Time Change

When I was but a child of eight my parents went in search of the perfect country home. Now I can’t tell you all the particulars because that was so long ago but I know the search took us to Sussex County NJ and Orange County NY. I do recall one property having a small stream and another having large cow patties. I distinctly recall the cow patties because I stepped in one of them. I was not happy. But when the search led my parents to the place they finally settled on (and where I currently live) it was as though each detail had been etched into my memory. Perhaps, it was the numerous retellings of that day by my parents, or maybe because it was just meant to be, but I have such a clear memory of that hot summer day that brought us to what just may be my forever home.

We were, my parents and three out of six kids, situated in mom’s late 1970’s Oldsmobile Station Wagon with faux woodgrain panels ( I could be wrong on the make but I’m sure one of my siblings will correct me) heading up Route 17 from Jersey when we stopped in at the Century 21 realty office on 17M in Goshen NY. The yellowish tan bilevel still stands but it now houses a law office. Now if you can believe it back in ‘83 there was no such thing as realtor.com so everything you would be potentially interested in was listed either in the newspaper classifieds or a catalog at the realtor’s office. Mom, while waiting, was flipping through one such book when she spotted it - a black and white photo of an A-frame set back off the road. She read the description and showed my Dad. He wasn’t impressed. Not at all. However, Mom was insistent on viewing the property so off we went on a 16-mile westbound trip to the property that would be the last stop on Mom’s quest for a country home.

We pulled into the 200-foot-long gravel drive and I swear time stood still. At the other end of the drive was a dark brown, white trimmed A-frame with two Maples planted in the front yard. I was in the back seat with my two older siblings but I can imagine my mother’s face was lit up and I’m sure my father already knew he was going to be the proud owner of second a home the very instant she beamed at him. Now keep in mind we were coming from a heavily populated one square mile town so this few-acre honey farm looked enormous compared to the 50x100 parcel we lived on. When we entered Kimble’s “snow white” 1 bedroom cottage with its country decor and the inviting scent of Mrs. Kimble’s fudge cooking on the stove (I still use it) we were transported to another world and simpler time. Then we toured the pristine property with its matching barns, chicken coop, and outhouse. We saw Mr. Kimble’s workshop with the honeycomb on the counter as he was in the process of collecting it. We were told that just down the road was a creek with a small bridge running across it so we took a walk to see. I immediately had visions of myself sitting on the bridge with a fishing pole in hand even though I was not a fan of the pastime.

Needless to say, my parents made an offer on the property. I wouldn’t be surprised if my mom was twisting my dad’s arm to keep him from haggling. That woman would have probably paid double the asking price to get her dream home. So the search was over and the waiting began. As a child, I had no understanding of lawyers, surveys, escrow, and closing dates so the time between first seeing the house and our first time unlocking the front door seemed to take forever or maybe no time at all. That’s the great thing about youth. Time just doesn’t seem so important. Anyway, one day months down the road my parents announced that we would be going to the country home. We would be heading out after school on a Friday and staying for the weekend. I was so excited! I couldn’t wait to explore the fields, visit the creek, and enjoy the natural beauty of the property. Finally, we would have some room to run.

When we arrived at the house it was already dark and bitterly cold. The house didn’t come with furniture so we slept in sleeping bags on the floor. I must admit little kid me thought that was awesome. This moving thing was like an adventure. So the next morning I woke up and dressed to go outside. I can’t tell you exactly what I was wearing but I do recall my brand new teal knit hat complete with pom pom and a Ziggy comic patch. I was ready to take it all in. The plants, the birds, and maybe I’d even be lucky enough to see a deer. I stepped out onto the front porch and was disappointed beyond belief. This place wasn’t anything like I remembered. It was barren, frozen, and brown. I went back inside and told my mom that it wasn’t pretty like when we first saw it. She lovingly laughed and reminded me that it was November and not August. All the leaves had fallen and all the grass had died. It made sense of course but for some reason, my young brain just didn’t comprehend that this exotic place would undergo the same seasonal changes as my hometown. After all, it was so far away.

