Photo: Party held New Year's eve at my apartment.Adieu
Port Jervis is in what is called the “tri-state” area. It is where New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania border along the Delaware River. If you look at a map of New Jersey, go to the Northwest corner and you have found it. It is a very depressed area because of its location. Once a river port, it was a stopover for barges transporting food and timber from upstate New York and Northeastern Pennsylvania to places like Philadelphia. Now there is little industry and, worse yet, little retail. The retailers have gone over the state lines where sales taxes are lower and clothing isn’t taxed. Gas prices are 50 cents less per gallon and there are no nuisance taxes like deposits on beverage containers. The town hasn’t a major supermarket and the K-Mart moved across the river to Pennsylvania when a Wal-Mart opened there.
But it is my place of retreat. As a youngster, I camped at the state parks in Northwest New Jersey with various youth groups. When I became a little older, Port Jervis was a first stop on canoe trips where novices could get experience on the Neversink River before hitting the rapids of the Delaware. As an adult, my former wife’s family had many relatives settle in the town and her parents bought a piece of land with a trailer and a nearby pond where we frequently visited and vacationed at.
When I need to de-stress, I often close my eyes and visualize the pond. It was a place to swim, fish and teach my children how to land sunfish. My oldest son, who spent his early years in New York City, called it “Grandpa’s Central Park.”
As he was dying, we took my father-in-law on one last trip to the property and I remember wheeling him through a wooded trail from the trailer to the pond for one less visit. It seems that it was not so long ago that he had mowed the lawn every time he came up. I remember watching his neighbor talking to him and turning away in tears. The people they shared their small paradise with are all gone now, but the memories remain.
I moved to The Water’s Edge 55+ apartment complex in August 2010. I was very lucky to be able to get a place here. There is usually a long wait, but less than a week after I signed the waiting list, I got a call from Shirley, the property manager. She asked when I was considering moving in and I replied “Is today OK?”
Shirley had just gone through the waiting list and no one wanted to move in at that time. I moved in within two weeks. I was very grateful. I had spent the last five months camping and the summer heat nearly killed me. Shirley and I shared something in common over the last few days as she was terminated as of the weekend I left. She spent much of the last few weeks in tears. People in another building threw her a party and when I walked in with a boquet of flowers, she lost it. She was a tough property manager, but she also loved the people who lived here. She started when the first building was being built and the complex of four buildings now house nearly 200 units.
I moved here for a couple of reasons. The main one was it was in New York. I had been spending much of my time in New Jersey where I was raised to avoid issues with my ex during our divorce. But by living there, I saved quite a bit in legal fees as an interstate divorce would have meant added costs.
During the time I have been here I have developed friendships with a number of people. They have been very wonderful neighbors and I have tried to be one as well. I hosted open houses on Thanksgiving days and New Year’s Eves and helped organize a fourth of July picnic.
Perhaps the thing that impacted me the most was I moved in into the apartment in early August. I was there a couple of weeks then went to Florida for a few weeks, not returning until the beginning of September. Yet when my birthday came around, I had more than a dozen cards placed under my door. I hadn’t had a birthday card in years, being ignored by my wife and children. I spent that night, in the middle of a bitter divorce, crying my eyes out over the fact that some people actually gave a damn about me.
I have since left the place for long stretches. Early last year, I spent about seven weeks travelling through the south. That was followed by an early spring trip to New England. Half the time I wasn’t here during the summer while at a summer encampment a couple of miles away. And in the autumn, I travelled to the Blue Ridge mountains and Niagara Falls. Yet every time I returned, I felt way beyond welcome.
Yet I never looked at this place as my permanent “home.” The cost of living here was acceptable, but over 18 months, my rent increased about 15 percent while my social security only had an increase last month. It was just too expensive both spending time on the road and here.
When the time came when my son was OK with my spending the summer near his home in Oregon, the decision to leave this place was finalized.
But here we are. The dog, the two Christmas cactus plants and I are in the truck. The bed is loaded with cartons and the trailer is filled with the things of life. Let’s put the pedal to the medal and get outta here. Adieu, my place of rest. Hello to life on the road.
Of course, the best laid plans always fail. As I finished loading the trailer, I had the lights on inside. Unknown to me, when the trailer’s battery gives out and your electric is connected to the truck, it feeds off that battery. Needed a jump to get on the road. But made it to Winchester, VA and all is well and chaotic.
