Back to school in Montague: the Nelden-Roberts Stonehouse

Delaware Water Gap National Recreational Area is loaded with them: old houses and buildings that largely stand empty, the silent tribute to faulty government planning and successful public outcry. Many had been in the same family for generations before the Army Corps of Engineers set out to flood much of the Water Gap as part of the Tocks Island Dam project. In preparation, the federal government purchased acres of farmland and forest plus the structures that stood on them.

Public opinion ultimately trumped the dubious need for the project, but the impact on the area was profound, nonetheless. While the National Park Service assumed ownership and management of the land from the Army Corps, the families were not allowed to return to their ancestral homes. What's left in many cases is the puzzling sight we discovered at the Westbrook-Bell House: a nicely maintained but tightly shut colonial-era stone house with a decidedly 21st century satellite dish. If you're like me, you salivate a little as you drive past buildings like that, wondering how much of the average stuff of daily life is left in them and whether you'll ever get to find out.

More rarely than most of us wish, you may drive past one of the old houses to find it's open. That was our luck as we approached a small stone structure not far from the Milford-Montague Bridge on Route 206. The Nelden-Roberts Stonehouse was accepting visitors, as it does, two Sundays a month in warm weather.

As we discovered from our friendly volunteer docent, farmer George Nelden held the property as early as 1817. It was a schoolhouse until about 1865, one of a handful located in the area in a time before free public education. The Roberts portion of the house's name came from a family who owned a farm across the road; tenant farmers were among the many families that used it as a dwelling until the federal government acquired the property. One gets the feeling that rather than being a beloved homestead, the stonehouse was more like an accommodation that came along with local employment. Still, or maybe because of that status, it has a valuable story to tell.

It's likely that when it was originally built, the building was a lot like others in Montague and surrounding communities, but circumstances have a way of making the ordinary truly special. Vandalism and the loss of nearby Brick House village to the Tocks Island project encouraged concerned citizens to form the Montague Association for the Restoration of Community History (MARCH) in 1979 to save some of the remaining historic properties. A federal grant paid for adaptive restoration, which led to the building's reopening in 1982. MARCH now has an longstanding agreement with the National Park Service to maintain and interpret the Nelden-Roberts Stonehouse and the nearby Foster-Armstrong House, a wooden homestead first built in the late 18th century and enlarged in 1820.

They've done an admirable job. Walking into the stonehouse, we discovered a one-room schoolhouse, complete with some of the primers, slates and other items rural students would have brought for a day of study. A small side room was set up like an early 20th century general store that was, no doubt, a very welcome amenity for the rural community.

Upstairs was an attic room for the teacher, large though the walls were slanted. In addition to curating it with spartan bedroom furniture, MARCH uses the space to exhibit other artifacts representing community history. When we were there, it held a World War display saluting local veterans, as well as a number of Native American objects reflecting the area's Lenape past.

With the coming of colder weather, the unheated Nelden-Roberts Stonehouse will be closed for a few months, but it's well worth putting on the to-see list for the spring. Just as important as any "Washington Slept Here" attraction in the state, the stonehouse is a refreshing look into a community's past, lovingly perpetuated by neighbors who see the importance of preserving local history.

At war with the natives... or was it the New Yorkers? A mystery in Montague.

Sure, it's lightly populated now, at least by New Jersey standards, but it's hard to imagine a time when Sussex County was truly wilderness, with European settlers mixed with Minisink Indians of the Lenape tribe. It was an era when settlers built forts along the Delaware River and folks were still debating whether the land was actually in New Jersey, or in New York.

Ivan and I found vestiges of the time in question, the early 1700s, during a recent drive along Old Mine Road in the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area. It might have been Montague, or maybe Sandyston where we pulled off the road and onto a dirt drive to read the historic marker for the Westbrook-Bell House, the oldest surviving dwelling in Sussex County. Take a look:

An adjacent plaque from the local Daughters of the American Revolution stated that two forts had been built in the area during the French and Indian War: one about a mile to the south, and another behind the barn on the Westbrook property.

