Life since Louisiana

One word: whirlwind.

More words:

Leaving Louisiana, a place I came very quickly to love almost a year before, was very, very hard, so I made an adventure of it. I decided to visit a few of the towns mentioned in O Brother Where Art Thou, one of my favorite movies. I visited Yazoo City and Itta Bena on my way to staying with a friend in Nashville for my first night.


WE'RE FROM THE SAME SOIL, Yazoo City, MS


Self explanatory, Itta Bena, MS

Before I got to Yazoo City, I passed a sign for the Mississippi Petrified Forest, which I'd been meaning to get to. I think petrified wood is cool, and it was also about time to stretch my legs.

The private park is small, and the only trail was about a half mile loop. As I walked it and stared at the different pieces of petrified wood, I contemplated the cosmos, as one does. (Warning, geography vocabulary blitz ahead--)

I noticed right away that the petrified wood in Mississippi looks very different from that in Arizona, like my ring. In Arizona, it's very colorful, and in Mississippi, it's very plain. I thought about the environmental differences that caused these appearances.

The petrified wood in Mississippi is believed to be driftwood from further north in North America. I thought about how the trees, probably spruce and maple, grew in the local soils, fell for whatever reason, and traveled down prehistoric ephemeral streams to central-ish Mississippi, where water high in mineral content passed them over and replaced biological matter with stone, slowly but surely. I thought about the loess bluffs, created by wind blown sediments. I thought about the erosion process that revealed the petrified wood. I thought about the process by which stone breaks down into soil over many, many years, first as saprolite and later as the fine grains that form different kinds of soils. I wondered about the different between a rock eroding into soil and petrified wood eroding back into the earth. Are they different processes? I thought about the movement of minerals from up north to this region, how the original trees in question carried all of these things and changed the environment, and were changed by the environment...


petrified wood in Mississippi


eroded sandy bluff in Mississippi Petrified Forest

and I felt very small, but in a cozy sort of way. Like, ultimately, we're all part of this earth, and we move and change things around, but we're still part of it, and maybe that's part of the reason that I feel so connected to the environment and want to work to care for it.

...

I drove from Mississippi to Tennessee through Alabama via the Natchez Trace Parkway. I stayed with a friend in Nasvhille. The second day, I drove to Kentucky and stayed with my cousin and her wonderful family, who served as bookends to my mission year by hosting me both going to and coming from Louisiana.

I drove through southern West Virginia, passing over the New River Gorge. I spent a few days in Virginia, where Mike met me. We found an apartment and set up all of the electric, gas, cable, internet, etc. and drove back to New Jersey.



It's been a little crazy since I got back. Day one: soil survey up north. Day two: made 15 lbs of potato salad. Day three: went to the beach, and hosted a big family party (hence the potato salad).


Pequest Wildlife Management Area


the consonants in the ocean, South Seaside Park

Did I mention crazy? Grandma has been in the hospital all week (is doing much better now). I had a meltdown over a bit of a dental crisis (threatened a root canal, but so far seem to be surviving with just having a tooth ground down to alleviate some nerve inflammation and sensitivity issues). Mike is getting a new transmission in his car (thankfully THANKFULLY thankfully just barely under warranty). 

And now, in a few hours, I drive to Richmond, my new home.

New Jersey will always be home, but I'm excited about the adventures ahead in Virginia. Things are a little crazy (I may have mentioned)-- Mike and I will both have two moves under our belts this summer, plus new jobs, plus oh, getting married soon.

I vacuumed out my car today and thought, now I just need to get to the beach and get some sand in here. But I buckled in the Lorax, as ever, knowing I'd be back soon enough to accomplish that. Next weekend, actually, for a good friend's wedding.


We have a long enough lease that the dust might actually settle.

I'm ready, dust settling or not.


The Lorax, buckled into my backseat as ever, ready to go, too.

Ten things I love about New Jersey RIGHT NOW

1. License plates. Every time I've been away for a while, coming back to NJ and getting on the road for the first time and seeing tons of yellow license plates. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up and realize I'm not just surrounded by Jersey people in Louisiana or Arizona or Virginia, but it's a little bit exciting every time.

2. Pitch pines. Never in a hundred thousand million billion trillion years am I going to get sick of those scraggly, crooked, scrub pines all over south Jersey.

3. My parents' kitchen. They redid it a few years ago and it's glorious and there's tons of counter space and the oven is huge and I love it as soon as I remember where everything is.

4. Mental maps. Yesterday I drove from downtown Toms River to an office in Freehold that I've been to many times before , but could not actually remember how to get there. But I knew I needed to take the Parkway to 195 and then the exit... I'll remember it when I see it, and then oh I remember that farm! and I turn at that one willow tree, and go by this Wawa, and I know this road on the left even though that housing development wasn't here last time...I might not remember the names or numbers of any of these roads, but it is very hard for me to get completely lost in New Jersey, and that is awesome.

5. Volunteering with NRCS in NJ. Yesterday, I got to visit with four different staff members who I've volunteered with in the past two years since I started with the agency. I am in constant awe of how fortunate I am to receive great training and a wee bit of mentorship from these people. I obviously made sure I had time to go out and survey some soil, too! Glauconitic soils for the win.

