#jamesville

It was this tiny little restaurant here in Jamesville, right on the banks of the river, where they served a fried beyond crunchy herring. It might have looked like the shack it started as, but believe it or not, it was the town’s one claim to fame. 

Over the years this little place with a beyond limited menu had been mentioned nationally. I wish I could rattle off the places that mentioned it. When it popped up in our copy of Smithsonian magazine  I was shocked. My parents weren’t too suprised because there had long been a tradition of folks from around the state flocking in to eat these fried herring “delicacies” during the very brief time it was open every year. To be honest, I don’t know which tended to surprise me more: that now and then Jamesville would be mentioned somewhere or that people actually  seemed to adore the food.

I don’t mean to knock it! Certainly, I have never anywhere else seen fried herring like they served. Fried to the point of being eaten bones and all can’t be a common style. Being special would add a layer to the love to it’s fans.

I can’t tell you how it tasted. I may be the only person in this town of 500ish that can’t tell you. I’m allergic to fish!

Growing up I lived in Mom’s house in town, and the Cypress Grill was right at the end of the street. Three houses down there was the little steep river hill with the restaurant at the bottom. You could smell the food cooking, in fact I am remembering that as I write. We also got the traffic, and it could be amusing watching people unfamiliar with the town, easing down the street with no pavement markings, side walks, or signs pointing to the resteraunt, heading towards what seemed to be the road disappearing as it dove through the trees and down the hill. I liked to imagine first time visitors in their cars arguing “Are you SURE this is the right street”.

And they believe he is hiding out in the Jamesville area. 

So, somewhere around here they think this guy who goes by the name of “Nasty Dog”, armed and dangerous, willing to sadistically harm an old man is hunkering down.

Poor Mom is scared. She’s 70 something and lives alone, arriving at her house every night long after dark. She is also worried about me living alone in this “no one can hear you scream” house. Plus we have various structures...technically we have four houses, the big boat, the shop, the big building, various storage buildings....well, she wonders, someone could hide in them too.

She acknowledges the guy is probably hiding out with or near people he knows. Mom lives in town with next door neighbors and I live with six very quick to bark dogs right outside the house. We aren’t easy targets and he probably is thinking more of escape than preying on anyone else right now. Still Mom is anxious.

And so now Mom not only won’t sleep in her house, she doesn’t really want to go in her house alone in the middle if the day. 

She also expects me to lock the door of the house if I go further than the pig lot. She’d rather I didn’t go to the woods, but I pointed out most people around here are scared of the woods, and someone hiding there would find the ticks, deerflies and mosquitoes a nightmare. So I’m going for a little walk anyway. She’ll worry until I get back.

I sure hope they catch this guy soon. 

So as you can see, our Herring Festival isn’t all that exciting. When I was growing up it focused on the river, the local fried herring served up while people sold hand crafted items often in sight of the river. Now they can’t get the fish to fry,  they get outside vendors selling mass produced junk, and they hold it several streets away from the river. It just doesn’t have as much local character and feels like the poor cousin to all the other generic local festivals....which I guess it is.

Still, it’s better than nothing.....