Riverside Cemetery, peaceful home of my ancestors who had led an industrious farm life settling Waterford, VT after the Revolution.
Behind me is a course I've run for a little more than 20 years here on the north Jersey shore, in my childhood home in Eatontown, once a bugler's call away from Fort Monmouth that was decommissioned a couple of months ago. Click any menu tab to discover what I've been up as the world transitioned from old to new media.
Ahead of me is a beautifully rugged track that's going to require the endurance of an ironman triathlete, the zest of "The Amazing Race" and the patience to let this next chapter write itself across all the different platforms where it makes sense to tell this story of exploration, observation, and possibly even salvation. Twitter anyone?
My Jersey co-horts call me crazy. My pals who line the Upper Connecticut River Valley say, "Welcome home!" Yet, even they are preparing to treat me like a wishbone over which side of the river I belong on. But I'm used to that tug-of-war. Thanks to my bi-cultural parents, it's in my DNA.
So come with me to discover the Yankee life: Is it any different in 2012 than in 1912 when my motherless father and his two sisters found themselves being raised by their grandparents on the family farm? Let's see how far I will (have to) go finally to reconnect with my French heritage.
And just to make it interesting, why not wager how many Jersey expats I find in the Upper Valley? Having faculty stickers from Rutgers University on my SUV gives me the edge: One found me coming out of a Littleton, NH hardware store where I had been pouring over paint chips. A Douglas College alumnae whispered to me at a Waterford, VT fund raiser that she was from Deptford. More improbable still is learning I have a 6th cousin who hails from Montclair!
It seems I'm not the only one going home in the midst of the Great Recession. New York Times columnist David Brooks recently wrote about a blogger who's decided to return to his small-town roots in Louisiana. Going Home Again. The difference between Rod Dreher and me is that I was always a visitor to the Upper Valley. A time-traveler in my dad's annual cram-it-all, two-week working vacation between summer and fall semesters at Monmouth College in West Long Branch, NJ, where he ran the language department. In his off hours, he was writing. The Pike Titles tab will lead you to the back stories of two of his seven books that are still in print.
In five days, in what is supposed to be the dead of winter in the valley but is unseasonable balmy for New Year's Eve on the shore, I'm going to embark on at least one more grand adventure before I take my dirt nap. It could last the rest of my life, though my tribe of friends whose collective adventure is Asbury Park think otherwise. We'll see.
Ahead of me is a beautifully rugged track that's going to require the endurance of an ironman triathlete, the zest of "The Amazing Race" and the patience to let this next chapter write itself across all the different platforms where it makes sense to tell this story of exploration, observation, and possibly even salvation. Twitter anyone?
My Jersey co-horts call me crazy. My pals who line the Upper Connecticut River Valley say, "Welcome home!" Yet, even they are preparing to treat me like a wishbone over which side of the river I belong on. But I'm used to that tug-of-war. Thanks to my bi-cultural parents, it's in my DNA.
So come with me to discover the Yankee life: Is it any different in 2012 than in 1912 when my motherless father and his two sisters found themselves being raised by their grandparents on the family farm? Let's see how far I will (have to) go finally to reconnect with my French heritage.
And just to make it interesting, why not wager how many Jersey expats I find in the Upper Valley? Having faculty stickers from Rutgers University on my SUV gives me the edge: One found me coming out of a Littleton, NH hardware store where I had been pouring over paint chips. A Douglas College alumnae whispered to me at a Waterford, VT fund raiser that she was from Deptford. More improbable still is learning I have a 6th cousin who hails from Montclair!
It seems I'm not the only one going home in the midst of the Great Recession. New York Times columnist David Brooks recently wrote about a blogger who's decided to return to his small-town roots in Louisiana. Going Home Again. The difference between Rod Dreher and me is that I was always a visitor to the Upper Valley. A time-traveler in my dad's annual cram-it-all, two-week working vacation between summer and fall semesters at Monmouth College in West Long Branch, NJ, where he ran the language department. In his off hours, he was writing. The Pike Titles tab will lead you to the back stories of two of his seven books that are still in print.
In five days, in what is supposed to be the dead of winter in the valley but is unseasonable balmy for New Year's Eve on the shore, I'm going to embark on at least one more grand adventure before I take my dirt nap. It could last the rest of my life, though my tribe of friends whose collective adventure is Asbury Park think otherwise. We'll see.