6. Context. This goes along with the last one, mostly because when I do fieldwork, it's really helpful and empowering to have a clue what's going on around you and why. I've learned a lot about Louisiana this year, and I'm really enjoying my time there, but I would say that I know slightly more about NJ. You know, that whole time I taught Geography of New Jersey and all. I learned a lot of stuff for that, on top of the perpetual learning that went on for the first 18 years of my life that I lived here, and the many other times in the past decade that I've spent extended periods of time here.

7. Springtime. One of my favorite things about NJ is that it has four distinct seasons. I love them all, but I especially love the transitions from one to the next. This year I got to experience the transition to spring in south Louisiana, in Washington, DC and now in NJ. My allergies are pretty sad about it, but I am loving all of the trees with pretty little buds and new leaves, and the sunshine and fresh air.

8. My mom's cat. If I'm upstairs in my parents' home, chances are highly likely that I have a cute, furry, purring friend attached to my side. Like right now.

9.  Pizza that is good. Also bagels that are good.

10. Knowing that I have entirely too many people and places that I love and want to see in the short whirlwind that I am home. It's impossible when I only come home for a weekend at a time, but it's really reassuring and wonderful to know that it's all here when I do come back.

the ocean

I always try to see the ocean when I'm home, just to make sure it's still there.



Jamie and I were going to meet up, potentially to record a Christmas greeting to our beloved Katie over in Chinook. I had suggested we meet up at the Sawmill in Seaside (a pizza place and bar) instead of going all the way down to Katie's neighborhood by Island Beach State Park, where we usually hang out.

I forgot what happened to Seaside this fall until I got over the bridge. Ugh.




The Sawmill, all melty and unsafe for occupancy but still standing thanks to some serious sprinklers

It was hard to go over there, but I'm still confident in the strength and resiliency of New Jersey. I'm glad I made it to see and feel and hear and smell the ocean for a few minutes before heading west. I may like to wander, but home is home.



Till next time, New Jersey.

Sandy/Katrina

One year ago today, I woke up to a New Jersey that had changed abruptly, drastically.


When I woke up today, I did not anticipate that my experiences in the past year post-Sandy would intertwine so intimately with my experiences today, visiting east Plaquemines Parish with a guest from Liberia (a man named Jefferson Knight, a self described "social worker fast turning environmentalist").

Jefferson is currently on a whirlwind US tour, discussing environmental issues-- degradation, conservation, justice, policy, especially pertaining to wetlands as well as the oil industry. He is hopeful that he will be able to take some lessons and connections home with him to help mitigate some of the problems that are likely to build up as his home country develops its new, major oil industry. As multinational corporations force people off their land, they are cutting down mangrove swamps along the coast and filling them in to build new housing. So, deforestation/wetlands destruction, and inevitable oil industry related pollution... plus climate change, plus miscellaneous other related human-environment issues... he's trying to learn from our mistakes.

Jefferson and I took an hour drive to the very peaceful, pretty southeastern edges of Louisiana, just a little bit beyond where I planted trees on Monday to visit with Zion Travelers Cooperative Center, a community development group on the east bank of Plaquemines (plack-mean) Parish (which I just learned means persimmon in French). We met with several pastors, a councilman and ZTCC's administrative assistant to talk about some of the efforts to mitigate the environmental problems. What was intended to be a conversation about wetlands and the oil industry eventually turned to the same topic that lurks in the background of every story in southern Louisiana: Katrina.

I still think it was an incredibly productive conversation for all parties. I learned a lot today, and Jefferson seemed satisfied with the visit. Rev. Tyronne, the executive director (and also the pastor of a Baptist church also called Zion Travelers) took us on a tour of the very southeastern parts of LA. The name Isaac came up a few times, but what was more amazing to me was how many places were still lying damaged and vacant since Katrina in 2005.







Being from New Jersey, living in Louisiana has been quite an adventure in seeing a community a few years past a hurricane with a now-retired name. While Sandy was a completely different storm than Katrina, it was devastating and the effects are still very noticeable. When our discussion turned to hurricane experiences, there was some discussion of how Sandy stole Isaac's thunder. Louisiana has had so many storms in the past eight years that they aren't really getting the same attention as say, the New York Metropolitan Area experiencing its first sizable hurricane (that had just diminished from hurricane status very shortly before making landfall in northern Atlantic County, NJ).

At the same time, Sandy's devastation and the following twelve months of constant discussion about flood mapping and insurance has helped southern Louisiana, these folks believe. Because of course concessions need to be made to manage such an important, densely populated region, even though people suffering from similar structural, economic, environmental and emotional damages in Louisiana were accused of being foolish for building in such an unsafe place (never mind that it was a safe place when they first settled here, with expansive wetlands to act as massive speed bumps to storms and never having seen a storm like Katrina before her). So because of the attention that NY-NJ are getting post-Sandy, perhaps some changes will be made that will benefit southern LA, too.

