It was 12:20pm Friday afternoon when I finally left Jill's house, driving north on I-95. All I remembered of this stretch was that I had to stay far right on I-95 to get on the Delaware Memorial Bridge and then I-295.
Landing on the Jersey side after three minutes seemed anti-climactic. There I was, driving past chemical plants and I was excited to be back in the Garden State?!
And I was. I finally started to remember exits, landmarks, jug handles (left turns from right lanes) and Route 38 past Cherry Hill, Vincenttown, Mount Holly.
I stopped at a nursery off Route 38 and asked about tomato plants. "Lady, the garden season is over!" exclaimed the man. Yes, I thought, but not in Arizona! yet I left the nursery empty-handed. I couldn't even buy any heirloom seeds here.
I stopped at the White Dotte ice cream stand further east on NJ38 for a vanilla-orange sherbet swirled corn, just as I liked it years ago. I drove around my old neighborhood in Pemberton, stopped at the Pemberton Historical Society where I chatted with a volunteer manning the old rail road station. A local of Browns Mills, this man had been in the area for 30 years. He followed me around the small building as if he were watching my every move. Did he think I was going to run off with an old rail road tie?
A new WaWa store is now across the museum, a 24-hour gas station that wasn't there before. I would stop at the old, smaller Wawa further north several times a week to get coffee on my way to work when I lived here in 2000 through 2004. WaWa coffee is as good as Dunkin Donuts, but only people from eastern PA, NJ and DE are familiar with WaWa. The new station opened earlier this year. The old WaWa now stands vacant.
I was anxious to see more of the town that once was my home, but I was also interested in hearing this museum volunteer. Through him I learned that Tom Darlington, the grandson of Elizabeth White, had died in 2007. She was the founder of the hybrid Jersey blueberry, and owner of the prestigious Whitesbog blueberry orchards of the area. Tom had hosted the annual blueberry festival every year until he died.
http://www2.scc.rutgers.edu/njh/SciANDTech/Agriculture/blueberry_text.htm
Thinking about blueberries made me long to pick some of the luscious berries myself, if only I got to the old abandoned orchard in time before the Friday night hike. If I left soon and went straight to the orchards, I could pick a small bag of berries and still make it to the 7pm hike.
I walked 1.5 miles out and back along the Pemberton rail trail, stopping at Rancocas creek before turning around. I didn't want to walk too much and then tire myself out before the hike.
The old bog looked the same. After a scary fall into a foot of sugar sand in my rental car which required the help of another local to help dig me out, I made it to the blueberry orchard. Dwayne, my rescuer, was a local man who comes to the bog every week to hike or jog. He used a modified jumper cable set to pull the Aveo from the rear. I was burried in the front digging out the front tires with my hands while he pulled, looking like I had dug a deep grave with my hands.
I walked inside another WaWa to get some bottled water for the hike, knowing well that everyone, even the "Pineys" were looking at me.
I drove to Brendan Byrne State Park were most Fridays I'd meet with the Outdoor Club of New Jersey and hike with Alison, Mike, Bob, Joe and his wife Marge (now wife Liz) and a few other locals anywhere from six to nine miles around the Pine Barrens at a fast pace.
Bob was the first one to show up, parking on the opposite end of the parking lot from me. He recognized me first.
"Connie?"
"Bobby!"
And thus the reunion began. Joe also recognized me, introduced me to his new wife Liz ( Marge and Joe divorced the year after we left NJ) and Mike arrived just at 7pm without Allison. Allison had taken a last-minute flight to see her sister in California. Bummer that I didn't get to see her, but the walk with the guys was fun enough. A new hiker, Steve from Brooklyn, added additional accents.
I was never good at finding my way around the Barrens. All the intersections looked the same. My night vision from the summer haze was also affected, so that I felt like I was walking through a foggy darkness at times. Three meteors from the leftover Perseids flew overhead, and brown bats added to the ambiance.
This is how I remember the Pine Barrens, and it was worth coming back for. My clothes were completely wet from the humidity when we got back to the cars at 10:20pm, hiking 9.2 miles according to Mike's calculations. Cicadas were buzzing in the treetops but the whip-o-wills were silent.
