Not Your Average Joe
Coffee culture is highly evolved at area shops, where the beans, flavors and brewing techniques are anything but ordinary
From the September 2018 issue
When Amy Felker and a partner opened the Lewes Bake Shoppe in 1990, many customers ordered coffee along with their sticky bun. “It was regular or decaf,” recalls Felker, who is now the sole owner of the downtown Lewes business.
Limiting offerings to two kinds of coffee was not good enough for Felker. In 1991, she put a roaster in the dining area and started Notting Hill Coffee Roastery right in the bakery. Shelves to the left of the front door began filling up with small brown bags. Today, Notting Hill has more than 125 kinds of coffee, many of which you can also buy online.
While Starbucks fueled a national awareness for lattes, cappuccinos and other specialty coffees, Felker helped kick-start the scene by the sea. Like a double espresso, the trend has had staying power.
Serving a good cup of Joe at the beach has advantages. Gourmet coffee shops are part of a vibrant culinary scene, and regional roasters like Notting Hill can offer a taste of local flavor to tourists; as a bonus, area residents become regulars.
Wine and Song
Vintner and jazz vocalist Peggy Raley-Ward loves the creative process and sharing its fruits with others.
Peggy Raley-Ward knows what a world without art would be like. “It would be a soulless place, without any heart,” she says. “A lifeless, colorless place.”
With art, though, the world is “a prism with a hundred different colors, blazing through. And we should all be excited about identifying each of those colors, or at least experiencing them.”
Fields of Dreams
Camaraderie, a passion for sports, and hopes for a future payoff draw plenty of young people to club and travel teams. Local players, their parents and other observers assess the pros and cons.
By Jack Rodgers | Photograph by Terry Plowman
From the October 2018 issue
It’s July 1971, in the little township of Ruscombanor, Pa., and the outlook isn’t so bright for the Red Sox nine.
I’ve just walked the bases loaded with two outs in the final inning. My winless Little League team is clinging to a one-run lead in a real nail-biter, 21 to 20, over the undefeated Tigers. The real problem, other than my lack of control, is grinning in the on-deck circle: the Tigers’ clean-up hitter. He’s a mountain of an 8-year-old, Mike Brill, the hitter I least want to see.