New Jersey Pays Dividends

Today - Friday - with morning temperatures cresting 80 at 7 am, I felt that an iced coffee treat was in order.  It’s hot and sticky with humidity, I’ve worked every day this week, and I have a massive poison ivy rash on my chest, creeping up my neck in an alarming fashion.  I think we can all agree that I deserve an iced coffee to go with the prednisone I scored to treat the rash.  

The Dunkin’ Donuts nearest my house had a line out to the street and no space to turn in, park, and actually walk outside.  I took a pass.  Lest you fret, there are no less than three Dunkin’ Donuts along the path of my 8 mile drive to work.  Dunkin’ number 2 was also crazy busy.  Dunkin’ number 3 isn’t a drive-thru (I’m from California and I believe that a drive-thru is among my Constitutionally guaranteed rights), but it does have a giant parking lot.  The 3 miles to it gave me the time to consider whether my need was so great that I would actually exit the vehicle.  

It was.  

Reader, there was no line inside.  It was as if the New Jersey Gods were smiling upon me.

The Morning Commute

For 21 years now, I’ve been making a morning commute in New Jersey.  That’s no small matter - a daily drive in the most densely populated state in the union is no joke.  Jersey drivers are a testy, impatient crowd.  I thought about that this morning as I watched shenanigans in the traffic circle that nearly resulted in three cars smashing one another.  Gratefully, I was not involved.  Happily, no accident happened - good for a lot of reasons, including the fact that it would have backed up traffic, the only thing any of us care about in the morning.  Seconds later, I missed a light thanks to a meandering fellow driver who was not on his game.  I passed him on the right as soon as the opportunity arose because that’s how we roll here in Jersey.  I made the jug handle light that is the last turn before school, slid into the parking lot, scored my favorite parking spot, and walked into work grateful that I arrived safely.  Because, New Jersey.

End-of-Summer Adventure: New Jersey Botanical Garden

T and I have been visiting state parks in NJ for the past three years.  When the pandemic struck, that interest turned out to be rather keen as the outdoors was safe for these little journeys.  When we began, in December 2018, we set a goal to visit every state park in NJ.  We’re more than two-thirds complete and we happily wander here and there as the mood strikes.  Last weekend, the mood called for Ringwood.     

Set so far north that we could step into New York State, Ringwood and the New Jersey State Botanical Garden that is across the street were, as is invariably the case, unexpected gems.      

The day was cool and a bit overcast but the gardens were beautiful, blest by plenty of rain as they had been all Summer long.    

 

There is both a formal garden and an informal one.  I liked the formal best in no small measure because of the amazing lily pads to be spied as we walked along the stone sidewalks.     

The informal garden had an area with both annuals and perennials.  

This gem of a garden will be worthy of a return visit and I look forward to seeing it next Spring. That’s happy!

Climate Reality

My corner of New Jersey is about one inch above the water table on the best days and on Wednesday evening, as the remnants of Hurricane Ida washed through, we were reminded again of that fact.  This storm caused flash flood destruction everywhere and it was only by good luck and the fact that we never lost electricity that we survived largely unscathed.  For most of the night on Wednesday, our basement pump was running every three minutes, just staying ahead of the deluge.      

We’ve spent some time this weekend helping folks who weren’t as lucky as us and everywhere I look in my town is evidence of enormous water damage - wet basement items (including washers, dryers, refrigerators, furnaces, and hot water heaters) emptied onto the curbs of our town; houses moved off their foundations; ruined cars covered in the remnants of dirt that show how high the floodwaters rose.     

I vote on behalf of the planet and I believe in the Green New Deal.  So do the people around me who experienced devastation on Wednesday.  I grow weary of a nation of people who thinks it’s their right to ignore Mother Nature’s urgent call for help and I fear that the continued failure to take heed will bring even more devastation in its wake.     We cannot claim that we weren’t warned. 

In Praise of New Jersey

On Monday, a major water main in my corner of New Jersey broke, as 100 year old water mains will sometimes do.  The water authority notified us at once and a boil water order went into effect.  On Tuesday, while the boil water notice held, we were notified of places to pick up a case of bottled drinking water.  I drove over to one of the 6 locations and in less than five minutes, a case of water was loaded into my car.  The staff and I exchanged the standard Jersey “take care” message and I was home in 10 minutes.

New Jersey gets something of a bad rap nationally and the traffic is as bad as you’ve been led to imagine.  But there are pockets of extraordinary beauty all over this state and our government is good - smart (because it’s mostly Democrats who run the show), responsive, caring, organized, and not prone to bullshit or lies.  