So which story was true? Had fortifications been built to protect the inhabitants during the conflict with natives and the French in the late 1750s, as the DAR claimed, or to fend off land-grabbing flintlock-toting New Yorkers, as the Sussex County Historical Commission stated?  I was more inclined to go with the French and Indian War. Sure, there were disagreements about the placement of the boundary, but I'd never heard about things getting so contentious that weapons were required to defend one's property and provenance. When it comes to borders, New Jerseyans are more likely to go to court than to battle, but I couldn't be sure. We were talking about the early days and sparsely-populated territory.

Either way, there was a house to be seen. We walked down the picturesque road, shaded by a row of stately trees, until we found the small stone Dutch Colonial house, looking very closed up but still somewhat cared for. The doors and ground-floor windows were boarded up, but a TV satellite dish stood on a pole next to the home, leaving me to wonder whether someone lives there. The DAR marker had noted that nine generations of the Bell family had made the tiny house their home. Had descendants still been there when the Federal government cleared inhabitants from the land in the 1960s, when plans were underway to build the Tocks Island Dam? (For a little more perspective on that, check out this story about neighboring Montague.) Could someone have moved back in, even if only a National Park Service employee?

Back at Hidden New Jersey headquarters, we hit the books and the internet for more information. Turns out that what's now known as the Minisink Historic District has been studied fairly extensively by the U.S. government: by the Historic American Buildings Survey in 1941 and again in 1970, and then by archaeologists before the planned flooding of the area with the dam project.

HABS dates the house circa 1725, based on documentation from the Westbrook descendants who lived there at the time of the first survey. However, the Historical Commission sign may be right about the date that Johannes Westbrook originally gained possession of the land. There's some conjecture that he might have made a deal with the natives as early as 1701 but arranged for a deed decades later in an attempt to thwart possible claims or intercession by the Jersey Proprietors. In any case, the property stayed with the family until 1959, when it was finally sold to an unrelated party.

As for the fortifications and their origin, I can't find any reference to organized disputes between the colonies that rose to the level of building defensive structures. Sure, there were violent conflicts among landowners with conflicting claims to property, and New York aggressively granted ownership of land that was actually New Jersey, but were militias raised as a result? I don't see where.

Citations pointing to the need for forts to defend Northwestern New Jersey against foes in the French and Indian Wars, however, is abundant. Blockhouse forts were built along the Delaware in 1756 as a far-forward defense against possible invasion of population centers in Newark, Elizabeth and Perth Amboy. Once the local Minisink changed their alliance to the British, the forts were largely unneeded, and were reportedly abandoned.

Old Mine Road is dotted with old structures like the Westbrook-Bell House, stone and brick laid by folks who truly set out for adventure. Our earliest history of European settlement, little-known to most New Jerseyans, stands waiting for exploration and study within the boundaries of the Water Gap. It's hard to imagine that the lot of it could have been lost to the deluge of an ill-planned dam.

No EZPass on the Dingmans Ferry Bridge

I was one of the EZPass holdouts until October, when I got this while using a staffed tollbooth:

Ridiculous as it is not to be able to use paper money on the Parkway, I finally relented and picked up a transponder. I still keep pocket change in the car, though, as there are places in the region where EZPass has yet to extend its tentacled detectors.

Take, for example, the Dingmans Ferry bridge, which links Layton, Sussex County, to Pennsylvania in the Delaware Water Gap. This privately owned river crossing is decidedly low tech, with not even an automated collection basket. One toll collector stands on the line between the two lanes at the Pennsy side, taking tolls from both directions, protected by an awning. The north side of the awning is held up by a little toll house, while the south side is essentially a trellis with signs posted for the next Kiwanis pancake breakfast or Girl Scout fundraiser. It's been this way pretty much since the bridge was constructed, the fourth in a series that runs back to 1835.

Starting a century before that, Andrew Dingman ran a successful ferry service between Layton and Pike County, PA, until one of his descendants opened the first of the bridges. Seemingly, neither that bridge nor the two that succeeded it were constructed to withstand the elements brought by the Delaware and the occasional flood. Today's bridge was built in 1900 of sturdy steel and is closed for inspection for a few days every year to assure its safety. So far, it's held up in four major floods, and one would surmise that with that kind of record, it'll be around for a long time.

Back to the toll taking, I wonder what do they do overnight? Is there an evening toll collector? What kind of traffic does he or she see? And how do they manage in foul weather?

According to the company website, those traveling to church or funerals don't have to pay the toll, but I do wonder, though, if the Dingmans Choice and Delaware Bridge Company people will eventually succumb to EZPass. Perhaps the toll taker will stand in his usual spot and hold a transponder reader to essentially bar-scan people across the bridge.

Peters Valley: arts, crafts and a lesson in decay

No matter which National Park Service location I visit, I'm struck by a simple fact: the historic buildings that are in use are the ones that seem to better withstand the rigors of time, weather and, unfortunately, vandalism. Leave a building empty, and it rots. Get it occupied with a museum or a business or offices or residents, and it fares much better.

The Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area is a case in point. You might remember that back in May, we visited the abandoned town of Walpack Center (check out that post here for an account of why there are so many unoccupied buildings within the boundaries of the park). Like Walpack, Peters Valley was once a thriving little community nestled in the hills, with a general store, church and a few homes nearby. That's where the similarity ends, though, for Peters Valley has been transformed into an artists' community, with resident craftspeople, workshops and a gallery where visitors can view and purchase the art created there.

This time of year, the studios are largely quiet, and while visitors can take a self-guided tour during the summer months, when we arrived, we found that none of them was open. The Peters Valley Store, however, was. Originally the general store for the town of Bevans/Peters Valley, it contains crafts made by resident artisans as well as others from around the country. I'm generally not a crafts enthusiast, but I liked a lot of what was there -- well made, substantial and reasonably priced (though I'm still a bit dismayed that a great hat I saw cost over $100).

The general store is one of several buildings clustered near the 'hens foot' intersection of three roads, two that that T-stop on the same side of the another almost perpendicular, continual road. A National Park Service tour notes a variety of architectural styles that are unique to Peters Valley among the other small communities in the Water Gap. Just behind and to the left of the store is an interesting three-story Greek Revival-style home. The second and third floors are built out to the columns on the facade, making for a rather unique approach to the architecture. Another home on the corner exemplifies stucco-finished cobblestone construction.

We walked out a little bit to an old Dutch Reformed Church that hasn't been used for years, locked up but surrounded by a still-active cemetery. A couple of other people were there, decorating a family grave as we took a look at some of the older stones. As expected, many of the names were repeated, particularly Bevans, the name of the postmaster for whom the town had been named. I found a unique metal grave marker which seems to have held up better over time than its stone cousins.

Peering into the church windows, I could see several rows of auditorium-style chairs bolted to the floor, as well as a few more modern folding chairs lined up behind them. The interior paint looked pretty decent, but the plaster walls and ceiling were decaying in spots, with big plugs of it resting on the floor. At one time, I imagine, this had been a very nice, though unadorned place of worship, and now it's pretty much left to decay.

Looking at this community, even in its dormant state, it's interesting to wonder how long the original town would have remained vibrant had the residents not been displaced by the Tocks Island Dam project. Would people still be farming and working there as their ancestors had, or would most of them been lured away by opportunities elsewhere as New Jersey got more suburban?

Wandering around the natural and abandoned in Sussex County

With spring migration in full force, it was clear that this weekend's jaunt had to include a pretty serious birding component. Wanting to get some distance and history into the equation, we found ourselves headed up State Route 23 and then along back roads to Stokes State Forest and the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area. The weather, sunny and seasonably temperate, supported a full day outside in nature. Ivan was looking for some new birds to add to his list for the year, and I wanted my customary dose of abandoned history.

I'm accustomed to getting to the Water Gap from Interstate 80, taking the last exit before Pennsylvania, but I can definitely see the benefits of reaching it from the east, rather than the south. Rather than racing the 18-wheelers, you're gliding through small towns along two-lane roads, small businesses and ultimately, plenty of wooded acreage.