These people were not celebrating our devastation in NJ. In fact, they took time to mourn my home on this first anniversary of the storm. It's not fun to think about the politics involved in storm recovery when people are clearly suffering in very immediate and visible ways, but these connections are very real.


This boat has rested on this levee since Katrina because its owner cannot afford to get it moved. Imagine what that did to his work as a fisherman. This made me think of this in my hometown one year ago today--


(source)

I am constantly amazed at how southern Louisiana feels worlds apart from home in New Jersey, and yet in many ways, it's not really so different. I'm glad I kept busy with productive conversations about conservation today instead of dwelling on this first full year after Sandy.

Tropical Storm Karen

Ready!




I want to be clear: I am not being flippant. I know these storms are serious, especially in a place like Louisiana, where the effects are serious and the memories of Betsy, Katrina, Rita, Isaac are all very present and real every day. I just also wanted to be clear that the sensationalism of the Weather Channel is uncalled for, as Karen drifts eastward with slower winds than the average nor'easter.



We did a little bit of storm prep-- bought candles, filled the freezer with extra containers of water to freeze, to help insulate our food if we should lose power, filled extra jugs and bottles of water, stocked up on peanut butter, jelly, bread, and canned veggies. I was determined not to lose my head though. As my dad says about football players who make it to their end zone, "Act like you've been there before." Be cool.

I have been there before, twice in the past three years. First was Irene, who ruined what might have been the best day of my life, with Josh Ritter and Dispatch playing nearly back to back at a music festival on Governor's Island. That *!@#%.

I was at camp. Irene passed through overnight, knocking out the power well in advance of knocking down quite a few trees and flooding a few lower spots on site.



The skies were nearly clear when I woke up the next morning, and was promptly invited out to play football by the few international staff members who were still around for camp's post season.

 

We were without power for a week, with limited water, food and phone service. There wasn't much work we could do in the dark buildings, so we cleared fallen trees and tried to clean up the pool. It was an interesting way to bond, enjoying eclectic feasts together before everything went bad. All in all, could have been way worse.







Sandy was another story, exacerbated by a wicked nor'easter the following week. My family fared well in Toms River, being the only house for what seemed like forever with power. We welcomed quite a few people who didn't have power, as well as quite a few animals...



It was actually really hard to have electricity, and to see the mess on the news. We couldn't look away. And then I took care of the 11 year old daughter of some friends for a week, which was good because I was paying less attention to the news in favor of making sure she wasn't being traumatized by anything aside from trick-or-treating being cancelled nearly everywhere in the state. It was bad because it made me bottle up a lot of angst. But we made it through just fine. Jersey strong and whatnot.


I was still working part time at camp, which lost power for two weeks. I went to visit my friends there with the 11 year old, and borrow a couple of their kids to go explore some of the trees thrown by the storm (we did a soil lab together for my class!).







So here we are, sitting in New Orleans, which was a little bit breezier than usual today, but otherwise pretty unfazed. I try to be realistic about this stuff-- I hate the hype. But I'm also very thankful for the sake of the entire east and gulf coasts that it's been a pretty calm year for this stuff (knocking furiously on wood with less than a month to go in hurricane season).

We interrupt this year of service...

... for an epic bout with homesickness.

I travel a lot. My first sleepover away from home and my parents was when I was a toddler. I have not experienced much of this feeling in my life, so despite years of helping campers through it, I do not know how to handle myself right now.

Times in my life that I have, without a doubt, experienced homesickness:

•  Dad's "bad Wednesday" (heart attack) early in my sophomore year of college. I'd spoken to him and knew he was ok, and everyone else told me he was ok, but I needed to get back to NJ and see it for myself. After I went home for a long weekend visit, I felt much better, but still had little inklings of homesickness during the year, worried that I'd be far away when something bad happened to a loved one.
• The day I left for Arizona. Probably only because at that point, I didn't know when I was coming back. It didn't last long, because while I missed people, I also talked to them a lot. It also didn't last long because I just don't tend to get homesick.
• During/after Sandy. There was something deeply unsettling about watching my beloved home state suffer so badly and not being able to do a whole lot about it; also not really being able to talk about it with any sense of sadness or concern because I was the guardian of an 11 year old that week, who I didn't think needed to carry that weight.
• aaaaaaand that's about it, really, till today.

Today was admittedly not the best day ever to begin with, but the news from home... ugh. I am overwhelmed by the same feelings from right after Sandy. Just hurting while I watch places that I love fall apart.

This is just in April, right after I got back from Arizona--




I'm trying to flush out my feelings with words tonight, and it's just not working. It breaks my heart that the very breeze I went to enjoy before moving away from the NJ coast for a year, is causing such destruction of a place so recently put back together. Prayers for the safety of the first responders, and for a change in the weather tonight, and for the community. I miss you, NJ.

I love getting stuck behind farm tractors on winding, rural roads. Honest. I do. It's a great reminder to slow down and enjoy the surroundings (and also where food comes from). Also also, it's a great reminder that sometimes things are totally out of our control and it's not worth getting upset about.

