By Caroline Roosevelt
Contributing Writer

There is a Latin adverb for “Travel.” 

Peregre. 

Specifically, the word refers to being “abroad in a foreign land,” and literally it translates into, “through a field,” or “beyond the field” depending on the text you reference. Both the word and its concept, encapsulated in a dead language, humbles me as I begin to meander through the internet and scour through my Thesaurus for a word somewhere out there that can best define and describe Kennett Square resident Steve Fender.

Accompanied by his wife, Lynn, Steve Fender is all things Peregre. He has ascended the sloped, spiral stairs of Sainte-Chapelle in Paris. He has brushed a hand through the long grass of the Serengeti. He has stared at the sky through the oculus of the Parthenon ruins of Greece. He has traveled from Yaletown to Granville Island in Vancouver on an aqua bus. He has gazed in stunned silence at the Angkor Wat in Cambodia. 

Fender’s passion for travel – that intoxicating sensation of being somewhere else - conjures a universal, heart-heaving jolt of gratitude for the past, the present, the future and maybe a curiosity of what other strangers are embarking on the same existential voyage.

For me, my universal voyage with Steve and Lynn started around a table at Acadian Wine Company in West Grove on a sunny weekend afternoon this past May.

While on assignment from the Chester County Press to cover the Peony Festival in late spring, my sister and I enjoyed a tasting flight each and decided to roam the rows of blooming peonies. Upon returning, our table had been snatched up by a kind-looking couple who beckoned us to join them, and we shared the next hour and a half of the afternoon together. 

Lynn Fender, a tall, slender woman with excellent posture and short, grey pushed back in neat waves with small shocks of white, sat next to her husband, Steve, who sported short grey hair that peaked out from his baseball cap, and a sturdy countenance that conveyed friendly confidence. Within the span of an introductory conversation, a table of strangers quickly became new friends. We discussed travel, politics, family, and of course, how they’re finding their relatively new digs in Kennett Square. As the tangerine sun slipped behind rolling hills surrounding Acadian, we cemented dinner plans with our new pals in which they’d host us at their home just outside Kennett Borough. 

My sister picked me up for our dinner at the Fender’s. As Steve took our coats, Lynn – whom Steve referred to as “a force of nature” - moved strategically from one side of the kitchen to the other, putting finishing touches on dinner - chicken, salad, fresh rolls and brownies. A few years ago, the Fenders left Coeur d'Alene, Idaho - where they had raised their four children – and purchased a beautiful, sprawling rancher on a small hill near the Kennett Square Borough.

In describing their children, Steve said that he and Lynn would assign them to write an essay a week.

“They weren’t assignments for school,” he said. “We wanted them reading and using their brains in the summer.”

Steve also mentioned that their children attended summer math courses as well. All for the better, because today, one of their daughters is a cardiologist, and their other daughter is a former prosecutor for the Department of Justice in their counterterrorism department. 

As the food dwindled on our plates, my sister and I broke off into separate conversations with the Fenders – she with Lynn and I with Steve, where eventually, he delved into his life story. He grew up in Clearwater, Florida, later attended Georgia Tech on a football scholarship for a couple of years before moving on to work odd jobs that included sanding barnacles off of the hulls of sailboats. 

In 1976, he met his wife, Lynn, at Ft. Huachuca, Arizona. Lynn worked in the program in which Steve had enrolled to become a military interrogator. 

“You pick a language, and I ended up with Polish,” he said. “However, I’m not a great speaker, so most of my work ended up as translating documents.”

Lynn and Steve remained friends through the next several years. Eventually, Lynn was sent to Germany on assignment and, according to Steve, the brief, but pivotal conversation went as such:

“I’ve scouted the talent here,” Lynn told Steve. “Would you like to get married?” 

Without pause, Steve responded back, “Name the date!”

A United Nations roll-call

So let us go back to Peregre.

The word stems from Perigrinus - the root for the modern English term, “Pilgrim.” To describe the Fenders as pilgrims may be more apt than tourists, as the interest in travel ascends aesthetics, and is clearly embedded in a more existential quest for discovery - one that led them to their work in military interrogation in the first place. 

They’ve been everywhere, man, they’ve been everywhere: Argentina, Australia, Austria, Bali, Brazil, Bulgaria, Cambodia, Canada, Chile, China, Colombia, Costa Rica, Croatia, Denmark, Ecuador, Egypt, England, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Hong Kong, Iceland, Ireland, Israel, Italy, Japan, Jordan, Kenya, Latvia, Lithuania, Mexico, Namibia, New Zealand, Norway, Peru, Poland, Romania, Russia, Scotland, Serbia, Singapore, South Africa, South Korea, Sweden, Switzerland, Taiwan, Tanzania, Turkey, Vietnam and most recently, Malta. 

Their list of voyages reads like roll call at the United Nations - and includes less name brand vacation mainstays – and I yearned to find the hidden gems of each visit.

“Where is the best food?” I asked. 

“Rome, Italy,” Steve said.

“What country surprised you?” 

“Russia,” he said. “The people of the country are very friendly.”

Steve spent a year at the Defense Language Institute learning Polish followed up by 18 months in Munich. Once out of the army, Steve and Lynn moved to California. He attended law school at night while working more odd jobs, making tacos and working at Radio Shack. He passed the California Bar in 1982, and he and Lynn both practiced real estate law for several years. In between, they acquired property and eventually moved from California to Idaho, where they settled in Coeur d’Alene for several years.

I had been hunched over the dark wood dining table, deep in conversation for over an hour when Steve invited us to the basement level of their home to introduce us to his photography studio, where he proudly displayed his large computer monitors he uses to edit his nature, sports, travel and street photography.

 “A typical day includes driving out to locations, setting up for my photography shoots,” he said. “I’ll be out from morning to evening.”  

Now retired from law, Steve spends his time sharpening his photography skills. He told me that he enjoys the hobby for the sport of it and less for the esoteric film name-dropping. Standing in the basement amidst the monitors, the camouflage gear, the camera equipment, we pull up his Instagram account on my phone and scroll through photo after photo of immaculate action shots of birds in motion, athletes caught in mid-gasp. I’m stunned by the intimacy of the street photography of a puppeteer in Sienna, Italy, a baby crawling out of a doorway in Vietnam, and a Peruvian woman in a bright red wool hat staring into the lens of his camera. Steve has perfected the art of active observation - narrowing in on his subject, thoughtfully connecting with subject, and meticulously timing his moves to capture the perfect image.

My sister and I thanked Lynn and Steve for their hospitality, and since then, I have continued to 

marinate on that evening - the importance of communing with new friends as a balm, sharing a simple meal, learning about each other before vetting them through a social media echo chamber. Steve - a keen observer, methodical and swift and migratory in nature - reminds me of the Peregrine Falcon which, ironically, is one of Steve’s avian photography subjects. I’m brought back to that Latin adverb Peregre and the beauty in its meaning, which is not merely just to travel, but to be “beyond the fields.” 

In these tumultuous times, may we all connect and meet somewhere beyond the field. These are the experiences, I believe, that will save us.

A few weeks later, Steve and Lynn Fender were on their way to Malta.