From Japan to Sweden without Leaving New Jersey

I kid New Jersey. We all kid New Jersey. After all, it’s hard not to kid New Jersey when they present you with things like this:

Cannonball Loop(Those of you not from New Jersey, this is the Cannonball Loop from Action Park, a ride so unsafe they shut it down after a month. Reportedly they sent dummies down it to test it, and after one came down with all its limbs intact, it was declared safe.)

But say what you will about New Jersey, they do pull a Springsteen out of their hat every once in a while.

Laura’s sister Hannah contacted us a few weeks ago from Japan. She read up somewhere about a Japanese market called Mitsuwa which had all the comforts of home, provided your home is in Japan. There were several in California, one in Hawaii, one in Texas, and one—you guessed right—in Edgewater, New Jersey, directly across the Hudson from Manhattan. She asked if we were willing to check it out and we said Oh, gee, if we have to.

Since our Tokyo trip, there were many delicacies we were craving. We made a list. I made another list, or at least, I already had a list. This part of New Jersey was uncharted waters for me, and there were many, many signs I wished to capture.

I talked Laura in to going to Clam Broth House in Hoboken before we went to Mitsuwa, owing to the fact that a) it was technically on the way, and b) this is one sign I have been after for years. Clam Broth House closed a while back, but they kept their wonderful hand-pointing sign on top of a neighboring building.

Clam Broth House

This was what I was after. Everything else was gravy under the bridge. Or whatever.

(Again, non-New Jersey-type folk, you may have a predisposed notion of what a place named Hoboken may be like. Well, nothing could be further from the truth. Hoboken is one of the nicest places to go in New Jersey: historic and well-worth a visit.)

On to Mitsuwa, which didn’t disappoint, either. They have everything you’d see in Japan, from ingredients to onigiri (rice balls) to rice crackers to sake to…well, my favorite…

Pokypockypocky

All this, and a food court complete with a ramen shop, a sushi shop and a bakery. We could have stayed all day, but there were things to see, places to go.

I wanted to get a few authentic Jersey diners under my belt, because honestly, other than Olga’s in Marlton, which was closed, and the Tick Tock in Clifton, I had missed out on some of these beauties. First stop was the Arlington Diner, in the shadow of a drawbridge on the Passaic River. Their sign had some work done to it lately, but it was still majestic with its twin signs, one parallel with the road and one along the front.

Arlington Diner Arlington Diner

The plan was to go along River Road to the Lyndhurst Diner, but I wasn’t expecting a stop in between. Along the way, there was this old Auto Parts store, long abandoned, with gorgeous old neon along the top.

Riverside Auto Supply

I’m guessing the word “Auto” was in the space between “Riverside” and “Supply”.

As I got out and started snapping away like mad, a guy in a pickup truck stopped at a stop light called out to me. “Hey, you gonna buy this place?”

I don’t know what makes people assume that. I’ve been asked this several, several times in at least four states. “No, sir,” I said, “but I’d buy the sign.”

He laughed. “I can’t help you there,” he said, and drove off.

Once I had my fill, it was off to the Lyndhurst. I had forgotten that this is one of the few signs I’ve seen that has neon on the side of the sign, as well as on each face. The sun had gone away, but that was still cool, because the black-and-white sign looked like it was in a black-and-white picture, despite the fact that it was in color.

Lyndhurst Diner

“So how far away is IKEA?” Laura asked me when I got back in the car. There was one in Paramus we had been to before.

I checked my phone. “Only eight miles.”

“Well, then…”

Off we went to Sweden-by-the-Passaic. We took NJ 21 up through Clifton, when a thought occurred.

(Those of you who are from New Jersey know what’s in Clifton, but for the benefit of you poor, Jersey-starved individuals, it is the home of Rutt’s Hut, commonly referred to in my house as The Happy World of Hot Dogs. Those of you familiar with the comedy of the late John Pinette know that I must have heard the voice of the angels singing…ah-ah-AHHHHHH)

Three rippers from Rutt's Hut
Yes, please

So after lunch, we got back on the road to IKEA. Honestly, I thought I was done for the day, but as we passed by a 70s plastic sign for Parkway Lanes, I suddenly had a spark of memory: back in behind that thicket of trees by the overpass was a neon bowling beauty, an animation of three pins being hit with a bowling ball. Broad daylight, I thought, but who cares? It may not even be there.

