Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

Three weeks ago I had never heard of a town called Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. I’m glad I have now. Some 30 miles southwest of Philly, this town bears the proud distinction of being “The Mushroom Capital of the World.” And its residents are proud. I was told about their town’s moniker at least half a dozen times.

But as much as I like mushrooms, this isn’t the reason I’m happy to have Kennett Square on my radar. This town of less than 7,000 is home to an eclectic community of retirees, young families, and Latin American immigrants who have come here to work at the mushroom houses.

As I walked on State Street, one of the town’s main drags, I spotted a small ice cream shop called “La Michoacana.” It was hot, so I decided to go in for a treat. And what a treat I got. I ended up staying there for about four hours. The customers I met came from as far as Washington, DC, and they ran the gamut in terms of age, lifestyle, and even ethnic origin. Not at all what I expected to find at a place that the night before had been just a point on the map conveniently located between West Chester, Pa. and Newark, Del.

La Michoacana is owned by two couples, Juvenal and Noelia, who hail from Mexico and Puerto Rico respectively, and Marta and Manuel, who come from Mexico. Shortly after the four met working at a mushroom company, they decided to pool their savings and open their own business. With the help of their patrons, and as a testament to their delicious homemade ice cream, they have become so successful that they are about to open a new business – a restaurant a few blocks away. And they now sell their ice cream to shops as far as the Jersey shore – Manuel was off making a delivery the day I was there.

Unbeknownst to me, a Philadelphia TV show had done a review of La Michoacana the night before my visit. The place was thus swarming with people eager to try the strange-sounding, but evidently delicious, corn ice cream. I went with avocado myself, and was glad I did. Occasionally they make – you guessed it – mushroom ice cream. I’m curious to go back and try it someday.

Sitting at La Michoacana I met a friendly couple from the Washington area who asked to pray with me for my safety during the walk. They are former Episcopalians who converted to Roman Catholicism because they don’t agree with the Episcopal Church’s ordination of gay bishops and its blessing of same-sex unions. A few minutes after they left, a 60-something hippie named Bob came in with a friend, and told me about a retreat they had just attended at a Native American reservation. Bob wanted to give me a feather he had received at the retreat, but when he told me that he would normally place it on an altar at home, I told him I was worried that it would just get crushed in my backpack. He gave me a little baggie full of lavender, instead.

The contrast was almost surreal, but I was grateful for both the prayer and the lavender – both signs of good will.

My evening at Kennett Square was as unexpectedly pleasant as the day. I had booked a room at a bed and breakfast, planning to use my weekly hotel allowance. However, the owners had driven off to Jersey for a family event, and wouldn’t be back until later in the evening. Worried that they wouldn’t be home in time to meet me, they enlisted a friend to take me out to dinner. He turned out to be a Jewish Guatemalan of Egyptian and Lebanese origin who has lived in the U.S. since the early 1950s. We had a great conversation in perfect Spanglish. I loved it.

Tom and Sandy, who own the B&B, refused to let me pay for my stay. And the mushroom omelette they served me for breakfast was delicious.

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*Photo by Constantino Diaz-Duran.