As that great group from Paterson , New Jersey, The Happenings, sang in 1966….
“See you in September, see you… when the summers though….”
Well, that’s what our friends and families to the left of the Mississippi are hearing as we get close to Embarkation Day, when we set sail for parts West.
It’s been a great summer, and as usual, it went by far quicker than anyone realized. There are folks that we still wanted to get together with, but for whatever reason, that opportunity did not present itself.
Our goal is to reach Texas by September 7th, Maddie’s 5th birthday. After that, we are not sure. We’ve made a few doctors’ appointments in September and depending on how long the hot, humid, yucky, Texas summer days hang around, we will be searching for cooler climes for a while.
The usual suspects are all in the line-up of possibilities. Durango and Santa Fe the top destinations. Both can get warm, but at an average elevation of 7000’, the humidity is ultra-low, and the temps moderate quickly. We will be in Durango, Colorado later in the fall as the proprietors of Tomboy Farm are going on vacation to Eastern Europe and desire us to farm-sit for a spell.
With three goats, two cats, and a myriad of chickens to tend to, I can assure you that there will be many a post with critters as the subject. All we can hope for is that we don’t have one about the dreaded Chicken Hemorrhoid!
Our travels East commenced in mid-June and included stops in Tennessee, Maryland, Vermont, Maine, Virginia, and Massachusetts. Our “campsites “ in New jersey were all within a mile radius of the Chatterbox corner. Our summertime hosts were John and Diane in Lafayette, Steph and Ed in Wantage, Ben and Jan at Ideal Farms and Tommy and his crew at Yetter’s Diner. We could not have asked for a better bunch of folks for us and our ‘house on wheels’ to descend on. Each one truly welcomed us and wanted us to stay as long as we wanted or needed to. It makes coming home a lot nicer when everyone is so welcoming!
On one hand, it will be hard to leave our real home and everyone here. But on the other hand, I received a call from Willie, he needs someone to help him sing “On the road again, just can’t wait to get on the road again….” We all know that it won’t be me sharing the mic with him, but I can run his sound system, but anyway, The FurtherAdventures of Paula and Don, (just like any other renewed series), awaits their highly anticipated second season.
And while the regular cast-members are already signed up, our only problem is that Bonnie, our Fugitive Parsley Plant, is holding out for more Miracle-Gro in her contract negotiations.
As we like to say in the biz…..
“Stay tuned for further developments. Film at eleven.”
As we travel around the Country I am constantly amazed at how the journey has provided as much, if not more, satisfying surprises than the destination.
Who would have guessed that we could have walked to the Buddy Holly crash site from our destination of Winnebago Headquarters in Iowa, or on our way south from Mount Rushmore, we were able to stop at Wounded Knee, the significant site of a terribly unfortunate incident in our ever-evolving history of living side-by-side with our Native American friends?
Again, Journey vs. Destination.
That brings me to today’s amalgamation of past journeys and destinations.
Destination: Vermont
Journey: New York State Thruway
For the past 38 years or so I have traveled on this road on the way to Vermont. The destinations vary, Stratton Mountain, where all the kids learned to ski, courtesy of my friend Elaine, whose family has had a house since the early Eighties. Killington, where my friend Glenn and I would drive up just for the day to ski (and be the first people on the lift-line!) Stowe, where Donny and Hilary started their careers and Augustus was born. And Dover, the home of Paula’s sister and where her family had a house for years at Mount Snow.
The journey was always the same, up the NYS Thruway and then through Albany, with it’s magnificent State Buildings that seem just a little more grandiose than most.
Hey, it’s not called the Empire State for nothing!
One of the things that I like about this particular roadway is its views of the Shawangunk Mountains (where if you know the precise place on the Thruway you can glimpse the Tower at Mohonk MountainHouse in a fortuitous break in the trees along the highway) and of course the Catskills, home to Woodstock and the wonderfully nostalgic Borscht Belt resorts of the mid-twentieth century.
It is also the setting for the aptly named mid-nineteenth century art movement, The Hudson River School. You may not know its name, but I’m sure that you’ve seen examples of it. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been drawn to this style of art and its paintings. Maybe it’s because of the detail on then canvas, or the way the artist used the sunlight, or maybe even because I was familiar with the environs and subject matter.