We soldiered on to IKEA and picked up a few things. Eating there was not in our future, seeing as we had eaten enough for three lifetimes already, although Swedish meatballs, onigiri and deep-fried hot dogs are a trifecta like no other.

On our way out, we retraced our steps to Parkway Lanes. Easier said than done, because the exit only went west on US 46 and we needed to go east, but we managed to find a place to turn around and head in the right direction prior to reaching the Pennsylvania border, so that was a positive. In the rush to find this sign, I had forgotten to tell Laura what the main sign looked like, so the whole time she thought I was after the yellowing old plastic monster we had seen from the highway.

Parkway LanesOH, she said, once we pulled in to the parking lot.

Pins Animation at Parkway LanesAs I looked closer, I noticed there was some broken neon in some of the pins, so the animation looks like it’s a thing of the past.

I admired the bowling pin out front. It looked to me like some large bird might hatch out of it!

Parkway Lanes PinWe headed back on US 46, because, as I’ve learned from experience, the best old signs are on the old U.S. highways. Sure enough, a few miles down the road, we spot a motel:

Pine Brook Motor LodgeNormally with motels, I will ask first before shooting, but there was nobody parked out front, and I made the assumption that this place was no longer in operation. It wasn’t until I took this shot of breezeway bricks that I suddenly noticed something:

Pine BrookUm…those bushes didn’t grow that way naturally. As I hopped in the car and started off, we passed the office, and sure enough, there was somebody in there. So, please forgive me, good folks at the Pine Brook Motor Lodge. Next time I’ll check in at the desk.

And then, one last one for the road, the Parsippany Shopping Plaza. Laura saw this one in person and thought it was interesting, but later she commented that the pictures came out better than most of the others. It has two major things in its favor: a) it’s higher up, and b) it’s in a relatively quiet area. What this means is, it’s very easy to isolate the sign against the sky, like so:

Parsippany Shopping Plaza

Parsippany Detail

A perfect end to a perfect day. Thanks again, New Jersey. You don’t disappoint.

Lost: Corner of a Sectional Couch

The conversation reads in my head like this:

Woman: We’ve got to get rid of this old couch. It’s so old and…
Man: I like it fine in the basement where it is.
Woman: It’s not even good enough for the basement. Honestly, I’m embarrassed to have it in the house. We’ve got to take it to Goodwill.
Man: Hmph. All right, I’ll get the truck.

Twenty minutes later:

Lost Sectional of Allentown

If you have any other thoughts as to how this could have gotten on the side of PA 309, please let me know!

The Path Walker Evans Took

Walker Evans and I were not formally introduced. It had something to do with the fact that I was four years old when he died and we didn’t run in the same circles, something like that. He was a photographer who is most known for documenting the south during the height of the Depression. I ate paste.

The Flour Mill, Milton, PAWhen I first started doing Instagram, I posted a picture of the Flour Mill above. One of my friends, who is an architect and knows about stuff, complimented me and said it reminded him of Walker Evans. I thanked him, then promptly Googled ‘Walker Evans.’ Pretty quickly, I realized how much of a compliment it was, even though I had no intention of taking this or any other picture in anybody’s style.

Then, a few months later, I crossed over the Free Bridge from Easton, PA to Phillipsburg, New Jersey. There were a couple of neons in Phillipsburg I was after, including Eddie’s Drive-In, right along the river. A friend had mentioned Jimmy’s Hot Dogs was a good place to eat, and it was within walking distance of where I was, so I toddled on over and got a couple of their finest. Along the walls they had pictures, old, historic. They were by Walker Evans. He had been to this spot back in the 30’s, had taken a picture of Jimmy’s original location.

It was odd to me, that he had some connection to the area. Most of the pictures I had seen of his were all in the South. I made the natural assumption that he was from the South, but he wasn’t, he was a New Yorker. He took a lot of pictures of buildings. Small houses, churches. Usually face-on, full sun, just like the picture I took of the flour mill.

And signs. Not often the neons that I favor, but hand-painted and crude ones. Recently, I came across this one I took at a farm stand in 2009, which fits in with his style:

Sho Fly Pie, Blandon, PA

Two weeks ago I purchased a copy of Walker Evans’ American Photographs from 1938. Sure enough, four of the images in the second section of the book were taken in Easton, Phillipsburg, and Bethlehem. The image of Phillipsburg was not one I had seen in Jimmy’s, but I recognized it right away. It was taken from the Easton side, with the Free Bridge on the left. Eddie’s Drive-In was not visible, but in its place, was a large building that says, prominently, Pennsylvania Railroad.