As pandemic stupidity and anti-vaxing rages in the vast fly-over parts of this nation, I have grown to appreciate New Jersey more than ever.  The people here are a community; we look after and try to do right by one another.  

I’ll take it.

A Good Day

T and I took a day over the weekend to go to one of our favorite places and stop by some farm stands along the way.  We came home in possession of a variety of Fall squashes and a jug of fresh apple cider.  Better than that, we came home relaxed.  We had a picnic at our favorite place up north and found that someone had left a smidge of sidewalk chalk on the table.  We put the chalk to good use.

The blue sky at Jenny Jump Park is nearly always a special shade of lovely.  The day was warm but we've had some cold nights and leaves are just starting to change.  As September merges into October, I am grateful for days like this; a reminder to relax my mind and find space to simply be.

Jenny Jump

Before I returned to meetings at school on August 31,  T and I stole a few hours on that last weekend to visit Jenny Jump State Park, one of our favorite places in New Jersey.

The sky was clear blue and lovely.

The park was its usual quiet, which is always nice to experience when you live in a densely populated state like New Jersey.  It was verdant green, even as the Summer prepares to end.

Just a few hours of rest but it was lovely, a down payment of still and quiet in what is sure to be a busy Fall.

Adventures in New Jersey: Monmouth Battlefield

Heady with the success of our first Saturday adventure in New Jersey, T and I set off to visit Monmouth Battlefield last Saturday.  The day was hot and humid and there were a few bolts of lightening and raindrops as we made the drive south.  The trees were a lovely reward when we arrived.

We walked down the hill and across a bridge over the salt marsh.

These days, the fields where the battle was fought are farmed and there were neat rows of corn as far as the eye could see.

New Jersey often offers this kind of contrast, with salt marshes and woods, farmlands and green fields often located right next to another.

The beauty of the state at its finest is never lost on me.  I have been glad to call this place home for the last 18 years.  These days, as the people of our state have hunkered down to flatten the curve, I’ve been proud of the spirit of my fellow New Jerseyans, masks on and six feet apart as we share kind smiles and look after one another.  In public spaces, I feel a renewed recognition that we are truly in this together. The landscape we enjoy seems more valued than ever as we remember that more than 13,000 of us no longer can take joy in these views.  

Adventures in New Jersey: Voorhees State Park

The beautiful weather took hold of us and T and I set out on Saturday afternoon to enjoy a picnic and at Voorhees State Park.  The views were pretty.

The breezes and green forests were a reminder to stop and breathe.

We enjoyed ourselves so much that we’re planning some more local adventures this summer.  That’s happy!

Santa!

Every Christmas Eve, Santa drives through our town accompanied by an assortment of the emergency vehicles that the town possesses.  It’s New Jersey tradition, one that I always enjoy.  When JT was a little boy, the excitement of Santa’s trip through town could barely be contained.  These days, I am charmed by the neighborhood children who come out to wave.

I never grow tired of the joy that Santa brings and this year, watching on my front porch with my parents, it was a special treat.

I believe.

History in My Backyard

This morning, all of my Middle School  students head out for field trips.  Grade 6 heads north to the Farm School in Massachusetts, a tradition that creates memories (and stories!) that last a lifetime.  Grade 8 heads south to Harper’s Ferry, Antietam, and Gettysburg; to see Civil War sites they’ve been studying in History class.  7th grade and I are headed out for each of the next three days to see local history sites related to the American Revolution.

The last two days of school have been consumed by the excited energy these adventures entail.  In a way, the last two days have been harder than the trips that start today.  Not that the field trips won’t exhaust the adults - they will - but the energy of doing is easier to manage than the energy of prospective fun.

T and I have spent hours checking out the sites that the students and I will now visit in the next few days.  Some of them are gems that my students drive by on their way to school.  Others are a few miles away, treasures of Revolutionary War history.  I’m excited to share this history, which seems exotic to me, a kid who grew up in California, far away from George Washington and the Patriots.  That history is in our backyard now and it’s time for some adventures!

Today in New Jersey: Rainstorm edition

The backstory:  It’s about time that I document that strange things people in New Jersey do and say.  We’ll call this happy feature “Today in New Jersey” and if I know New Jersey, it will be making frequent appearances on this blog.  Today, we’re talking about rain storms.

When I arrived at work today, a colleague and I shared a wry laugh at the morning’s traffic.  We had buckets of rain last night and downed tree limbs and overflowing creeks had caused one of our routes to school to be closed.  That put many more cars on the other route, one which featured a traffic circle.  Traffic circles never bring out the best in people and so in addition to being slow, the traffic was angry.  This is a classic New Jersey response.