Who knows?
All I know is that I’ve always wanted to see as many examples of this style as I could.
Enter the New York State Capital Region Visitors Center. This is a relatively new structure built on the northbound side of the Thruway, just south of Albany and adjacent to the New Baltimore Service Area. It is a convenient place to stop going north. It’s new, the restrooms nice, its not crowded and they do a good job of promoting the sights of the Region using displays and multi-media.
Capitol Region Visitors Center
Grinding to halt on my way to the restroom, I was mesmerized by one display showing the Albany Institute ofHistory and Art. There, right before my eyes was the Holy Grail of the Hudson River School!
A collection that rivaled by no other!
A collection that fit because it was home!
A collection that was nearby!
But alas, it may as well have been a thousand mile away.
Always traveling with the destination as the reason for driving from one place to another left little time for side-shows.
Rule #1 – One pee-stop only!
Rule #2 – Always try and break the Here-to-There Elapsed Time Record!
No time for dilly-dallying!
The traveling times would also need to coincide with the hours of the Museum and/or one would need to build in the time on the travel side so as not to interfere with the approved Destination Estimated Time of Arrival.
Until yesterday.
We left Dover mid-morning and had ample time to do whatever we wanted, for two reasons:
#1 – We had nothing else on the schedule for the day
#2 – We’re Retired!
The Albany Institute for History and Art has been in existence since 1791, making it one of the oldest museums in the Country. Its names have somewhat morphed through the years, but its purpose has not. It exists to display, catalog, and preserve the Art and History of that region of New York State. It seems do this nicely and at the same time offer a site for rotating exhibits that travel the Country. Starting next month there will be a sixty-piece exhibit on the art of the Wyeth’s. The Wyeth’s are considered the First family of American Art. More on this later.
As we pulled off of the 787 loop and into the heart of Albany, all seemed a little too tranquil. Maybe because it was a Friday in August or maybe it was because their Governor just got the ax, but anyway, it was a pleasure driving the streets of this major city….. alone!
The museum has its own parking lot, which surprisingly, was free. We walked in and there were only three other folks in front of us, a group of elderly ladies who seemed to be there for the same reason as we were. Admission was half-price because they were between exhibits, getting ready for the previously mentioned Wyeth Exhibit and one on period clothing of the nineteenth century. So, for the grand sum of eight dollars, (in total and Senior Discount included!) we entered and proceeded to the third floor where the Hudson River School had its permanent display.
On the way we passed through an older part of the complex, one with those kinds of stairways that you seem to find only in museums.
I rest my case….
And then through an exhibit on the New York Central Railroad. Seeing how travel was before the airplane took over made one yearn for those days. Dining Cars with elegant table settings, Sleeper Cars just as nicely appointed, and Lounge Cars designed with moveable deep-cushioned living room type chairs so they could be arranged for fun and conversation.
Ahh… to be back then!
And the advertising posters and ads! I don’t know about you, but there is something about that Art-Deco style that just give me goosebumps!
You can feel the speed and elegance!
Eventually we entered the gallery that was the home to The Hudson River School. It was very large and spacious which made it easy to be able to stand back and admire the work in the way it was intended to be viewed, but at the same time we were able to get within inches of it and scrutinize the techniques of these artists.
Nirvana
The Hudson River School was started in the mid-nineteenth century by Thomas Cole. Fortunately, there were several of his paintings on display here at the museum.
When it became obvious (back then, when Cole’s paintings started to sell rapidly out of a New York City gallery) that this was a style of art that could be commercially successful, a handful of other artists started painting this way. In reality, this style is an off-shoot of the plein-air style which was gaining in popularity. All of the various new modes of transportation helped artists get out into country previously difficult to travel to. This was also one of the reasons for its popularity, it enabled folks to have beautiful scenic paintings of far-away place in their homes.
This is a close-up of one of the paintings. It’s almost like a photo.
Sunlight and shadow played important roles in this style.
One of the other things that the Institute is known for are their Mummies. In the early 1900’s as travel abroad became somewhat easier, several artifacts of Egyptian Antiquity were acquired by the Institute. No grave robbing here! These artifacts were made available by the Egyptian authorities to bona-fide educational organizations. They have been, over the years, one of the top reasons for visiting here and one can see why. The displays are first-rate, with detailed explanations that don’t bore you to death!
