Our Roots
HER HOME:
There was one summer down the shore (no matter the direction you head to the beach in south jersey, you always go "down the shore") where hundreds of monarch butterflies found themselves stuck in the soft sands of Ocean City's incoming tide. Tear'y-eyed I walked with my Grandmother as she guided my clumsy kid fingers into being a little less so in order to pull their delicate, panicking wings from the sea foam. We probably were able to set free only a handful of those Monarchs but as we packed up our towels and chairs and left our sandcastle behind, I felt like we had saved the whole lot.
Summers in New Jersey look nothing like what MTV showcased, at least not in the southern half of the state.
In later years, when not down the shore, peers found seasonal employment at pools, produce stands, and fruit farms. One year (and for one very long week) I made the grave mistake of signing on to work at a blueberry farm, which proved to be less frolicking-in-the-fields and more Lucy-and-Ethel-conveyor-belt but that is beside the point here.
South Jersey (we always make clear to differentiate ourselves from the region above Trenton) is strikingly agricultural, with narrow, sanded roads that lead into dark forests of pine. We are home to the self-proclaimed "Blueberry Capitol of the World" (hence the employment). My family once owned a cranberry bog. Our grandparents would make a special treat of bringing us to the Cowtown Rodeo. All of us saved our best attire for the annual Lumberton 4-H Farm Fair. A few years ago I found my name still scribbled in marker on the leather seat of the "Zipper" ride, in the handwriting of middle school beau who I learned passed away tragically last year.
With adult years spent living in foreign regions for work, and through the eyes of a visitor to Nathan's hometown, I have come to realize that everywhere is essentially same. The only differences are geography and ancestry.
My family's year-round home is nestled less than 20 miles outside of Philadelphia. Growing up, I had no idea that there were people without at least a little combined Irish and Italian blood. More than half of my high school class had last name's ending in vowels (my middle name and my mother's maiden, is Errigo).
When meeting several of Nathan's friends, I was asked why I didn't have "New Jersey accent". The main reason is that as a Philadelphia suburb, the regional twang is a bit different than it would be for our northern counterparts who consider themselves more New Yorkers than anything. Another more reasonable explanation would be that I left for college in Connecticut at 18, and from there took TV jobs in rural Virginia and Harrisburg before returning to the Philly/South Jersey region. Most everyone in my profession lacks a regional dialect. Listen closely when watching the news next time, it's really interesting. I believe this comes from the moving we have all had to do. The bright spot in this kind of travel is that the father away you get from home, the more sacred it becomes. After looking back at it as an outsider, even if just temporarily, one gets a little better at describing it to others. The quirks of home stand out for what they are, rather than falling to camouflage within the mundane. Home, as a place becomes easier to cherish.
Once this is realized, life just becomes bigger. "Home" is able to take on additional definitions. Same goes for "Family". If you're lucky, both can be redefined at once.
Nathan, honey, I'm looking at you...
- Alex
HIS HOME:
I was born and raised in the red clay hills of Mississippi. Famous, in the local sense of the word, for Carl Jackson, Marty Stuart, and kudzu. (You should google all three). One grandfather owned a corner furniture store on Main Street, that my dad still owns operates. The other grandfather owns a timber and cattle farm, where the family still works. I spent my youth somewhere between Main Street and the farm. My work on the farm was never more than feeding cattle and mending fences, but I felt honored every time I was asked to help.
There's a special bond working outside and learning from your granddad, even if it is just learning how drive a nail. I worked closely with my other granddad as well on Main Street and learned more about life and love than most may ever experience. It's hard to describe that little furniture because it represents so much more. Our furniture store has a bit of self proclaimed folklore in and around it. Whether it's local stories, municipal problems, or town gossip, "The Store" attracts the unconventional and is tied to the community deeper than an Andy Griffith plot. Every morning at 8:17 a.m. my dad host a local classifieds radio show called "Switch and Swap" at 9:00 a.m. a group of older gentleman come in and drink their coffee and tell stories around the one table that's not for sale. They sit under a cedar sign one of the coffee club members made, it reads "The Wrinkled Roosters and One Fluffy Hen". Even though my granddad passed a few years back they still come in everyday and sit with my grandmother. The group is significantly smaller than it once was, but they come in all the same. My hometown of Louisville, pronounced "Lewis-Vul", has roughly 6000 residents. Mornings on Main Street are just as beautiful as that of an ocean-front sunset. While my family lived in Louisville, I went to the county high school south of Louisville in the town of Philadelphia, MS. My mom and her sister were both teachers there, which made class a little awkward, but I was lucky to attend school everyday with two cousins and little brother. We would make the 30 minute commute each day. A relatively quick commute compared to the lengths many people in that region travel regularly, but a stressful ride for my mom with two fighting boys everyday. My high school memories all take place in Philadelphia; Friday night football games, pasture parties, and back roads. I had the best of both worlds with two hometowns and connections made in two communities that ran all through college and adult life.
Now when people ask me where I'm from I think of an area, not just a town. I think of the farm, the store, and the high school. It's a feeling of a place more than singular memories.
I find it very novelesque that even though we were thousands of miles apart from one another Alex and I both grew up outside of Philadelphia.
- Nathan
