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July 12, 2005

garden variety

Wasn't it always our mothers who said, "If you can't say something nice, say nothing at all?" So it is fitting that Dawn's mom has chided me for not blogging something nice about New Jersey. I admit my one entry about the recent visit my son and I paid to the Garden State dwelt mostly upon my intractable argument with the Turnpike, and my furious and misguided wanderings along highway 9. When I finally calmed from that incident, I extolled Panera, a national chain, and their provision of access to the World wide Web. On long consideration, I admit it seems I wrote about anything but New Jersey.

New Jersians are not remarkable for having a chip on their shoulder for their home state's reputation. I've seen it before from many states which, for one reason or another, got a bad rap they didn't deserve. So Wisconsans and Michiganders talk about their lakes, and North Carolinians talk about their booming economy and lovely mountains. Utes point out their trails and parks and ski resorts vie with Colorado's, if only the tourists would just drive on through to their pleasant, if salty valley.

Still, I think it must be particularly hard for New Jersians, for they have a complex identity, and their state sits so close to other metropolitan lights: flanked by New York City in the north, and by Washington D.C. in the south. They are the most densely populated state, with 8.4 million residents on 7,419 square miles square miles of land; the forty-seventh largest state with the 9th largest population. And in the midst of this cosmopolitan mass of New Jersians, there is still room for beautiful parks, miles of sandy beaches, and hectares of beautiful, rolling farmland.

I love the town of Chester, where we strolled down a main street lined with antique and crafts shops, and found, to our surprise and delight, a restaurant which sells bubble tea. Further down the street was an ice cream store straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, complete with children sitting on the bench out front, absorbed in the evolving challenge of a cone perennially about to drip.

In Morristown there is an old farm-turned-museum that is still maintained the old way by volunteers who wear clothing from the late 19th century. We watched them milk a cow, the mother of a newborn calf, as the cat strolled by in manufactured nonchalance, hoping for a bit of cream. And just 10 minutes away is an enviable array of restaurants; Indian, Japanese and Korean cuisine as well as the ubiquitous Italians.

Two and a half hours to the south are the charms of the sea side resorts of Cape May. There are many old and lovingly restored Bed and Breakfast establishments lining the tree-shaded craze of pedestrian crowded avenues. There is a relaxed, small-town resort feeling there. The beaches are well maintained and roomy: not nearly so crowded as one would expect in early July.

To the north-east along the coast one encounters the family-vacation-minded Wildwood, whose sand-dusted streets are hemmed in by motels revelling in the upbeat modern architecture of the 1950's. Even the new places still under construction fondly reached backwards to the boomers' generation. There is a boardwalk which stretches on for miles, full of gaudy attractions, from greasy spoon, coffee 'n hash brown diners, to roller coasters, to street musicians, to a beach-side chapel which has served up fire and brimstone gospel preaching since the 1940's. Funnel cakes, ice cream, laser tag, novelty T-shirts and fresh peanut-butter fudge crowd the senses and reach for tourists' wallets.

The people of New Jersey are diverse. They have tough-talking Italians, fire-fighter types who haunt the pubs of Hoboken and argue loudly about how things "ain't like they used to be when Frank was around." There are brilliant lights, like the tall, rotund black man who took our tickets at the movie theatre in Morristown. He sweated profusely, but worked very hard, for each ticket he took had to be ripped with great ceremony, complete with flourishes and sound effects. All the children smiled when he handed back their ticket stubs, and I noticed he had better, more interesting protocols for pretty women.

And I cannot forget the Korean woman with her table of novelty toys setup at an AME church bazaar. She offered my son a stick of gum, and when he reached to accept it, he found the gum was loaded; he jerked back his shocked fingers, and the lady threw back her head and laughed. Needless to say, my son kept his money. Then it was my turn to be shocked, for in the midst of her African-American friends and neighbors, she had on proud display a large enamel Confederate flag belt-buckle.

Only in America. Only in New Jersey.

Posted by joel at July 12, 2005 02:26 PM

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Posted by: manasclerk at July 19, 2005 09:29 PM

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