I spent a few minutes behind a tractor at the beginning of my long journey around New Jersey today. I drove enough without leaving the state, that if I had left the state and driven south for the same amount of miles, I would have ended up in Fredericksburg, VA. Part of this trip was to try on bridesmaids dresses with my February bride friend and her maid of honor and to sneak a fitting for my December bride friend; part of the trip was to attend a Presbytery committee meeting concerning some funding for my work in New Orleans next year.

Brideslady duties: successful.

Because I had a few hours to kill, I drove a few miles further to hang out with my cool older brother and his sweet dog. He bought me dinner at Surf Taco. Success.

I left with plenty of time to spare to make it to the Presbytery office in New Egypt, so it didn't seem strange when I arrived early and no one else was there. I sat in the parking lot for a while before I started to get nervous. The good thing about being Presbyterian in New Jersey is that it's a pretty excellent, well-connected network, so a few phonecalls later I was talking with one of the pastors on the committee, who delivered the bad news: the meeting is actually tomorrow night.

I just laughed.

I was definitely told it was tonight. I have the email to prove it.

I laughed and laughed and laughed, and started driving back to camp. At least I like driving, especially around New Jersey. I couldn't find the road I was looking for to take the most direct route back to Johnsonburg, so I took a different county road that I'm familiar with, deciding instead to take Route 206 the whole way back. I refer to moments like this as taking the creative route.

But then I realized, I was south of Trenton. I would have to drive through Trenton. I realized this as I entered Trenton. I wasn't upset because it's Trenton and it's not the safest place, I was frustrated because the road sucks through that town and people just walk in front of me while I'm attempting to abide by traffic laws and the lines aren't painted or visible for much of town and there are SO MANY TRAFFIC LIGHTS and I managed to get a red light at almost every single one.

And I got frustrated.

Then I thought back to this morning and how peaceful and happy I felt about the slight delay to my journey, and then got really mad at myself that I wasn't extending that same patience to these minor delays in my trip back north. If I'm trying to live a life that's very intentionally patient, positive and peaceful, why was I being selective in what scenery I was being laid back about?

And then I got really mad at myself.

There was a beautiful sunset happening to my left, and as orange and purple gave way to pink and indigo, I just got more frustrated with myself. It was an awful cycle, and despite the traffic-less, easy drive and the good tunes in the CD player (new mix labelled "270 miles"!), I couldn't get myself out of it. And now I'm back at camp, and it's late, and it's so humid that I'm just sticky and my hair is out of control from the window down and...

I'm not perfect. I tried really hard to be patient but I just can't do it tonight. And that's ok. It doesn't feel like that right now, but I know it is. I had a great drive today and picked dresses with my friends and got to have Surf Taco with my big brother and cuddle with Summer (the dog). As I'd often say during grad school-- tomorrow will be better. Honestly, I'm going to wake up and only remember the friends and brother and Surf Taco and good driving, and if I'm lucky, that gorgeous sunset. In the meantime, I'm going to get a good night's rest.

Volunteers of America

I've been volunteering with NRCS for a little more than a year now. It's been basically awesome. I've been getting tons of experience, they've been getting free help, I've been getting free training. I want to work for them. What I'm doing in New Orleans will help prepare me for that as I continue volunteering (more on NOLA soon, promise). This past week was National Volunteer Week, and I received sweet letters and cards and swag and gifts from some of the offices I've been spending time with. They also had me write an article to appear on the state's volunteer info site, and eventually also on the national volunteer showcase. They edited me down, but here's what I had to say (no matter how many times I rewrote it, I never felt like my enthusiasm was properly conveyed. Please, ask me about how much I love NRCS sometime)--

I joined the Earth Team about a year ago to gain more experience in conservation fieldwork while looking for full-time work after grad school. With a background in Geography, I only knew that I wanted to help the environment for a living, but wasn’t really sure how to do that. I was immediately met with a lot of great ideas and opportunities. What started as helping one office with occasional conservation planning and clerical work became an awesome adventure in over 200 hours of greatly varied fieldwork through four different offices (so far!). It’s been really exciting to see so many different places and practices.

I started in New Jersey’s Freehold Service Center. I went with the staff for many conservation planning meetings, helping with surveys, mapping and GIS, and spot checks. I occasionally visited the Columbus Service Center to gain experience with engineering surveys. New Jersey has so much diversity in such a small area, so I was already exposed to a wide variety of projects focused on drainage, irrigation, cover crops, wetlands rehabilitation and wildlife habitats. It’s been very interesting to see the different environments and how conservation practices are adjusted to accommodate them.

In the fall, I was working in northern New Jersey a few days a week, so I decided to call the Hackettstown Service Center to continue my volunteering. I was taking a soil science course at the time, so I got involved with soil investigations all over northern New Jersey, including rural and urban environments. This has really helped me create a broader foundation (literally!) for understanding conservation issues. I’ve been able to help with soil evaluations as well as some outreach, helping lead a fieldtrip for college students and proctor the upcoming Envirothon.

