreating. We are advancing in another direction.” The Journey is heading to a Pennsylvania county that few people have heard of, much less visited. I’m also going to start doing some new things here. All kinds of things.

Until then, stay caffeinated!

the coffee next door…

the liminal corridor…

the blue door…

the brews…

the seating and such…

that one roast…

that other roast (my roast)…

the walk…

the opera house…

the haunted (big) house…