Walker Evans, Phillipsburg, 1935
Walker Evans, Phillipsburg, 1935

Off to Easton we went. Laura was dying to go to the Easton Farmer’s Market, anyway, and it was a beautiful day.

I knew where the above shot was taken, but I didn’t want to take the same shot, although it was tempting. So I crossed the bridge, and parked in the lot where the train car at the bottom right sits in the picture above. I got out, and took a picture from the other side. It seemed appropriate.

Free BridgeAlso, look back at Evans’ picture, at the buildings visible just to the right of the railroad building and just to the left of the bridge. Believe it or not, those buildings still stand, restored.

Main Street We came back over the Free Bridge and parked, and along the way to the Farmer’s Market, I saw a shop that seemed to step right out of the 1930’s in every single way. I figured, why not? If I’m going to do an hommage, I might as well go the whole hommage.

Singer-WhiteAnd off we went, figuring we had done a day’s work. The Farmer’s Market was terrific, and we loaded up on fresh produce and bread and kombucha.

We drove home and that was it.

Well, not quite.

So, when I was looking at American Photographs, I saw something. There were two pictures of Bethlehem, back-to-back. Both were taken from the top of a hill, looking down. Both had a line of homes off to the right. Same angle, same everything, and I thought, These look like they were taken in the same spot, same day, same everything. I looked closer and I noticed a spire off in the distance. That’s the same spire. These were taken maybe a block away from each other. I filed that away.

4th Street Bethlehem

Back to our car. I got on 78 and went west, and around the exit for Bethlehem, traffic came to a screeching halt. Laura looked at me with her try-the-scenic-route eyes. Sure, just go through Bethlehem, I thought. And find where those pictures were taken.


One day in November 1935, Walker Evans was traveling with the photographer Peter Sekaer and his wife as part of a project of the Farm Security Administration. They ended up on 4th Street in South Bethlehem, where the second of the two Bethlehem pictures in American Photographs was taken.

So why there? I wondered.

I drove up 4th Street in South Bethlehem. The road comes to a rise in the middle and then drops down into the city, so I felt sure that one of the pictures was taken on this road. As I got to the top, sure enough, I saw it, To the left was the cemetery, to the right, a row of old brick homes, standing much as they did in 1935. I cut left at the next block for two reasons: one, to get back to where the first shot was taken and two, to find where the second shot was taken.

Bethlehem
Walker Evans, Two-Family Houses in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

This was the second shot in the book. I came right around this corner, down where the car is in front of the church, and I saw the severe angle up the street, culminating in…that same cemetery. I got halfway up the hill and couldn’t resist. I got out, and tried to remember how the above picture looked. In all, not quite, but in the ballpark.

Bethlehem TodayThe cemetery, though. Not a coincidence. When I got to the top of the hill, I knew exactly why Evans and Sekaer had chosen it.

The SteelThere was Bethlehem Steel, right there in the background. My complete ignorance really worked in my favor here. I really hadn’t studied Walker Evans and I only knew a few of his photographs, so I hadn’t seen this one:

Cross/Steel
Walker Evans, Graveyard, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

…which I would have tried to recreate. First of all, I would have been frustrated, because that cross no longer exists, and second, I had already done so with the street picture a few minutes ago, and that picture already felt like I was encroaching on his territory. But since I didn’t know, I had the freedom to explore. I took this shot of the church, using a high f-stop to get everything in focus, very much like some of Evans’ shots.

Limbers

…with the added bonus of some hand-written signage on the pole.

The first shot from American Photographs was now impossible, because trees have been planted along the cemetery, blocking that view. So, again, I was saved from the temptation of recreation. I stood at the corner, high above the sidewalk, and spotted an elaborate grave. It was cool and old, so I shrugged, and took the shot.

Castellucci Grave

Not knowing that Walker Evans, in fact, took the same shot. From straight on, of course, which I should have guessed.

Castellucci Grave
Walker Evans, Castellucci Grave, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

Later, when I saw the above picture, I was pretty startled. When I saw the next picture, I was floored. Since Peter Sekaer, another great photographer in his own right, was along for the ride, he must have been taking pictures. And so, a picture exists of Walker Evans taking the very picture directly above.