On the way home, I drove a different route (that’s also classic New Jersey….one route to work and another route home in a brave but futile effort to avoid traffic) and this took me back over the river.  With 4 lanes on the interstate at 3 pm, one should be able to assume that the traffic would move right along.  But not in New Jersey.  Predictably, everyone slowed to look over the bridge at the muddy river below and so we were briefly jammed up.  This happens after every storm and we have a lot of storms.  The river always looks the same after this sort of event —— swollen with debris, muddy, and fast-flowing.  And still we slow, likely all saying the same damn things…“look at the river”…“we sure got a lot of rain”…”would you look at that.”

Oh, New Jersey.

Sunrise

The sky over the prairie is enormous and splendid and even when there was 40 miles per hour sustained winds or a tornado-alley storm, the Nebraska sky was often splendid.  

Though I had surely been awake before sunrise on many an occasion, it wasn’t until the first year I lived in Nebraska that I paid attention to the look of the sky at sunrise.  I can still remember the day that I first looked up at sunrise.  I was up early to attend an event in Lincoln, more than 150 miles away.  I was traveling with some other faculty from the school where I was a professor and we left before sunrise.  We were heading south and miles and miles of open prairie were to the east as the sun came up over the horizon.  It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen.  In the 8 years that I lived in Nebraska, the daily prospect of a splendid sunrise and sunset became normal.  To this day, more than 16 years since I left the midwest, I can still see that beauty in my mind.

I thought of all of this on Thursday morning when the sunrise painted the New Jersey sky with a lovely pink glow.  These days, I am often awake before the sunrise and I enjoy the chance to spy a look at the horizon as the sun comes up.  It’s no open prairie but rather a busy horizon filled with trees and houses.  But it is often lovely in its own way.

Winter sunrise light is one of the treats of this cold season and the view I spied on Thursday was a splendid reminder of Mother Nature’s beauty.  

Tricks, Treats, & a Tiny Sliver of Hope

Halloween is a big deal in my town.  We have wide streets and sidewalks and that brings in the trick-or-treaters.  I keep track and this year T and I handed out candy to 168 trick-or-treaters.  I suspect that many of the kids at my door are out-of-towners but I don’t care.  There is something old-fashioned about a few hours in the evening when kids come to the door (most of them in costumes) and we give them candy.  It’s sweet, literally, and as the door closes to echos of “thank you” and “Happy Halloween” I feel happy.  It gives me faith that we can rise about our worst selves and be a good nation once again.

And if not, there are a few left over Kit Kats to get us through.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I make it a point to be polite and patient in commercial encounters.  It makes life nicer for all of us and it costs nothing to be polite.  But sometimes my patience is tested, as it was at the post office earlier this week.  

I was at my usual post office and a bit disheartened to see that the postal worker at the counter was the disgruntled postmistress, a woman known to us all for her brusquely unhappy manner at work.  I was the only person in line and though I know she saw me, she was busy talking to a friend and showing him a video on her phone.  I waited patiently and when she called me up I was friendly.  When she realized I wasn’t going to be cranky over the delay, she was friendlier than she had ever been; genuinely nice.

As I left I commended myself for my patience and kind nature, concluding that being nice makes the world so much better for all of us.  I was smugly pleased with myself for being polite.

I should have known better.

My next stop was the local market, known to me as the vile Acme because I don’t really care for it.  But I needed a few things and vile Acme was a seemingly quick stop on the way home.  I grabbed the bread and fruit that had brought me to the store and then decided to treat myself to some deli cheese.  The deli counter was manned by a friendly but soft-spoken woman who was clearly inexperienced.  She managed to slice the cheese without losing a finger and then could not figure out how to price it.  She spoke to me all along but no matter how much I politely asked her to speak up, I couldn’t hear a thing she said.  Five long minutes later, I took my cheese (priced incorrectly, of course) to the check out line.

I was third in line, behind a woman with a full cart and a man buying two items but paying attention only to his phone.  Under the best of circumstances, these lines are slow.  This was not the best of circumstances.  Once the first customer was finally loaded up, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Two items could be quickly checked out, I thought.

I was wrong.  

While two-item phone man stared at his tiny screen, the clerk at my checkout turned to have an off-topic conversation with the clerk at the next checkout.  This lasted through several iterations while phone man continued to look at his phone and I waited on a slow simmer.

When it was finally my turn to check out, I was friendly and polite and just hopeful I could make my escape before Labor Day.  On the way to my car I drew the obvious conclusion: this entire mess was all my fault, the legacy of being so smug about being nice to the cranky post mistress.  

I won’t learn my lesson, of course, but not because I haven’t had the chance.