After exploring conservation all over New Jersey, I found myself in Arizona for a few months, so what did I do? Found my nearest NRCS office! Through the Kingman Field Office, I was able to see a completely different side of conservation in the desert of northwestern Arizona. It was certainly eye-opening to see how farming, ranching and conservation take place in such an arid environment, especially compared to the practices I’ve become familiar with in New Jersey. I assisted with Natural Resource Inventory and learned about the desert’s biodiversity. I also helped with surveying on reservation land to prevent erosion of the dry, sandy ground under the rare but heavy rainfall. I mostly assisted with rangeland management projects, spot checking invasive species control and fencing projects.

Since I’ve been back in New Jersey, I’ve been back to helping with more familiar work in soil investigations and conservation planning, as well as some office work. The field is definitely more exciting for me, but I don’t mind assisting with filing and mailings—it’s good to know the background work involved in conservation, and I’m also happy to help out the agency that has given me the opportunity to see so many different ways that conservation is being done. I’m moving to New Orleans in the fall to work for a year, and I’m definitely looking forward to getting in touch with NRCS in Southern Louisiana!

The Geography of Cousins

These thoughts occurred to me a few weeks after arriving in Arizona:

Almost all of my cousins (and there are more than 30, including in-laws) live in New Jersey. Well, almost all of my family (including aunts, uncles, grandparents and my immediate family, that puts the count well over 60) lives in New Jersey. And until very recently, I'd lived there for all but college (four wonderful years in Virginia!).

I always liked New Jersey, but something about being teased about my "homeland" in college, and then returning back to NJ into a graduate program in which hardly anyone else was from NJ, made me really defensive about my love of my home. I think the actor Zach Braff said it well, "I think when you come from a place that's made fun of your whole life... and you love it, you get defensive, and you want to sing its praises to people. I love New Jersey. I think it's made me who I am."

So back to my cousins-- there are very few who live outside of New Jersey: the Virginia cousins, the Kentucky cousin and her family, and I have another Virginia cousin and her family who I haven't seen in a long time, and a cousin in Tennessee with his family who I haven't seen in even longer, and a couple of cousins right over the border into Pennsylvania. But yeah, a lot of family in New Jersey.

Thanks to the marvelous internet and my lot of free time, I've been able to talk to some of my cousins (and a lot of other wonderful people in a lot of places!) more lately. But I think about that, and I think about how I label them by where they are in my head, and wonder, wait a second... am I the Arizona cousin?

Good grief, that can't be right. No. Can't be. I've been here a month now, but it's not like I've got an Arizona license, or changed my address or anything. And goodness knows I've got proof I'm from New Jersey.

 

Or I like this one better that my older brother edited:

(Hey, I'm not the only one whose love of New Jersey is... strong.)

I'm probably not the Arizona cousin, because it hasn't been that long and it isn't forever. Also, I'm the cousin who routinely gets asked where I'm off to next, so I'm not even sure I'm the/a New Jersey cousin so much as the nomadic relative that no one can particularly keep track of.

I guess what I realized through this stream of consciousness is, my sense of place is out of whack these days. "Sense of place" is one of those squishy geography things that I was terrified to teach in Human Geography last fall, but turned out to be one of the best conversations we had in class all semester. The term "place" implies some sort of charisma or meaning or uniqueness to it, giving it a more particular definition than the more vague "space" or the only spatially specific "location". (See, I learned things too when I taught.) On the other hand is "placelessness" which is what happens when the uniqueness of a place is replaced with repetitive, uninteresting, indistinguishable scenery, thus losing its meaning.

So my out of whack sense of place is coming from feeling this great love for and connection with New Jersey, and not being there, and not feeling such a personal attachment to Arizona, but being here. I mean, Arizona has been a pretty cool adventure so far (NRCS outings, London Bridge, tree rocks, red rocks, volcanic rocks, burros, new environments to explore and ask questions about in general). But it's not home, and knowing that it's only temporary is really going to prevent me from getting used to it and feeling any sort of settled here.

And I can't think of it as more than temporary because both Mike and I prefer the east coast. We like our families. We like our friends. We like the ocean and the forests. But in the meantime, here we are. I like to think that I'll figure out what's next for me soon, and then we can figure out what to do as a team.


And in the meantime, I'm pretty sure I'm not the Arizona cousin, but rather the cousin who is in Arizona... for now. But there are a lot of really exciting possibilities for the future, and I probably don't even know half of them. And that's kind of exciting in and of itself, but that unknown is also kind of affecting my personal sense of place. I guess that's not an entirely bad thing though. It's kind of become its own adventure, figuring out what my adventure is going to be...

the last few days

My last few days in New Jersey were a whirlwind of seeing family and friends, a last minute field trip with NRCS to look at glacial landscapes, dog/apartment sitting at my brother's, and putting off packing as long as possible. It went quickly, and there were so many people and places I wanted to see, but I'll be back.

These last few days in Arizona (well, first few!), I have mostly been a lazy bum trying to recover from the time zone change. For as much as I love traveling, I am actually pretty terrible at it. Only two hours difference, and I feel like a complete zombie.