Note cutaway of the linens to reveal the mummy itself
Same one, showing layers
So now I’m back to the Journey vs. Destination quandary.
I watched as the guy driving the John Deere Gator came bouncing across the field towards me. I slowed my borrowed mower down and eventually turned it off as it was obvious that he was intent on talking to me. The guy stepped off the Gator with a bungee cord in his hand, came over to the mower, and lifted the safety chute up, bungeed it open and said to me, “It won’t clog up as fast now.”
All I said was, “You must be Ben.” And as the saying goes, “The rest is history.”
It was Saturday, April 19 of 2003 when I first met Ben Jorritsma of Ideal Farms in Augusta, New Jersey. I was mowing the aforementioned field next to Sonny’s Drive-In, which was, in two weeks, going to become The Chatterbox. Sonny had scheduled a car show for what was going to be our first weekend of business and I knew that if I waited until then to mow, that it would be a debacle trying to hack through what would have been essentially a hayfield by then.
Hence the pre-emptive strike on all of those blades of grass.
Little did I know that mowing that field would become one of my favorite pastimes in my entire life, but more on that later.
Having Ben and Jan Jorritsma and their family-owned business, Ideal Farm Garden Center as our neighbor, was one of the highlights of our fifteen years in business at Ross’s Corner. We were right next to, and across the street from Ideal. In fact, our common property lines were the boundaries between Lafayette and Frankford Township. To both of us, that boundary was non-existent.
It is kind of strange how two business, so different from each other, can come to rely on, lean on, and totally depend on each other whenever we needed each other.
Ours was a wonderful symbiotic relationship if there ever was one.
How and why, you may ask?
The answer was simple, but the bottom line is that we were both family-owned business that watched each other work like crazy to fulfil the niche that we had created for ourselves.
To start, we both had card-blanche run of each other’s places of business. There were times when I needed a tool (or whatever), and all I needed to do was walk over to the big red machinist building, walk through the doors, and borrow said tool or even bring whatever needed repair over there to be worked on. In return, Ben and his crew could walk into the Chatterbox, coolers in hand, and fill up their needs from our beloved Ice Machine (which now sits proudly over at Ideal Farms continuing its legacy).
Doing one’s own repairs is essential to both of our businesses. Not that we didn’t need the pros from time to time but calling them all thetime would probably bankrupt us. One morning I was trying my best to work on our stalwart dishwasher and for the life of me (and the giant pipe wrenches in hand) I couldn’t get a fitting loose. In despair (because I didn’t like to bother Ben unnecessarily) I called him and asked if he could drop by for a minute. In a little while Ben marched through the back kitchen door, took one look at me and my dilemma, took the wrenches from me, put them down, then using his hands, grabbed the pipe and in about 6 seconds had my fitting apart. I received that patented Ben Jorritsma Smile, and another patented quote, “Call me if you need me!” and out the door he went.
I don’t care how much you can bench press, there is nothing stronger than “Farmer Strong”!
In return for all the practical favors, we would provide them with what we did best, food! We prepared all of their lunches, no charge, during the crazy Pumpkin Season and the just-slightly-less-crazy Christmas Tree Season. I would come up with a menu at the beginning of the season for the four weeks ahead, both Saturday and Sunday. At about 11:30 AM, just as we opened and before we became overrun with “Pickers” ourselves, we delivered roughly twenty sandwiches (or portions of whatever was on the menu that day), over to the main building where they were distributed to all of the workers. Those folks barely had time to breathe never mind stop for food!
Pumpkin Season was particularly intense. The hayrides took customers past humorous ‘graveyards’ on the way to ‘Pumpkin Hollow’ to pick out their pumpkins and then tons of them came across the street to us for the rest of their tradition. Most were from “Down Below” as we affectionally called anywhere south of us. Throngs out of Bergen and Morris Counties made their annual pilgrimages ‘Up Country’ to our little corner, had a grand time, and wished us both well.
A “See you next year!” was all the thanks we needed.
Ideal during the Very Important Pumpkin Season
A collective sigh could be heard from both sides of the road when the onslaught was finally over at the end of the season and our coffers were, hopefully,(depending on the weather!) full. This was what helped get us through the Dark Times……. The Dreaded Winter!
