I spent the first 25 years of my life living in Southern New Jersey, a place of suburban sprawl. A multicultural mecca. Truthfully, it was a personal hell for me. A textbook introvert, graduating high school as one of a class of 700 plus students was a nightmare. But it was all I had really know, and even when I had the opportunity to make my way out into the outer world…I only went as far as the Hudson Valley, New York…which truthfully, aside from the hills and the snow…was not much different then where I had grown up. And much like my hometown, it was kind of a personal hell. Too many people.
But during that time I met my husband. Or well, my future husband. He was from the Catskill Mountains, a place that I had never been. I went up for a visit one weekend and fell in love. I hadn’t even seen much of the area, but something just felt right. But within a few weeks I packed up my belongings and returned where I grew up.
But fate stepped in. Two years after I moved back to New Jersey, I boarded a train and headed back to the Catskills to see the guy I had been dating. A half year later, we were engaged and a year after that…I finally found myself moving to the Catskills.
I’ve lived here about 17 months now. I love living here, though after 30 years of living in suburbia…country living is still proving to be an adventure.