Our first stop was Tillman Ravine, just at the western end of Stokes. As you pull into the small unpaved parking lot and leave your car, you can already hear the water rushing through the ravine bed. A brief hike through the hemlocks will bring you down to the water where it cuts through this seam in the earth, and you can easily traverse the stream a few times by way of sturdy plank bridges. Unfortunately I didn't have the good camera with me, but take my word for it, this is quite a nice place to wander and maybe sit for a spell and meditate with the sound of the current passing you. Doubtless there are a good number of birds in the area, too, but with the gurgling water noises so prevalent, it wasn't easy to hear anyone singing, so we were on our way to our next stop.

Ivan had already told me I'd be surprised how close Tillman was to Walpack Center, and he was absolutely right. Normally I'd reach the small unpopulated village via the NPS road and then drive down Main Street to the one-lane bridge below, but this time I only knew we were approaching because I could see the village church on the hill that overlooks the bridge and the Flat Brook it traverses. I parked the car at the side of the road, across the bridge from several SUVs that belonged to fishermen who'd already waded midstream to their prime trout spots.

Our first stop was a grassy meadow lined with trees and a broad, forested hill in the distance. Ivan was able to spot a few species but for the most part the birds were hiding out, content to sing but not be seen. Contrary to the old bromide about children, birds should be seen and heard. Yes, their tunes were beautiful and a fine accompaniment to a refreshing spring morning, but hey, we'd like to see some feathers, too. The prairie warblers were particularly frustrating -- I enjoyed their song of buzzing notes on a scale, but I really would have liked to have seen some. I did, though, spot what we thought might have been a bald eagle, soaring in the distance.

Now, just a few words on Walpack Center, which appears, to the unknowing visitor, to be a total ghost town, complete with church, schoolhouse, post office and gas pump. This was, at one point, one of New Jersey's hidden mountain towns, but became desolate when the federal government started on plans to build the Tocks Island Dam across the Delaware River in the early 1960s. The project, designed to manage downstream flooding, generate hydroelectric power, and create a massive recreational lake, required thousands of acres of land that had been occupied by dozens of farming families, many for generations. Depending on which reports you read, the government either declared eminent domain or strong-armed the residents off their property, leaving virtual ghost towns to be torn down before the river was dammed and the area was flooded. Ultimately, a combination of factors stopped the project, which was deemed as both geologically unwise and unfair to those who had lived there. The government land was transferred to the National Park Service in 1965, creating the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area.

Today, Walpack Center is a clutch of whitewashed buildings, including one that's used as a rarely-opened museum, and another that's occupied by a Park Service employee. As we found out, it's also a luckier spot for birds than the meadow we'd been checking out. All on my own, I spied a woodpecker bopping around in the upper branches of a tree, just before he popped into a nesthole. We also saw a nice collection of warblers in a wooded area, while standing on a stairway outside the village church. Things were looking up.

Satisfied we'd probably seen what the village had to offer, we started wandering south on the Park Service road to another spot next to a barn. Ivan had seen cerulean warblers there on a previous visit and while there was no sign of them when we were there, the songs in the air promised some really cool sightings and totally new birds for my life list. Just a few minutes after we'd gotten there, an orchard oriole stopped by on the branch of a tree just a few feet away. Very cool, but Ivan was on the lookout for an even more striking bird we could hear high up in the next tree. It was just a matter of finding it without spooking it.

And... then, there it was, perched among the fresh young leaves of the tree: a scarlet tanager! You could see him, plain as day, bright red body with black wings. (Boy, do I wish I had the camera and the right lens.) What a treat! Though he was somewhat obscured by the yellow leaves, he hung out for a good while, allowing us to get an extended view of him.

So, with those successes fresh, we drove back down Old Mine Road, checking one other spot (no luck) and keeping the windows open to listen for other bird songs on the way. There were likely other birds at other locations, but our stomachs were rumbling and we needed food pronto. We were on the way to our next stop.