Real Life Conversations with T: Pothole Repair edition

The Backstory: Potholes in New Jersey are a perpetual and serious problem.  In the last two years, both T and I have made expensive car repairs thanks to damage wrought by potholes.  There are streets in this state that cannot be driven because the potholes are so bad; some are in my town.  Given the fact that we have state, county, and town governments, the lack of pothole repair is one of the things that most annoys me about New Jersey.  So the Domino’s ad where they advertised that they will repair potholes so you can safely drive your pizza home really struck a chord with me.

Me: Really?  We’ve gotten to the point where pizza delivery is also handling pothole repair?

T: I don’t know why you’re bitching instead of calling and ordering a pizza.  It’s the only hope we’ve got.

She has a point.

Hillbilly Prep

Saturday and Sunday we had two days of sunshine in a row and the entire town shot outdoors to cope with the mess in our yards.  Loads of tree branches had come down in the snowstorm 10 days prior and had lingered there while we waited for the foot of snow to melt.  

Most of the snow had melted by Saturday and the time was nigh.

There is no love lost between me and the wife half of the family to my immediate west.  They moved here from New York in 2011, replacing a neighbor whom I loved, and they’ve never matched up to the former owner.  I like the kids, I exchange pleasantries with the husband, I am charmed by their chickens, and I don’t mind their aggressive barking dog.  But the housewife with the ever-changing hair color is never friendly (and once called the town inspector on me), so I am an icy cold polite.  On Saturday, her husband was in the backyard with a gutter cleaning crew while I was collecting branches and moving tree limbs out of the yard and into the driveway.  We exchanged pleasantries over the fence and spoke about the storm and weather, as neighbors do.  We compared notes on tree damage and basement sump pumps.  Then he mentioned that the family intended to sell their house and move to Tennessee.  I mentioned that I had lived there some years ago and had always loved the place;  I wished them good luck.

Once inside my house, I shared the news with T, who knows how I feel about the wife.  We made some jokes about New Yorkers in Tennessee and then let the matter drop.  The next day, my neighbor was once again in the yard, this time lighting a fire in his fire pit in order to burn branches and dry leaves.  This is both distinctly illegal and unwise, given the close proximity of the fire to both my house and his, but there is no accounting for common sense.  As the smoke poured into my yard and he pushed leaves to the fire with his leaf blower, T and I shook our heads.

Then, with the quiet sarcasm that I love so damned much, T offered, “He’s going to make a fine hillbilly.”  

Internet, she’s mine.

Fall Storm

Five years ago this weekend, Hurricane Sandy arrived in our corner of New Jersey.  I thought of it yesterday, when a much smaller Nor’easter storm blew through the state.  My experience with Sandy means that I don’t take any storm for granted.  I am prepared, with charged electronics, a full tank of gas,  extra food, and emergency numbers at the ready.  Yesterday’s storm was more of the garden variety storm we frequently experience, with plenty of rain and wind.  Because there was no trouble, it was pretty to look outside the windows and watch the wet leaves flutter to the ground.  

I’m always glad when storms like this don’t result in problems and are just nice to admire.

Yesterday’s Nor’easter was the sort of storm to make a pot of chili and grab a cozy blanket while scrolling through our DVR options.  I’m grateful for storms like this, where there’s no enduring trouble, and we take the time to cuddle up and enjoy the day.  At this busy time of year, a lazy day is always welcome.

First

Cross Country races occur at courses all over the state, some nearby and some further away.  I enjoy the road trips that get me to the courses and I’ve found plenty of pretty parks in the process.  Last week, JT’s team completed against a local school at Natirar Park, a lovely, hilly park that was a former estate.  JT has run here before and that’s an important thing in cross country because it’s hard to lead a race if you don’t know the path to run.  

Natirar has wide swathes of green grass, woods, and hills.  The race starts in the middle of a big field, and then sweeps through the woods and up the hill seen here.  From there, the course rolls up hills in and out of the woods.

JT started strong and as I glimpsed him running in and out of the woods, he moved into first place.  That’s where he finished the race.

He didn’t run a personal best time, but it’s his first race with a first place finish and he was best pleased by that development.

Cross Country fans are the best.  They cheer for everyone; it’s not a sport with contact or personal fouls and the fans reward effort as much as they cheer victory.  We stay until every runner crosses the finish line.  I’ve spent plenty of time cheering my son as he finished a race in the back half of the crowd and always I've been proud of his effort.  But I have to say the first was pretty damn sweet as well.

Backyard

Birds are chirping and for a few brief moments, no one in town is operating their yardwork power tools.

Summer, you are so very lovely.