New Jersey is rich in hidden wonders. Historic, cultural, and natural treasures are tucked away from traffic along the turnpike or parkway. I take the local roads. I let myself lose. It may be on numbered roads, but they don’t show up on my Triple A map. Today would be a trip to roads that were not only absent from the map, but were roads that were absent from the pavement.
I recently saw a program on NJ Public TV about the Pygmy Pines, one of the most fascinating natural wonders in the state, a natural wonder no one has ever heard of. Online research provided a bit of information and an email to the website suggested a route. This was definitely something he wanted to experience. I put the kids in the car, I only have three today, my daughter has Finley, and we’re on our way.
As usual, the first leg of today’s road adventure with my dogs means a good hour or so through the local environment. From my house to the Ben Franklin Bridge I can drive on autopilot, but stopping and going along Route 70’s seemingly endless rows of malls, malls, and car dealerships requires mental distraction. At the first light, I park the car and slip in an audiobook, “Second Nature: A Gardener’s Education” by Michael Pollen. I enjoy pollen immensely. I find him not only as a kindred spirit, but also as an inspiration. As Pollen recounts how his father, to the chagrin of the neighbors, never mowed the lawn, Route 70 begins to green up. Trees begin to replace parking lots. I almost lost the first turn.
I Where Route 541 intersects with Route 70, turn right onto Main Street. We are in Medford. As with almost all small towns in New Jersey, Medford’s streets are lined with colorful, timber-framed Victorian buildings. American flags wave to cars passing under them. People sit outside in various small cafes. I park the car and take the boys for a little walk on the shady side of the street. Here and there are small shops with what I call “quantities”. As much as I’d love to sit outside with the dogs, I’m looking forward to finding my way into the pines. So, we’re back in the car. As we move further into the green spaces of what will eventually be the pine forests, Michael Pollen reflects on how humanity intrudes on nature; how if nature had her way, all our efforts would soon be smothered in vines and weeds and sycamore roots would lift all our buildings.
When I get to 532, I turn left. Corn and soybean fields lead from the roadside to the vanishing point of a small red barn or farmhouse. Angel-winged irrigators fan their watery feathers over crop rows. Turkey vultures circle slowly in a cloudless sky. I find myself hypnotized to distraction. I have to keep my eyes on the road. Along the way, Tabernacle is a crossroads town. There are two churches on opposite sides of the road: one has a summer fair. In another corner there is a farmer’s market. Right across the street is a hot dog stand. Farms become forests. The trees are tall pines. Beneath them is a thicket of low ferns. A lake stretches along the road. I approach the next turn, the most important turn, Route 72.
As I slow down and stop at the intersection, I suddenly realize that despite driving through the densest pine forest, 72 is not a back road. Cars buzzing. Truck convoys pass by like thunder. Fortunately there are periodic breaks in the traffic. I turn onto 72. I wonder where the entrance to Pygmy Pine Forest is supposed to be along this route. I see no signs. Then to the right is a ranger station. I shot A ranger comes to meet me. I ask where the forest is. “You’re on it,” he replies. “Isn’t there a park area or entrance?” I ask. “No”, the answer is flat. “Can I visit? Can I see them?” I wonder. “Well,” he says, “go back the way you came in and you’ll see an area where the trees are cut down a bit. There’s kind of a path. Take that path.” I thank the ranger and get back in the car. I back up the highway and wait for a break in the rush of roaring trucks. Within a few hundred feet I see the space between the trees and the sandy path. But I don’t see just one. There are two of them, one on each side. Follow the yellow brick road!
The easy solution: follow one and then the other. I start with the one on my side of the road. The road is on natural sand. I’m on a Pathfinder so I’m pretty comfortable, although I will say I didn’t have to use four-wheel drive. We collide and weave up and down. In a few minutes we are in the middle of nowhere. I stop and get out. There is no other soul in sight. Not even a bird to be seen. An occasional dragon fly hovers. There is no sound: total silence. The sun warms the sand, scrub and pine trees, giving off a musky scent that only those who knew the ancient Jersey sand dunes will remember. This is a perfect place to let the boys run. They feel something different. They smell it too. With howls of joy they jump from their seats into the arena. They wait and then, with a signal from me, they leave. Just like Peppy Le Pew, they’re literally blown up as they scamper through this all-new experience. They stop for a moment to consider the long, barren road ahead. With a “go ahead” from me, they make a wild run up and down the bumpy road. A firm “Ho!” he turns them dry and they wait for him to catch up. Together we walk the desert road. They scamper back and forth, crossing in front of me, noses in the sand, picking up as much as they can. The trees that line our path are certainly small pines, but I don’t know if I would call them “pygmies”. These aren’t exactly the trees you’ve heard of. Still, this place is quite beautiful. I water the kids and we all pile into the car. The path takes us back to Route 72 but just past the ranger station.
As usual, I wait for a break in line. I go out and to the right. I’m going a bit slow on this trail as I want to be sure to find my way to the other side of the road. Within seconds, a panzer truck is behind me. I pull over to the side of the road and let him and the parade behind him pass. When the way is clear I resume my rhythm. Then I see the path I just completed and the path on the other side. The way is clear and I can turn around. This path begins as your mirror path. Then suddenly the road comes to a rise. Are here. Around me as far as the eye can see in three directions, the pygmy pines. The view is captivating.
Interestingly, the first thing I think of is the floor of a coral reef. The trees, no more than six feet and most around four or five, twist and write like sea plants twisted by the tides. Around the base of the trees are dense growths I don’t recognize: maybe some kind of scrub oak. There are little trails to walk here and there. Aside from the trails, the pine trees seem impenetrable. I have to wonder if even Native Americans ventured into this area; certainly the first European settlers did not. This is an area that has always belonged exclusively to nature. In its very smallness and narrowness it has defended itself from cultivation to which the great forests have succumbed.
It’s home time. I back up the car to get back on the road. Reluctantly we return to the car. I turn left and follow 72 to 539 North. This will take us past the edge of Fort Dix, now called Fort Dix, Lakehurst. There is a Wawa on the way. I stop for gas and two hotdogs. I eat mine hot with mustard and sauce. For the kids, I remove the roll, break up the hot dog, put the pieces back in the plastic container, and fill the container with ice to chill the hot dog. Once the children have eaten, they fall asleep. We’ll be home for dinner.