I tell this story because every November, when all the leaves have fallen and frost turns the last blades of green grass to brown, I am reminded of that day when this place seemed so foreign to me. Once upon a time, I would gaze upon the few-acre parcel as though I was dropped in the middle of a vast prairie without a hint of civilization for miles and miles. At night I would cautiously step out into the pitch black surroundings, not a street light nor neighbor’s flood light offering any relief, to gaze upon stars I had never known existed. I’d exclaim to my parents that there were so many more stars “here” than at home. They explained to me that the same amount of stars exist everywhere but that we were able to see them better here because there wasn’t any light pollution. What? Lights pollute? In one short weekend, I learned more about life than in my nearly eight and a half years on this Earth. BAM! I was home.

That cold November weekend 37 years ago altered not only my perception of the natural world but also my entire life. It was as though I found exactly what I was looking for even though I didn’t know I was searching for it. I can only imagine what my Mom was feeling. She must have been brought to tears. She had been waiting decades to come home. Finally, she had the space to breathe and a barn to put a horse. All the stories she shared with me about writing away to a magazine for a chance to win (Roy Roger) Trigger’s foal. She reasoned that she would be able to keep it in her “rich” friend’s garage. She never won the foal. I’m sure her parents never even mailed the letters. But she had a dream that she held tight to for her entire life and at the ripe old age of 42 she was on her way to making it come true.

From the first weekend on, every Friday evening when we pulled into the driveway I could see the smile creep across my Mom’s face. She would stop and admire the perfection of it all. And every Sunday, as we crept down the gravel drive, she’d give the place one final look of longing before we headed back to the reality of our lives in New Jersey. Slowly over time, we acquired our first horses ( read Equine Epiphany I and II) and our weekend trips became weekend and any time school was out of session trips. This happened for ten years until I graduated high school. That summer Mom declared that she was no longer raising children so she was going to go be with her horses full time. Dad remained the ever-faithful weekend visitor for the next (and final) ten years of Mom’s life.

So here I sit on an early- spring-like November day. The grass is still green and barely a leaf clings to the trees. The only difference between today and early spring is the decreasing amount of daylight hours. I can’t help but think about how much has changed between the time I was a child and now. I’m not talking about growing up and growing older. That is how life should be. I’m talking about the world outside my front door. The weather is different. Even the local farmers say the killing frost comes much later now. The winters are milder with a fraction of the snowfall that I experienced in my youth. I guess I shouldn’t complain about that but it can’t go unmentioned. The climate isn’t the only change I’ve noticed. Just last night, I stood outside to gaze upon the stars and I was dismayed by how few I could see. The stars did not burn out. There was not a cloud in the sky. The reason I cannot see the stars of my youth is light pollution. Even though my road has seen very little change over the decades the surrounding areas have seen too much. Farmland has been sold, divided, and developed. Property that once boasted only one house and a barn is now dotted with new homes on their 3-acre parcels. The mountain is lit up with houses and floodlights. The vastness of this place has shrunken. The wide open spaces have closed in around me. Our leisurely bike rides along the undulating country roads have become ones filled with caution and stops as drivers race along distracted by their urgency and cell phones. People call this progress. To me, it feels like death. I feel silly for having this sentiment but it’s the truth. The country home of my youth is becoming part of suburbia.

The funny thing is that with the influx of people, we are also seeing an increase in wildlife. When I was a child I would delight at the sight of a deer. Now, on any given morning, I have a herd of them munching happily on my lawn and devouring my flower beds. When I was my daughter’s age I had never seen a black bear, a coyote, a fox, a turkey, or a bald eagle on our property. I used to have to hike the woods and preserves to find evidence of their existence. Now they are just part of the landscape. I’m not complaining. I love watching wildlife. Plus, the presence of some of them proves that conservation efforts have been working. But I can’t help but wonder if they too are feeling the crunch of human progress. After all, the woods and fields that are being developed weren’t lacking life before those homes and businesses were built.

