WHERE did Mim find the ad for The Dutch Inn Gift Shop? No memory, if I ever knew. All I know is that she asked Mom & Dad if they would check it out on their way home from visit our great-aunties, Margie & Molly, in East Brady, PA.
Praise be, they did - and fell in love with the tiny town of Mill Hall, the shop, the remarkable restaurant, the eye-popping collection of Tasha Tudor books - cards - prints - original artwork, and especially with Ned Hills, longtime Tasha friend & The Dutch Inn's proprietor (and quite possibly St. Nick!).
This is one of so many times I wish I could write Mim for more memories. I know that Mom & Dad gave such a rapturous review, it wasn't any time until Mim, Mom & I were in the van, headed out to Mill Hall - a shade under 200 miles away, a jaunt that would become a regular autumn Lockhart Ladies day-trip.
It's impossible to describe the magic that Prof. Ned Hills spun around his little shop, which took up two floors of a Victorian home. Why didn't we take photos?!! Oh, yes - Mim said it would have somehow felt like sacrilege.
And I think we were a little fearful that we get the negatives processed & there would be no images. Not kidding about the enchantment.
We developed a ritual. We'd call ahead a few days before our visit, making reservations (absolutely required) for the tiny dining room that looked out onto a small garden. It seemed like every time we were there, the garden was aflutter with birds*.
My memory is drawing a blank on the menu. All I can say was the food was superb. Special dishes prepared with special care.
Anyway, we'd pull up to the beautiful Victorian, a horse-drawn sled outside on the gracious lawn**. We'd park the car, reverently approach the house & ascend the steps to the porch & front door.
Professor Hills or his niece, Gretchen Brown, would always be there to greet us. They knew our ritual & would skip entire small rooms which they knew wouldn't interest us, leading us into the largest room in the shop/house, which was reserved for dinner & rented out for special events requiring a small, cozy space.
About 1/3 of the way into the room was a "doll house" - a multi-level "building" with about two or three "rooms" on each side. Each one was decorated in the taste of the rooms absent inhabitant - an art collector, a musician, a writer, a family... Mim would remember more. I don't begin to do it justice.
Next, we would head into Prof. Hills personal study for a catch-up visit. Ned Hills was more than Tasha Tudor's great friend, patron & agent - he was her model for St. Nick (without the beard). What delight, to have him draw out original painting after original, from his personal collection. Unlike the originals upstairs in the Tasha Tudor Room, these were not for sale.
Along the top of the walls ran a shallow shelf, with Prof. Hills' collection of small pitchers. One time, Mim brought him a small white pitcher that she'd had for years - we were all touched when he immediately pulled over a step stool that was just the right height of him to put her gift with the rest of his treasures. And there it still was when we made that last tear-stained trip after he went back to the North Pole died.
After a good hour or so of visiting, someone would pop their head in tell us it was time for lunch. The three of us - and often a guest - settled in for the 4-course lunch that never failed to deeply satisfy our eyes, tummies & spirits.
Following the last crumb of dessert & final sip of superb coffee, it was time to ever so slowing head upstairs. We'd linger over this thing that we spotted or gave out attention to something one of the others pointed out, prolonging the wait, heightening our anticipation. Then, when we could stand it no longer, we'd go into a small room.
Looking across to the far wall, we'd see THE DOOR, which Prof. Hills had nipped up ahead of us to close - covered with paintings Tasha had done for her dear friend's shop. He slowly (everything at The Dutch Inn seemed to happen in slow motion) opened the door & in we went - to the room dedicated to all things Tasha.
We'd look over the available original artwork & on very rare occasions made purchases - in flush times, I purchased pencil-sketched chapter illustrations, of Meg & John's wedding (little knowing their wedding would serve as template for my own) & one from The Secret Garden; Mim bought a couple very small color drawings.)
Time seemed to stop.
At least twice we made the trek to see Tasha herself, who endeared herself to us by being utterly unsentimental about her work. Whenever people went on about the sweet quality of her art, the charm of her writing, she'd respond as a flinty New England woman with a good head for business - the books were a means for financing her 1840s lifestyle.
Mim had a special gift for finding that intriguing advertisement that the rest of us missed, for not just being interested but finding out more. Like sending Mom & Dad as her scouts to Mill Hall.
If you went with us on one of those wondrous visits, you know how impossible it is to capture even the slightest sense of the magic & wonder that reached every corner of The Dutch Inn. If you didn't - I can't begin.
* On that bittersweet last visit, after we'd received word that Prof. Hills was gone, we sat eating our appetizer & feeling wistful because for the first time, there were no birds in the garden. No sooner had we put period to the last sentence, then there was a flutter of motion outside the window - the birds had arrived, on cue.
** One time, we arrived at The Dutch Inn much later in autumn than usual - early November, as I recall. And there was no sign of the large sled anywhere. When we questioned Prof. Hills about it - "Is in getting tuned up for a Christmas Eve run?" - he just smiled & laid his finger over his lips. Shhhhh... There were children present.
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