I’m glad there are things like goat yoga to make me laugh

By Fay Jacobs  |  Illustration by Rob Waters
From the September 2018 issue

goatyoga Our Content - Delaware Beach Life - Results from #9In the midst of bad news, political ads, and all manner of offensive public discourse, oddly, and luckily, there are still things that make me laugh out loud. Such as:

Goat Yoga — Hard as it is to believe, Goat Yoga is a thing. Picture a small goat nuzzling you, then hopping up to stand on your back. You giggle and try to remember the mindfulness you are supposed to be practicing. Seriously, people are doing yoga with goats these days.

The Latin name for domestic goats is Capra Aegagrus Hircus, but goat yoga is more like Whata Egregious Circus. What if you got a Billy Goat Gruff? Imagine a goat posing on your gluteus maximus or gnawing at your yoga pants? If you lie facing upward in the bridge pose, you’re apt to suffer mouth-to-snout resuscitation. I kissed a goat and I liked it?
Apparently, a couple of years ago goat yoga started as a birthday party joke on an Oregon farm — and has since become a global phenomenon. Taking on a life of its own, one Oregon studio has a 1,200-person waiting list for a goat to pose on applicants’ posteriors.

The Delaware Bay seafood industry’s once-bustling days are long gone, but hardy men still work the water with grit and dedication

Photographs and Text By Jay Fleming
From the September 2018 issue

feature-fleming-fisheriesSmall coastal towns like Little Creek, Port Mahon and Bowers Beach were built upon the Delaware Bay seafood industry that flourished amid bountiful oyster harvests in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

During that time, on the northern shore of the bay, New Jersey towns such as Bivalve, Money Island and Port Norris were home to more millionaires per capita than anywhere in the country — their wealth derived from the humble oyster.

The amenities can be spartan — or not — but the setting and simple pleasures of coastal state parks go a long way to satisfy devotees.

By Lynn R. Parks | Photograph by Michael Orhelein
From the September 2018 issue

feature-campingWhen Donna Garrison was 4 years old, she came to eastern Sussex County for the first time when her parents decided to go on a camping vacation at Delaware Seashore State Park.

“My dad loved to fish,” says Garrison, sitting at a campground picnic table and eating breakfast — fried eggs. “He found this park and brought the family down. My mom took one look around, saw that there were no trees, and said, ‘No way am I staying here.’ But they stayed a couple of nights and she fell in love with the place.”