There are Gators in Those Hills

Mike, Nala and Gator

Who would ever dream that gators lurk in the rolling foothills of Pennsylvania? You can find them wedged in between the Allegheny Mountains on the western horizon and the Appalachian Mountains in the East.   And, who would have thought that a tiki bar could be found in that same geographic area far from any beach, lake or tropical destination? Believe me, both gators and tiki bars can be found in the rural Perkiomen Valley. You can find them wedged in between the Allegheny Mountains on the western horizon and the Appalachian Mountains in the East.   And, who would have thought that a tiki bar could be found in that same geographic area far from any beach, lake or tropical destination? Believe me, both gators and tiki bars can be found in the rural Perkiomen Valley.

The same arthroscopic surgery that slowed Imagine’s refit progress gave me bonus time to visit my daughter Suzanne and husband Mike.  They recently purchased a 10-acre horse farm in Upper Frederick Township, Montgomery County.

The farm came with seven barn cats led by “Howard” a debonair black and white tuxedo cat who insists on jumping into cars just because he can.  The former owner of the farm, a veterinarian, made sure that all the cats were neutered and spayed. 

With an army of cats brushing against my legs as I hobbled towards the bam, I spotted the first gator of the weekend. It was a big green one with an open roof and cargo area.  It’s used for feeding the horses and getting around on the farm.  The John Deere utility vehicle is used with a drag to smooth the riding arena and pull weeds from the stone pathways that crisscross the farm.  I rode while Suzanne hauled gardening supplies and cruised around the property.  Each time the gator begins humming the horses begin to flick their tails make way to their paddocks where they look for some attention.  How can you not stop, get out, and pet all five of the horses.  That green gator is one supercharged vehicle.  Capable of going 35 mph, the green machine allowed me to explore the entire farm without having to hobble very far.

Assorted chickens have free run on the farm and seem to love to play dodge the gator.  The hens love to roll in the dust behind the front porch and peck at bugs in the manure pile.  A peacock from a nearby farm screams each morning making up for the missing wake up crow of a rooster.   The previous rooster became chicken potpie when it drew blood and began chasing children. 

Speaking of chicken, I would soon learn that gator tastes like chicken.  Not the green gator that works on the farm, but the scaly one that can be found in the swamps and backyards of Florida and the bayous of Louisiana.  Along with sister-in-laws Nancy and Gwyneth, who visited Suzanne on their way to a birthday party near Wilkes Barre, we decided to go to a well-known tiki bar for dinner.   I was skeptical of a tiki bar located at a small ski resort.  There were no palm trees or turquoise water, but there were alligator kabobs.  What Suzanne failed to tell us is that patrons have to cook their own dinner, or that we would be leaning in our chairs on the side of a hill with a ski lift as a backdrop. 

The bar waiter took our order for tropical drinks and explained that we could proceed to the deli-esque counter to order and pay for our food.   From there patrons move to the grilling pit to cook and season food with a myriad of spices.  Along with various kabobs and cuts of meat, fish, or chicken comes a pre-baked potato and a garden salad.  The waiter recommended the alligator kabobs.  Nancy, a one-time resident of Louisiana, pipes up, “Tastes like chicken.”   The counter staff also pushed the alligator kabobs with, “You’ll love it. It tastes just like chicken.”

Since I had no idea how to grill gator, or how well done it needed to be cooked, I elected to choose a shrimp kabob.  At the communal grill pit, a dozen or so patrons flipped steaks and turned kabobs.  They opened the foil of pre-baked potatoes adding cheese, chives and other condiments before reheating the spud over the grill.  While there were a lot of gator kabobs in the counter, I didn’t spot any on the grill.   I’m guessing that gator meat must be more of a novelty than a popular delicacy this far north.

While the joint didn’t quite fit my definition for a tiki bar, it was a great business concept.   Overhead must be low… no waitresses or cooks to pay.   Putting together kabobs and placing some meat entrees into a display case doesn’t take talent.  Bar waiters take drink orders and can cover triple the customers.   A bartender or two make the drinks.  Patrons pay for all food in advance for the experience of grilling it themselves.  They also eat outside sitting on inexpensive plastic furniture leaning into a slope.  No floors to maintain.  It’s a good way to bring revenue to a ski resort in the off-season.

It was a cool brisk weekend in the foothills.  I watched as Suzanne put mulch around newly planted mums.  Fall is right around the corner.  As I sat in the green gator with the wind brushing my hair, one of the farm chickens chased behind.  Hmmm, I wonder if the other gator really does taste like chicken?  Maybe next time I’ll give it a try.