During the summer, when the tomatoes were ready, I would make daily trips across the street to procure those red, ripe, softball sized examples of what all the world knows as the epitome of greatness, The Jersey Tomato! We even had special signs on our tables letting all know that these delectable slices of heaven came from across the street and Ideal Farm. Ben also supplied us with our GIANT pumpkin at the beginning of October for our Guess the Weight of the Pumpkin contest.
You can’t believe what some of the guesses were!
Leaving our friends at Ross’s Corner was one of the hardest parts when it came to selling the Chatterbox and leaving the area. I’m sure that its not quite the same for both of us.
But the legend lives on at Ideal Farm and Garden Center because they purchased the Very Formidable Ice Machine and my most favorite lawn mower ever! I gave them instructions in Ice Machine Etiquette, which means I showed them how to bang on the side of it to loosen the ice stuck up in the top and other various ‘dos and don’ts’ of the ice-making world. They now don’t know how they survived before without one!
As for my Lawnmower Extraordinaire, I have been able to use it as of late because we are parked, nestled behind the greenhouses and parked at Ideal Farm Garden Center and RV Resort!
Our berth at Ideal Farms RV Resort
We have all the best of anything that we could want.
Great produce,
Fresh eggs,
Tons of privacy,
Goats, chickens, and ducks as our neighbors,
Baby goats are CUTE!
Adult goats are quizzical !
When they all start quacking it sounds like they are all laughing!
Orville (Left) is learning to fly. Bob (Right) is contemplating his future.
Fresh Delicious Produce!
The view from our window of the Duck Compound and Chicken Roost (Plus the Level Grassy Spot That Needs Mowing! )
And…… a wonderfully level grassy spot to park our own giant pumpkin, the motorhome!
And we all know what level grassy spots need….
Mowing!
I get to mow our spot and as much of Ideal Farms property as I want!
With my old mower!
My baby!
Eyeing my baby sitting in her special hanger, my pulse quickened. I slowly slid into the seat. Déjà vu took over and it was like I never got off of it.
I sat in the cockpit, reached for the controls and….. it all fell back into place. Little throttle, full choke, work the throttle, and then Vrooom!
She roared into life!
Carefully backing out of her hanger, I taxied into position and then, saluting the Catapult Officer as he shot me down the deck, I was on my way to Lawn-Mowing Nirvana again!
Upon reaching cruising altitude, I throttled back a bit, engaged the PTO, the blades whirled to life as I inched the throttle back to full and set course for the Level Area.
Being the mechanic that he is, Ben has my old baby running perfectly and I’m sure that he sharpens the blades more frequently than I did, so it makes beautiful passes back and forth like in Yankee Stadium!
Here we are experiencing a wonderful time in Beach Haven, New Jersey. A town on Long Beach Island which is, in reality, an eighteen-mile-long sand bar. Just ask anyone who survived Superstorm Sandy.
Or, in regional Jersey parlance, we are at a grammatically incorrect locale simply called, “down the shore.”
Not “down at the shore.”
Not “at the beach.”
Not “by the ocean.”
Just “down the shore” and it fits just fine, thank-you.
You need to be from New Jersey, specifically northern Jersey, to really get this, but we will forgive you if you are not from these parts.
Just don’t mock our colloquial ways of speaking!
New Jersey may be one of those places that you love to hate, can’t wait to leave, and at the same time, can’t get enough of. It is one of those proverbial places that are a “state-of-mind.”
My daughter, Lorelyn (the one in Colorado and who will never move back) holds onto her Jerseyana-isms like they were precious heirlooms, which in her mind, they are. She has two tee-shirts that she wears out there. The first has ‘Welcome to New Jersey, now get out!’ emblazoned on it. The second says, ‘New Jersey, only the strong survive’. Someone once asked her about it and her reply was, “If I have to explain it, you can’t get it.”
Going ‘down the shore’ has been a family ritual ever since my grandparents bought a house right on the bay in Beach Haven West. I spent as much time as possible there when I was a kid. A kid that was (and still is) enamored with life down here, especially if that life were to somehow have a boat entwined in it. Back then, there were no age restrictions for operating a small, private motor vessel, so here I was in Fifth Grade with my very own fourteen-foot boat with a three horsepower Johnson outboard firmly affixed to the transom.
