Trask Avenue

Frenchtown hugs the Delaware River about 23 miles north of where George Washington crossed on that bitter Christmas night, 12 miles west of the courthouse where the Lindbergh baby kidnapping trial was held, and a million miles away from the American pastime of tearing down a fascinating past to replace it with a graceless present. A faint musty bouquet kicks up every now and then, no doubt thanks to the omnipresent moving water and the inescapable truth most of the town is old – old sidewalks, old homes, old churches, old everything. The only “new” things are boutique shops and restaurants. They have taken root in repurposed commercial buildings in the tiny shopping district buttressing the Uhlerstown-Frenchtown Bridge. But perhaps that is all about to change. A couple of John Deere earthmovers sit silently in a vacant lot off Bridge Street. Although no real progress is apparant they promise construction of a modern townhouse community right in the heart of town. Have Frenchtown’s insular walls finally been breached? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. You see this quiet little hamlet is just far enough removed from most substantive employment opportunities to give any potential newcomer serious pause. The town’s small population has held steady over 140 years with good reason. Let the world constantly morph beyond their boundaries. The people of Frenchtown are quite content to sit back and watch the river flow like it has for many millennia before the area was ever settled. Build if you must, but *that* will not change.

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