Walker EvansAs I saw the gigantic view camera on the tripod, I was amazed how easy it is for me to go around getting shots of everything. During the last years of his life, he took photographs specifically with a Polaroid, because due to ill health, it was much easier on him not lugging around all that equipment.

So, this was the question that rolled around in my mind as I trudged back through the old cemetery: what would Walker Evans take photographs of today? You’d think that could be the subject of another blog post. And you’d be right.

 

Death of a Flower: Gerber Daisy

After several different subjects, and finding that the flowers with the hardiest stems seemed to produce the best results for this “Death of a Flower” series I’ve been working on, you would think I would continue on this path, wouldn’t you?

Gerber DaisiesI couldn’t resist. The sunflowers showed me how vibrant colors showed up in the studio, so when I saw these gerber daisies, I knew they had to be the next group. The centers looked like eyes, how could I say no? The stems weren’t that thin, and in fact, when I looked at the back of them, it appeared that a wilted version of this flower might be very interesting. I took several shots from the reverse side the first day I had them.

The backs of the Gerber Daisies

I wasn’t worried about the petals falling off like they had with the lilies I had tried out a few weeks earlier. I was more anxious about wilting, and there was no doubt they were going to wilt. It was just a matter of how fast, and how hard it was to get a good image. Face down, I thought, these couldn’t be all that interesting.

At this point I was still finishing up with the hydrangeas, so I let the gerber daisies go a while. I got back to them on day 5, and by then, half of them had already started to droop. But they didn’t quite cave. They gently bent. Downcast almost.

Drooping Gerber DaisyNow I wasn’t seeing an eye, I was seeing a whole face, a head, a neck. It would be fleeting, I knew that, but just for this moment, this group showed me something marvelous. The three that weren’t wilting yet were producing something just as great.

These two showed a bit of decay, but for the most part, they were holding up. They had a steadfast quality. I went back later in the day and shot the same flowers, this time, getting more contrast from the background:

One thing I did not do at this point, which on reflection would have been a good idea, was to take another group, so you could see how different they all were already: three of them drooping, two with their faces to the sky, and the sixth…

Close-Up…looked like a staring eye. I took several shots of this particular one on day 6. This one was my favorite. As the days passed the yellow flecks became more and more prominent, adding a nice color accent to the image. Meanwhile, the three drooping daisies got droopier.

Falling DaisyThe petals, instead of dropping off or hardening to a crisp, wrapped themselves back and around, giving a strange motion to the still image, as if the whole flower were rotating on the axis of its stem. This would get less pronounced by day 9, when the petals began to dry. They began to resemble bells.

Meanwhile, something strange happened to one of the flowers. Just one. In the center of the “eye”, which had been black on all six flowers, the entire field filled with yellow, backed with the same red color as the flower. It was startling.

Blind Eye

One eye blind

The staring eye had dropped by the ninth day, but these two remained mostly upright. When I shot them together, and if you see them as eyes, the right one is cloudy, blind. If you see the one on the right as a face, it looks expressionless. Such a contrast between two of a kind.

After two weeks, these two finally started to droop like all the others, but they were all individuals throughout.

The last two droopNo two things are the same, nor would we want them to be. If all of these flowers, and if all of us, did the same exact thing in the same exact way, what would be the point? There are so many different things we can be. When it comes to beauty, similarity can only go so far before it loses its appeal. It is in diversity that we can see a myriad of beauty, and in each one of these flowers I saw something new, unique and exciting.

 

Found: One Can of Whipped Cream

Things get left behind on trash day. It happens. And that’s what might have happened here, but upon closer inspection, I don’t think so. All that was left on this area between the sidewalk and the road was a) the can of whipped cream, and b) the pink cap for the can of whipped cream. Which begs the question: what’s someone doing with a can of whipped cream on Front Street in Media? Right between the Fire House and the Library?

Also, did anybody know that Cabot made whipped cream? And if so, where do you get it?

Answers to these questions are welcome. The most creative answer gets a slightly-used can of Cabot Whipped Cream.

Whipped Cream and Other Delights

Keep the Home Fires Burning

On the morning of my wedding, I woke up in the guest bed at a friend’s house. It was early and I noticed I was the only one there, so I got dressed and stepped out and saw that they were outside, burning some scraps left over from the construction of their new house. He was piling the wood on to the fire and she was armed with a hose to keep the grass from burning and generally to keep the fire under control. I said, “Can I help?”