Talk about young-boy nirvana!
I loved that motor so much that on the days that it wasn’t in use (rainy) I would spend as much time with it as I could wiping it down and polishing it with my special cloth.
But that was 56 years ago.
This is 2021 and…… nothing has changed.
I was fortunate enough to go on a boat ride yesterday.
Not just any boat ride. A boat ride in and around my old bay-side stomping grounds, or ‘waters’ if you prefer.
Again…… nothing has changed.
Thankfully!
The face-full of spray from the bow plowing into the wake of a passing fellow boater, the wind giving you the much envied ‘boat hair’ look, and the familiarity of the channel markers and back-street lagoons made for a much-needed time-machine experience.
Boat Time!!!
Manahawkin Bay Bridge
We are down here for a week due to the generosity of my sister Kathy, and her husband Denny. They rent a house here every summer for a week and invite us to tag along.
Not only us, but their three daughters and their respective families, and my daughter, Heather, and her family.
All together we have seventeen peeps living under this roof, all very comfortably because the house is one of those old Victorian places from the turn of the century. Constructed of local oak, harvested from over in the Pine Barrens, it is as strong and permanent as it possibly can be.
And large.
Not just regular large, I mean big large!
The kind of large that has a full third floor, (not a re-constructed attic) complete with bath up there. All in all, there are 151 bedrooms and 126 bathrooms (or something like that, I’ve lost count!) in this place.
The Haven in Beach Haven!
Anyway, you get the idea.
We are very comfortable and having a great time.
Especially for us. Travelling around in the motorhome does not lend itself to spending a lot of time with family. So, this kind of time is, in every sense of the word, priceless.
I am pausing the writing process for a while because the kids came downstairs and are headed to the beach to watch the sunrise. It’s a tad cloudy out and it all depends on what is sitting on the horizon. When Heather came downstairs a little while ago she asked me (the meteorologist-soothsayer) if it was still a go. I gave her the thumbs-up because when I got up earlier I could see some stars, so I hope that it’s still good enough for viewing. Otherwise, there will be some cranky teenagers stalking the halls later!
Sunrise Report upon return.
(Pause for Sunrise Expedition)
Success!
Walking up to the beach my expectations were diminished substantially, but like I said before, it all depends on what is sitting on the horizon. Luckily, when the first arc of that nature-nourishing orb poked its head up and peeked over in our direction there were just a few clouds arranged there for dramatic effect.
“Ta-Da”!!!
The Sunrise
Never underestimate the power of a well-placed cloud!
Our activities down here tend to fall into a routine of sorts. That is, if something that is done annually can be classified as a routine!
Each family unit is responsible for a dinner which makes that time of day either very relaxing or very hectic, depending on one’s status of the day. The days/meals run the gamut from grilled chicken and steak to tacos. Our contribution to this annual Festival of Feasts is BBQ’d baby-back ribs with a side of fresh scallops.
I believe that a word on the scallops would be appropriate here.
Just off the boat! (and I wish that they were just $8.99! )
Luckily for us, the best scallops on the planet seem to live off of the Jersey coast and are harvested daily and landed at the fishing port of Barnegat Light. It is there that we procure these delectable morsels of delight, as fresh as can be, and just dying to be sacrificed to the Pan-Searing gods for our pleasure.
Finished !
Some of the other rituals that take place annually include boating, outings to the Mini-Golf course, a visit to Barnegat Lighthouse, a night at Fantasy Island Amusement Park, and of course the almost daily excursion to the sand. Sometimes (mostly) a brave member of our troupe volunteers to forge ahead and stake out a claim of sorts, so that there is ample space for all of us to together in a compound, never to be invaded by the infidels.
The Compound
Nice night for a ride to the top
A week never seems to be enough time. By the time you settle in and then make sure that you cover all of the ‘Tradition’ activity bases, it’s time to start packing up again to go home.
Until next year.
When we get back here next summer, it will all be the same.
Thankfully.
Except we will all be a year older. The younger kids will have grown substantially, the teens will have matured a bit more, and us older folks will be trying our best not to let time slow us down too much.