So I really can’t tell you why I’m writing this but only for the reason to get my current thoughts out of my mind. It’s just that every November I am reminded of the innocent child I once was and how my eyes were opened to the natural world just by traveling 70 miles. I miss those days when this area was so rural that cable television was not yet available. The truth is I have seen so much change both good (911 for example) and bad (more litter and road kill) over the years. Heck, even my one-bedroom A-frame was transformed into a 3 bedroom two story farmhouse so I could raise my kids here. Progress right? But if I had to venture a guess as to why all this advancement is making me feel kind of despondent I’d have to say that with it comes great responsibility and I feel that many of us are not up for the challenge.

Progress, innovation, and expansion are all words that are ingrained into American thinking. The first settlers didn’t just come to live on the land. They came to conquer it. Clear-cut the forests. Destroy the lives and cultures of indigenous people. Dam up the rivers. Drain the wetlands. Dump waste into the waterways. Hunt wildlife into extinction. All this was done without any thought of the future. And then as the nation grew older and technology advanced, humans were able to accomplish more. More of what made them money. Made their lives easier. Unfortunately, it made the land sicker. Now we are scrambling to reverse centuries of damage. Now we are trying to educate the public on the importance of caring for the environment. Sadly, I think those words often fall on deaf ears. How can people follow through with change when we live in a society that favors and encourages excess and convenience?

But I am not here to preach. No, I am here with a simple observation. The world has gotten so small thanks to our amazing technology. Just with a click of a button, we can inform the rest of the world about anyone and anything. This can be a wonderful asset especially when wanting to stay in touch with friends and family at a distance. But it can have extremely negative effects on the land; just ask those of us who are cleaning up excessive amounts of trash and litter in the preserves and parks. I blame technology for the influx of people that are coming to these wild places. All it takes is one post, one tweet, and word gets out. All they have to do is see an Instagram post captioned “Look at this beautiful place” and people, out of boredom because of Covid, come seeking to be entertained by the natural beauty of our open spaces. Normally I would encourage everyone to get out and hike but not like this. They come in droves with coolers in hand and packs on their backs. When they leave, a trail of debris is left behind. Do they think those plastic bottles will decompose? Do they honestly believe leftover food will benefit the animals? Or maybe their used condoms will go unnoticed? Or how about dirty diapers? If you think I’m overreacting then please come join me on a hike through my local preserve; the preserve I’ve been visiting since 1984 and up until this year have never found a reason to complain. Sadly, this kind of abuse is happening all over the country.

I guess this is where I should apologize for complaining. Maybe I should try to show some grace to the newbie hikers. But I will not. The signage is posted at the preserve about how to conduct oneself while visiting. People can’t miss the big kiosk at the trail entrance. They can’t miss the NO DOGS ALLOWED signs but they can certainly ignore them or even pull them up and toss them. Life is awesome for anyone who thinks the rules don’t apply to them. Perhaps, they assume that since they are the only person there at the moment then they won’t be held accountable for their behavior. Maybe they are unaware of just how despicable their actions are because they missed the lessons on the environment while attending school or they never heard the Sesame Street song Every Bit of Litter Hurts. No, I do not believe ignorance is the reason our parks are being destroyed. I believe it’s because many people have that very same mentality our nation’s forefathers possessed. They are merely concerned with their own needs. Their happiness. Their comfort. It’s that self-centered attitude that allows them to go on thinking that their seemingly small actions won’t hurt anyone. Well, if more than a few people have that belief then the problem explodes exponentially. I wonder what it will take for people to truly care. I wonder if writing this will help.

So where does this leave me? Well, I guess my takeaway is twofold. First, change will happen and progress can’t be halted. Hopefully, those in charge will be more responsible so future generations don’t have to fix their mistakes. With any luck, parents will teach their children the importance of being a steward of the land so their children and grandchildren can enjoy the same splendor. Secondly, whether we like it or not the world is made up of all kinds of people. We have the givers and takers, the destroyers and preservers, the haters and lovers, the polluters and tree-huggers and somehow we need to find a way to balance (not cancel) each other out. We all have different priorities and our self-interests we want to protect. That is part of being human. We are, oh so, complex. However, regardless of who they are, it is my sincerest hope that everyone will realize that it is in all of our best interests to care for the Earth and all of its unique inhabitants.