I have a lot of small projects that I'm going to be working on while I'm out here: applying for jobs, taking two courses online through Bottineau (Urban Forestry and Arboriculture! good thing it's two tree courses, and there are about two trees in all of Mohave County...), learning to bake bread, learning how to operate a French press and cold brew coffee, getting better at running, probably other things.

This morning I took a nice long walk to scope out a running route. I got sort of lost in the sense that I didn't end up where I meant to, but didn't really not know where I was. It was a nice walk, despite how windy it is-- it does actually get cold in the desert at night, so it was a chilly morning here, and the "breeze" (yeah right, NOAA) was really howling in my ears. I might give myself a few days to get used to the altitude before I actually start running. It's about a 1050 foot difference, which is really not much, but consider the fact that I grew up pretty much at sea level. My ears pop constantly when driving around NJ. My ears pop when I go down the street here.

During my walk, I was lamenting the vegetation. I was just really missing the smell of something green. It just smells like sand here. But, I was feeling thankful for the beautiful views of mountains that completely surround this place. I do miss a lot of things about home, but I'll find little things here to get excited about, too.

Suggestions for projects, new things to learn, and things to look for are welcome... in fact, encouraged!

There are planets you don't know and there are moons that you don't see

While we probably all well know that I am a big, big fan of Mr. Ritter's, this is not a song I am usually drawn to. It was in my head during this morning's pre-dawn commute under a very full moon...

Last month's full moon coincided with a rather big storm that we're only beginning to truly understand the scale of. A full moon high tide is responsible for minor flooding on a regular basis, even without winds and rain. I remember thinking about this going into the storm. Sitting down to lunch with the state climatologist a couple of weeks after the storm, he argued that the first high tide as Sandy and the full moon approached probably saved a lot of lives, scaring people off the islands as the water rose quickly well in advance of the actual storm. We all know that the various unprecedented factors of Sandy-- her size, her record breaking low pressure, her exceptional path, her combination with the second major storm front, her making landfall in the most densely populated part of the country, and of course that full moon-- made a serious impact on our landscape and our lives in the region.

New Jersey (and New York) won't be the same. The damages in NJ are almost as costly as the state's operating budget for the next year*. Trying to wrap one's mind around how much has changed is its own challenge. Trying to stay positive in light of many complicated questions about the rebuilding process is its own challenge. Trying to focus on other aspects of life and not be totally overwhelmed mourning the places and memories of my childhood is its own challenge. This has not been easy.

But then, there's this month's full moon. Many towns are still struggling with the aftermath and destruction of what happened under the last full moon, but the one I saw this morning on my drive to William Paterson was stunning and bright, and under this month's full moon, there was some joy. Julie and Matt welcomed baby Ryan to the world. Babies are neat, because they come without a care for things like hurricane damage or how the world around his has changed drastically since his childhood, because his childhood is ahead of him. He just gets to hang out and be loved. How peaceful and wonderful is that?

So, this morning, I'm thinking about the month between these full moons, and taking comfort in the little things, the good things, that come out of times like these. Life moves on, and today, that's a pretty reassuring thought. Welcome to the world, little one!



Edited to add--
*of course this has already been updated. After weeks of keeping numbers quiet, the initial cost of damages was released as being over $29 billion, which is nearly the $31.4ish billion budget for NJ for the next fiscal year. A revised number was released today: $36.8 billion.

FLASH OF GENIUS, re: Sandy. and sand.

FLASH OF GENIUS, EVERYONE. If all of the beach kids get together and vacuum out our cars, dump out our shoes and shake out our bedsheets, that should be at least enough sand to repair a few beaches...

Sandy Frankenstorm.

Well.



Miscellaneous interjection, but also my wishes for everyone right now. I hope this finds you well.

It's been an overwhelming week to say the least. I came home to Toms River ahead of the storm, and my family was fortunate enough to only lose power for a few hours, and barely experience any damage to our home. Less than a mile east, the Barnegat Bay flooded homes and ate away at the coastline. Less than five miles south, the Toms River rose, submerging downtown. Less than five miles east has fallen into the ocean.

I have wonderful memories of many summer days spent at Island Beach State Park. We had family picnics ever August in Normandy. I have Ortley Beach badges going back more than a decade, and more recently have spent a lot of time walking to the beach from my friend's house in South Seaside Park. Just a week ago, I drove the entire Coastal Heritage Trail to complete the Lighthouse Challenge for the third year in a row with three of my best friends.

I love New Jersey more than most people. This is heartbreaking. Devastating. Just... awful. But what's making it even worse for me is cynicism and negative attitudes. It's really hard to be optimistic in the face of the absolute wreckage, but focusing on stupid political things and how the power company hasn't gotten to you yet isn't going to make it better. Maybe that's easy for me to say because I haven't been without power, but I've been there before, honest. We went a week without power, water, phones and much of anywhere to safely go after Irene last year. The families who live on site at Johnsonburg are toughing through that for the third time in a year right now. Even still, I called to see if I could bring anything, and I was asked if they could do anything for my community.
 