Twelve seconds later, and four hours before the wedding, I was armed with a hose to keep the grass from burning and generally to keep the fire under control. My friends, the couple I was staying with, had some other things to do in town, and took off. For the next two hours, I manned this post. This is how I spent the morning of my wedding.

Fifteen years later, and this makes for a nice story. Some of you might feel that this wedding-morning scenario is a perfect encapsulation of the marriage that was to come, and I know, because you’ve told me after I’ve related this story to you. Not true. Laura has never planned out a project like this and abandoned me, and if this keeps happening to you, I’m sorry. But what I take from that morning is this: keeping a fire is hard. It needs constant attention, it can go out, and it can get out of control, so someone is always needed to tend to it.

The Ancestral Home of the Sanders'

This past Saturday, Laura and I drove up to the ancestral birthplace to be with my parents. They live on farmland that my grandfather bought in the sixties that he intended to be a golf course someday. When they were clearing the land, my Grandmother put all the wood out on the hill and set fire to it. It got out of control, so they called the fire department. Then they cleared some more land. My Grandmother put the wood out on the hill and set fire to it. They called the fire department again. This happened three times in all, and only stopped when the fire department threatened my Grandmother with arrest and seizure. Fortunately, the rest of my family, perhaps because of this very story, has a healthy and cautious attitude toward fire.

When we arrived in Binghamton, we found my Mom putting some wood on the fire pit in the back yard. It’s become a tradition to toast marshmallows on the Fourth of July weekend. So we did. Some of the wood was still wet, so the fire needed attention. I pushed the wood around with a rake to keep it going.

Fire is one of the four classical elements, along with air, water and earth. In the city, we get so little of each, and not always the right kind. Fire is almost always destructive outside the country, but here, it can be controlled, harnessed, and be used for positive purposes.

We sat out and looked at the stars, and hills beyond, and thought about how much we want to share this view, this place, with others. Almost always, my Mom says on these occasions of quiet reflection, “This is so special. Why don’t more people see it?”

The Ancestral Home

I think about all of those people who grew up there, who have moved away as I have, who do see it. I see how great it is, and all I want to do is share it with others.

The next morning, the fire had yet to go out. There were still portions of wet old boxes that had finally caught and were sending up smoky flames. My Mom took a look at the fire and thought we might as well take advantage of it. She had plenty of boxes in the basement that we needed to get rid of, so why not burn them off?

Me and the Fire

Two hours later and I was standing there with a rake and a hose, making sure the fire didn’t get out of control.

The weather on Saturday was supposed to be wet, so the traditional grilling looked like a bad idea. We went over our dining-out options in Binghamton, and my Mom came up with the idea of going to this place called Jrama’s Soul Food Grille & Barbecue Pit on Upper Front Street. It went in a few years ago, and we’ve passed it a few times since it opened in 2015.

Jramas

To be honest, soul food on Upper Front Street in Binghamton is a study in contrast. Although I’ve been blessed enough to step into the soul food realm, both in Chattanooga and up north in Easton, soul food is foreign here. So much so that Jrama’s provides a sampler of sides to customers to give them an idea of what they can expect. There were two slices of cornbread, and little cups of corn, mac and cheese, slaw, beans, greens…

Greens.

I’m a greens fanatic. I never expected to find them in my home town, ever. This was something you could only find in the South, or in the major cities. And these greens, these…

Jamar Johnson, the owner of Jrama’s, was behind the counter. It was impossible for me to refrain from commenting on the greens. “I’ve had greens everywhere, and these are so good…”

He was at the grill. He said, “I’ve got a love-hate relationship with greens. Sometimes they come out right, and sometimes…”

Greens are difficult. They need care and attention, just like a fire. If done right, they can be better than anything. All of this food, everything we ate there, came out of family, out of tradition, out of everything so special that you have to share it.

Ribs, cornbread, greens
Ribs, cornbread, greens. The three food groups.

When something is great, it’s a natural impulse to want to share it. This is what I feel this Independence Day: a place, whether it is a city or a whole country, that can produce so many good things, such good food of various kinds, such natural beauty, such fire, is worthy to be called special and great. God bless America on this day. I feel so honored to share all of these things with you.