```More later
Landing on the Jersey side after three minutes seemed anti-climactic. There I was, driving past chemical plants and I was excited to be back in the Garden State?!
And I was. I finally started to remember exits, landmarks, jug handles (left turns from right lanes) and Route 38 past Cherry Hill, Vincenttown, Mount Holly.
I stopped at a nursery off Route 38 and asked about tomato plants. "Lady, the garden season is over!" exclaimed the man. Yes, I thought, but not in Arizona! yet I left the nursery empty-handed. I couldn't even buy any heirloom seeds here.
I stopped at the White Dotte ice cream stand further east on NJ38 for a vanilla-orange sherbet swirled corn, just as I liked it years ago. I drove around my old neighborhood in Pemberton, stopped at the Pemberton Historical Society where I chatted with a volunteer manning the old rail road station. A local of Browns Mills, this man had been in the area for 30 years. He followed me around the small building as if he were watching my every move. Did he think I was going to run off with an old rail road tie?
A new WaWa store is now across the museum, a 24-hour gas station that wasn't there before. I would stop at the old, smaller Wawa further north several times a week to get coffee on my way to work when I lived here in 2000 through 2004. WaWa coffee is as good as Dunkin Donuts, but only people from eastern PA, NJ and DE are familiar with WaWa. The new station opened earlier this year. The old WaWa now stands vacant.
I was anxious to see more of the town that once was my home, but I was also interested in hearing this museum volunteer. Through him I learned that Tom Darlington, the grandson of Elizabeth White, had died in 2007. She was the founder of the hybrid Jersey blueberry, and owner of the prestigious Whitesbog blueberry orchards of the area. Tom had hosted the annual blueberry festival every year until he died.
http://www2.scc.rutgers.edu/njh/SciANDTech/Agriculture/blueberry_text.htm
Thinking about blueberries made me long to pick some of the luscious berries myself, if only I got to the old abandoned orchard in time before the Friday night hike. If I left soon and went straight to the orchards, I could pick a small bag of berries and still make it to the 7pm hike.
I walked 1.5 miles out and back along the Pemberton rail trail, stopping at Rancocas creek before turning around. I didn't want to walk too much and then tire myself out before the hike.
The old bog looked the same. After a scary fall into a foot of sugar sand in my rental car which required the help of another local to help dig me out, I made it to the blueberry orchard. Dwayne, my rescuer, was a local man who comes to the bog every week to hike or jog. He used a modified jumper cable set to pull the Aveo from the rear. I was burried in the front digging out the front tires with my hands while he pulled, looking like I had dug a deep grave with my hands.
I walked inside another WaWa to get some bottled water for the hike, knowing well that everyone, even the "Pineys" were looking at me.
I drove to Brendan Byrne State Park were most Fridays I'd meet with the Outdoor Club of New Jersey and hike with Alison, Mike, Bob, Joe and his wife Marge (now wife Liz) and a few other locals anywhere from six to nine miles around the Pine Barrens at a fast pace.
Bob was the first one to show up, parking on the opposite end of the parking lot from me. He recognized me first.
"Connie?"
"Bobby!"
And thus the reunion began. Joe also recognized me, introduced me to his new wife Liz ( Marge and Joe divorced the year after we left NJ) and Mike arrived just at 7pm without Allison. Allison had taken a last-minute flight to see her sister in California. Bummer that I didn't get to see her, but the walk with the guys was fun enough. A new hiker, Steve from Brooklyn, added additional accents.
I was never good at finding my way around the Barrens. All the intersections looked the same. My night vision from the summer haze was also affected, so that I felt like I was walking through a foggy darkness at times. Three meteors from the leftover Perseids flew overhead, and brown bats added to the ambiance.
This is how I remember the Pine Barrens, and it was worth coming back for. My clothes were completely wet from the humidity when we got back to the cars at 10:20pm, hiking 9.2 miles according to Mike's calculations. Cicadas were buzzing in the treetops but the whip-o-wills were silent.
```More later
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