Why not assume the best? Over three million customers without power is A LOT OF CUSTOMERS. I've read things about New Jersey turning away non-union workers, but maybe there's something more to it that we don't understand, and besides, they've gone on to help our neighbors in New York. Millions of people have power back at this point, and so many people are working around the clock to make that happen. And honestly, as inconvenient as losing power is, there are so many who have it way worse just a few miles away in a shelter because their entire home, power and all, is gone. 

I love this website because right now, I think being positive is more important than ever. My favorite thing about post-Irene? Thankfully heat was not really an issue, but we just spent time together. We talked. We laughed. We sang. We got a good night's sleep.

No matter how alone we feel, we're not. No matter how devastating this is, it's not forever. No matter how much it will never be the same, at least we had it in the first place, and other great things will come from this. Power will come back. Things can be replaced-- or maybe they don't need to be. But we still have each other and the great, great Garden State. Am I foolish in my optimism? Maybe, but I don't really care.

quick drive to visit Spain

as in the tribe, not the country.

I love my people. I know that I am seriously lucky to be related to so many kind, hilarious, wonderful individuals on both sides of my family. This weekend was a Spain weekend though. My cousin Bekea and her family were up from Kentucky, so we gathered en masse for lunch yesterday. It was wonderful to meet her new daughter Bronwen, to congratulate Jon and Janet on their engagement, to see Kathie's girls (even if they still haven't figured out who I am), to see pictures of Tulip and hear how ridiculous she is, and to catch up with everyone a little bit.

Aside from the normal banter and sarcasm though were some words of encouragement that I don't think were meant to be a subtle pep talk, but really lifted my spirits that have been dragging a bit for the past couple of months. (This is not to say that the love that many of you have extended to me has not been appreciated; believe you me, I would not have left my pile of blankets on the couch without your words.) I guess I've developed a reputation as a world traveler? I totally love this. The first question from many of my cousins was, "Where to next?"

The truth is, not too far for a while. I'm heading to Fredericksburg in a week for a quick visit with my cousin and my alma mater. I'll be in Virginia toward the end of the month for a lovely friend's bridal shower and my fourth attempt at the Muddy Buddy. I'm planning hopefully two short trips to the beautiful country to the north this summer (Walpole Island, Ontario and all over New Brunswick in July and August, respectively). These are all wonderful things. (and I guess I'm not giving them enough credit for not exactly being in my backyard...)

What I loved most about the "where to next" was the open endedness of it. Just because next isn't that imminent, doesn't mean it's not going to happen. I don't have any elaborate plans yet, but I'm really excited about leaving my life up to all of these nexts and yets, and really owe a lot of people more thanks than I could possibly express.

Besides giving me things to contemplate and smile about, the Spain family just makes me laugh a lot. So, thanks for that too, guys.

But thanks everyone, Spain or not, for all of the love you've sent my way as I figure out the nexts and the yets of my life. Seriously.

Nothing like driving across the state, through the Pines, on Route 70, enjoying the last of a beautiful day's sunshine, having three of your favorite girls in the recently cleaned car with you. Also awesome-- the destination was the Haddonfield Presbyterian Church, one of my stops on the Johnsonburg World Tour last year, to enjoy the beautiful concert put on by Baylor A Capella. Great day.

winding down 571

Yesterday I took a trip out to Princeton to help my friend Pam with a research project. I've mentioned before that when I go to Princeton, I prefer to take a winding county road, Route 571. It goes through the Pine Barrens a bit before some old farmland before getting out to Princeton. It takes nearly twice as long but it's so pleasant to drive.

Pam needed to interview me for a research project about Harry Potter. It was actually a great conversation. Afterward, we met up with several other Princeton people (mostly seminarians) for lunch. Jeffrey, Emma, Kate, Pam, Andrew and I enjoyed some soup and sandwiches and ridiculous conversation about camp and youth ministry and other silliness. Andrew was telling me about this awesome park in Princeton with dozens and dozens of exotic trees (and natives! and all mapped and labelled!) that he and some of our friends recently went to before ending their adventures at Triumph Brewery. I told him it sounded like the best day ever, and he said, "Funny you should say that..." and then gave me the quote of my life that had apparently come up amongst the boys at the brewery that night--


"If someone ever wanted to wine and dine Colleen, that's probably how they should do that."

Except instead of "wine and dine" it should probably be "tree and beer". And he's absolutely right.



I'm still getting over my cold from last week, otherwise we probably would have gone to Triumph for lunch.

My drive home on 571 was absolutely lovely, winding through Mercer, Monmouth and Ocean counties. This time I was particularly taken with Roosevelt Township, a homestead resettlement project under the New Deal in 1937. The project failed, but it's a nice small town with a lot of farmland around it, much of which is preserved. It was a beautiful day and a nice drive. I love visiting Princeton.

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Not too long ago I found this blog about a guy's adventures in loving the United States Postal Service. More specifically, I found it when this entry was posted, and I thought, I love roadtrips and adventures, and I am also a chronic letter writer and package mailer! Certainly I have a story to share!

