A while ago I wrote about New Jersey’s volcano and sodalite mountain peaks. Down the road from the volcano and down the hill from those fluorescent sodalite mini-mountains exists the pastoral majesty of Lusscroft Farm (50 Neilson Rd, Wantage, NJ). Lusscroft looks like a picture postcard of a farm: a large red barn, white grain silos and vast green pastures, hugged by riparian tree rows. This historic farm is owned by the State of New Jersey, and maintained by passionate volunteers, a thrift store, and private donations.
Inside the barn (I feel like I was swallowed by a whale):
A horse skeleton:
The grounds of the farm features many buildings aside from the barn — some restored, some decaying — a hidden lake, and many hiking trails that loop around the pastures, and wind up the mountain across the road from the barn. On the mountain (part of the Kittkatini Range, and Appalachian Mountains) the trails lead to several decaying but intriguing buildings like the “Spring House” and a larger home, swallowed by over-grown shrubs and trees, with a remarkable masonry owl decorating its side (and probably a live vulture on its chimney). The trails are often covered with grass and small forest plants (I don’t want to call them weeds) , occasionally rocky and punctuated with the occasional bear paw print. If you go wear long pants and sleeves to help prevent tick bits, keep your eyes peeled with critters large and small, don’t whistle at night or walk toward entities calling your name (Appalachian lore).
My ancestors came to America a little over a century ago. They were merchants, craftsmen, dressmakers, and laborers. They had small gardens, but they were not farmers. Other than a consumer of food, I have no cultural or ethnic connection to the classic North-East American farm. Still my mind lights up at the sight, sounds and even smells of a farm. The colors of a farm are all found in a basic box of eight crayons: leafy green, barn red, sky blue, sun yellow, earth brown, honey orange, thistle/eggplant purple and Holstein spot black for the lines that define it all. I treasure this farm, even if I have no farmer blood in my veins.
More information and events: