“It’s not a head shop, it’s a boutique.”
Mom owns the Woodstock Trading Company in Cherry Hill. It’s nestled between corporate stores, strip malls, gas stations and fast food joints along Marlton Pike. There’s an old hearse with four flat tires in the driveway and a carving of one of the Grateful Dead dancing bears in the front yard. Who wouldn’t want to stop in?
A sign at the front door asks us to be careful when entering. Please don’t let the cat out.
The store is crammed with T-shirts, memorabilia, and tons of other stuff. But no paraphernalia. Mom sits in the middle of the abundance warmly greeting visitors. She’s been in business over 30 years and really has no plans to quit. She also sells on line at www.woodstocktradeco.com.
Based on the explosion of highway growth around her, she must be sitting on a valuable piece of commercial property. I’m sure there are hoards of commercial developers who would love to get their hands on it and replace this funky, hand painted shack of a house with a gleaming Pep Boys or a spanking brand new Walgreens.
I didn’t let the cat out.