So I wrote to Evan, the blog's author, wishing him well on his final exams and letting him know of my enthusiasm for all of the things he writes about. The initial back and forth went something like this--

me: Hey, ohmygoshIlovetheUSPSandroadtrips, also here are some vague details about this place I lived for a while in northwestern New Jersey whose post office closed earlier this year
Evan: Oh, you mean here?

Evan knows his post offices.

I have probably driven past hundreds of post offices on my adventures, but I pondered a bit about any that are particularly meaningful to me. Aside from the aforementioned, now-closed Johnsonburg post office, I mainly do my USPS business at the Island Heights office, which aside being the most convenient location for me is probably also my hands-down favorite.

Island Heights is a teensy borough surrounded by Toms River, with lovely old Victorian homes and a short boardwalk along the river. The post office is located along the Barnegat Bay, which the Toms River empties into. It's big enough that they always have the breast cancer awareness stamps that I like to buy, but small enough that the lines are never overwhelming. The Toms River Post Office is always a lot busier and is also a pain to get into with all of the traffic pattern changes in downtown TR. Island Heights is about the same distance and is much more peaceful.

Some of that peace is probably because the post office is the waterfront location. It's very quiet, and the Barnegat just stretches out ahead of you as you walk up to the small building, which isn't particularly impressive or attractive but does its job. I believe the current building was dedicated under Eisenhower, though the USPS established itself in Island Heights in 1879. I love the view of the barrier island, with each beach's water tower creating the occasional blip on the horizon, and the view of the Mathis and Tunney bridges connecting the island to the mainland. I love the smell of the brackish to salty air and the consistent breeze. Oh, and I love mailing people things. It works out rather well.

counting the cars on the New Jersey turnpike but not with that song

Last night, I drove my dear friend and former office mate Irene to the airport. She's heading home to Venezuela for the holidays. I know it's strange, but I enjoy airport runs, especially at odd hours. Hardly anyone was on the road, and I had a very peaceful drive.

I know there's a section of Turnpike that smells terrible followed immediately by a section of the Turnpike that looks pretty terrible, and I often complain that this is a large part of why so many people hate New Jersey. However, once past the smell tonight heading northbound, I kind of enjoyed the lit up skyline and the shadows of Newark Airport and Elizabeth Seaport. I don't necessarily find it beautiful, but it's what I see when I fly home.

The jazz station in Newark kept me company for most of the way (good range in the overnight!) and then I was fortunate enough that my CD player was warmed up and in a good mood for the drive back to Toms River. Since my CD player only works when it feels like it, my Tag Out mix was still in and I enjoyed it immensely on my drive back south.

1. Bon Iver: Woods- appropriately peaceful and interesting
2. DeVotchka: All the Sand in All the Sea- The part that always gets me? Leaving my Walden, or whatever other amazing places I've found myself in life.
3. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes: 40 Day Dream- "Yeah, I know I'm sleeping, 'cause this dream's too amazing."
4. Dawes: When My Time Comes- I've thought about it for hours but still don't know what to say about this song. It needed to be here.
5. Donovan Frankenreiter: Heading Home- Yes I was. Am. I like to think I'm on a constant journey for home.
6. Talking Heads: Once in a Lifetime- "You may ask yourself, where does that highway go to?" Yes, yes I do. All the time.
7. OK Go: This Too Shall Pass- such a positive, hopeful song.
8. Bill Withers: Let it Be- I'm picky about my Beatles covers, but this one passes the test and takes a lovely song and puts it in a very positive, upbeat setting
9. Josh Ritter: Long Shadows- I'm not afraid of the dark, we've been here before... just as figurative as it is literal for me.
10. Eels: Fresh Feeling- reminding me it's time for something fresh
11. Florence + the Machine: Cosmic Love- I missed this during staff training, but it meant so much to everyone around me, especially someone in particular who means so much to me (that little sister I acquired, Abi)
12. Old Crow Medicine Show: Wagon Wheel- the opening line "Headin' down south to the land of the pines" was geographically correct for the journey this was intended for (and many of my mini-roadtrips), plus was reminiscent of Noah and Diana singing it all summer, most notably during Licepocalypse
13. Loudon Wainwright III: The Swimming Song- Noah's choice, the opening song for the summer 2011 slideshow, and a very nice illustration of much that I do
14. Bruno Mars: Count on Me- Courtney's choice for the staff slideshow, which I initially whined about (come ON, Bruno Mars?) but was really happy with how perfectly it fit the situation
15. Josh Ritter: Lantern- my choice for the slideshow, a song I absolutely love for its positive words and sound, and how it uses a lantern as a love symbol when a lantern is a symbol of so many other wonderful things in my life
16. Dispatch: Out Loud- except I have the original Bang Bang acoustic version which I can't seem to find online... this closed the slideshow
17. The Low Anthem: The Horizon is a Beltway- It is a beltway, or some other road to somewhere... hopefully with better traffic than the Beltway I frequent the most (the one around D.C.)

I arrived home just in time for sunrise, but I decided to enjoy dawn from the bay in Island Heights, instead of by the ocean, just for something different.

Tree of the day: the pretty little holly tree growing next to the post office that I sat next to for the sunrise. It seems seasonally appropriate.



Good morning from the Jersey shore.