Take Me Home

Out here on the roads of central Jersey, there’s a roundabout known as the Watchung Circle. It’s a tidy little traffic circle up in the hills of Watchung, and I hit the circle whenever I’m driving down the mountain from Interstate 78.

As I enter the circle, for a brief moment I see a green and white sign that looks as if it’s been written just for me. There are two arrows pointing left, and just three words on the sign. One of them is “WARREN,” and the others are “NORTH PLAINFIELD.” It’s as if the sign is calling me by name to remind me of where I live.

I follow the arrows and keep to my left. A moment later, at the next exit off the roundabout, another arrow and sign points the way toward the town of Warren, N.J. I stay on for another second and take the exit for North Plainfield. It’s in this town, below the hills, where I find my house. My home.

It’s not always this easy to find your way to a place you call home. I’ve lived in four different states over the past 16 years, and each one had its advantages and disadvantages. The weather in North Carolina was superb, as were the dogwood trees, the basketball and the barbecue. But there was no good pizza, no Brooklyn Bridge, and no Yankee Stadium in Carolina.

Living in my hometown of Staten Island was fun for a while as an adult, and there was an abundance of great pizza, the great bridge and ballpark were just a quick trip away, and family was all around. But sometimes, an adult in his 20s can feel closed in by too much of his hometown. The wings want to fly, and so he breaks from the nest.

We did just that, and gave Massachusetts a try. The pizza was still pretty good in Boston, and both Boston and Salem (where we lived) had tons of charm. But as soon as we had children of our own, the lure of family became too powerful. We headed south and set down new roots once more.

For more than five years now, home has been this town called North Plainfield, a gloriously diverse and friendly place down the road from the aforementioned circle. We love our home, we see our family more often, and the big city is just a short train ride away. But we’re not living by the water like we were in Salem. And we don’t have a bustling downtown like we did in Chapel Hill. And we don’t have all the great Italian restaurants that we had on Staten Island.

Sometimes you wish you had a green and white sign in front of you all the time, to help guide the way. What is home? Where is home? Were some of these towns better suited for us than others were? Are we in the right place here? Should we look for something better than this? Or should we just settle down, take a deep breath, and sink some roots into the ground for once? You can always search some more, but sometimes the thing you’ve been looking for is right in front of you.

Just off the Watchung Circle, there’s a plaque in the nearby park honoring Bobby Thomson, who as a New York Giant hit the most famous home run in baseball history to win the 1951 National League pennant. On the October afternoon when he hit that famous homer to beat the Brooklyn Dodgers, Thomson took the Staten Island Ferry home from the Polo Grounds in Manhattan. He lived in my hometown from the age of 2 until he was in his mid-30s. Then Thomson and his family decided to leave Staten Island and move west a little ways, to Watchung. They liked it enough to stay in those Jersey hills for nearly 50 years.

The neighbors across the street from us are on the move in search of home, having chosen to leave our town for one closer to family. As Laura and Nick packed up their belongings this weekend and headed west to Pennsylvania, they appeared happy to be settling into a town near Nick’s family. Their son, Chase, is bound to find his own name a lot more common in his new town, as there have surely been plenty of Phillies fans naming their kids after Philadelphia’s second baseman extraordinaire, Chase Utley. Laura and Nick don’t follow baseball, but they said they expect they’ll learn all about Mr. Utley real soon.

I shook Nick’s hand, hugged Laura, and wished them well. As they drove off, they left an old leather suitcase by the road for someone to take. As I walked back across the street, I joined Amy and the girls in the backyard. We were preparing the vegetable garden for another growing season.

Katie was planting the tomatoes. Amy nestled the broccoli and lettuce plants into the soil. They covered the plants with topsoil, peat moss and fertilizer.

The roots will take hold, as they always do. They know a good home when they feel one. As for the old suitcase across the street, it’s gone now. Probably in someone’s car, winding its way around the Watchung Circle. Looking for a sign.