A campus stroll through history, as told by trees

In three and a half years and over thousands of miles criss-crossing the state, we've seen a lot of notable trees. We've come upon ancient mighty oaks that witnessed the signing of treaties with the natives and the first American air mail (albeit by balloon), and a large but younger one that provided a customary place for country folks to don their shoes before walking into town. A massive holly spent most of its life in obscurity before becoming a force in changing the route of the Garden State Parkway. A host of famed trees of other species are mostly known for being really old and still alive. The message they all deliver is clear: despite rampant development, New Jersey communities somehow manage to preserve trees that have meaning to them.

What we didn't know was that we could have visited offspring of most of these trees, and more, in one place: the Union County College campus in Cranford. There, not far from the Sperry Observatory, is a grove of 70 trees that comprise the Historic Tree Project. Labeled with nameplates, they represent not only New Jersey but many other notable places around the country.

The New Brunswick white oak that's said
 to have inspired Joyce Kilmer's poem Trees
is represented by this healthy youngster.

A project of UCC biology professor Dr. Tom Ombrello, the Historic Tree Project started in 1997, intending to grow and nurture seedlings and saplings of trees that have some significance in American history. Several seeds or acorns from each historic tree are germinated in the adjacent greenhouse, with the goal of ultimately planting one in the grove. Spare seedlings are shared with other schools, parks and historic societies around the state, with the goal of preserving the parent tree's heritage (or, perhaps, sap-line).

Presidents are well represented, with offspring including George Washington's Mount Vernon holly, red maple and sweet buckeye trees, oaks from Abraham Lincoln's birthplace and resting grounds, and more from notable places in the lives of presidents Jefferson, Grant, Cleveland, Wilson, Eisenhower, Truman and Johnson. Others celebrate groundbreaking African Americans including Booker T. Washington and Martin Luther King. Still more are the progeny of "witness" trees that may still stand at the site of historic events like the Battles of Gettysburg and Antietam, and the attack on the World Trade Center buildings on September 11, 2001.

Over the years, some of the historic trees have been felled by storms or other natural occurrences. Raising plants in climates outside their normal environments can be tricky, making some especially susceptible to the harsh weather extremes we've experienced in New Jersey over the past several years. And, of course, there are the usual four-footed villains to guard against. One might wonder if an acorn from a pedigreed oak, however young, might be an especially tasty treat for an adventurous squirrel, or if the bark of a historic sycamore might be especially pleasing for a deer looking to rub his head.

The project is now focusing on trees representing New Jersey historic people, events and sites, including catalpa, magnolia and buckeye samples from nearby Liberty Hall. Grover Cleveland's birthplace is represented by descendants of the mighty sycamore and a red oak behind the Caldwell home, while a ginko tree reminds us of the Greenwich tea burning. The Pinelands also gets a shoutout with a pitch pine from the area near Tabernacle where Emilio Carranza, the "Lindbergh of Mexico" met his untimely end while flying a goodwill mission in 1928.

Like all living things, trees have a finite life. Even the sturdiest and most ancient eventually die on their own, making projects like these all the more important. Despite the best efforts of preservationists and arborists, we've already seen the passing of storied trees like the Mercer Oak and the New Brunswick Joyce Kilmer Oak, but not before acorns were collected and nurtured. With luck, 200 years or more from now, our own descendants will be able to relax under the boughs of these trees and consider their own links to the past, gain inspiration and do great things in their own lives.

Green(wich) tea: tasting a litte burnt

One of the best things about visiting Down Jersey is also one of the most challenging. Unlike the Atlantic shore that most state residents are familiar with, the Delaware bayshore has no highway or main road that approximates the curve of the land near the water. The broad network of marshes, creeks and streams, combined with the lack of aggressive real estate development, create a situation where the only state thoroughfares in the region are well inland. Thus, if you want to get from one waterside community to another, you have two choices: either go north to Route 47 or 49, travel a little and then head south on a county or local road, or patch together a route using 'name' roads that may or may not have county designations.

The first option sounds safer, but you end up seeing a lot of the same stuff as you retrace your steps, which is dull from an exploring perspective. The second option can be a bit disorienting, but you see more interesting things, and you likely save time in the long run.

I chose the second option when we left Hancocks Bridge for Greenwich. I'd been to the small, well preserved town via the Route 49 route in the past, so taking the back roads would be as much an adventure for me as it would be for Ivan on his first visit. We were in my car, so I grabbed my laminated flip-fold Southern New Jersey map, discerned an almost-straight shot route and then handed off to Ivan for navigation duties. Directional markers are really very good on these roads, too, so I was confident we'd make our way just fine.

Our route took us through territory that was bucolic even by Down Jersey standards. Lots of cultivated acreage rolled past us, interspersed occasionally by a few buildings marking the center of towns like Othello which don't even make it onto Google Maps. I was taking it on faith that our path would lead us directly to Ye Greate Street, the historic main thoroughfare of Greenwich and the place I knew from earlier visits.

Eventually we started seeing the distinctive well-tended and old-looking buildings as well as things marked "Greenwich." Okay, we've made it to the town limits, but where's Ye Greate Street? Ivan didn't see it on the map, but the Tea Burning Memorial was clearly marked. The big problem was that the map didn't list county road numbers, just street names, and I was all turned around because we hadn't come from 49. No worries: we had plenty of gas in the tank, lots of daylight left and no deadline to get there.

Finally Ye Greate Street made itself known and things started looking familiar. Though the streets are paved and cars are parked here and there, Greenwich always gets me thinking about Colonial Williamsburg. The houses, both brick and wood-sided, big and small, are narrow and tall for the most part, but there are also a couple that are a bit more squat and wider. There's also a building that doubles as a general store/cafe with a separate post office. Despite our hopes for someplace to eat, the store was closed for the summer.

A little farther down, we came upon the Greenwich Tea Burners memorial, ringed by a decorative metal fence. Erected in 1908, it commemorates the December 1774 uprising that echoed the Boston party a year earlier.

Interestingly, the tea was in this busy port on the Cohansey River distinctly for safekeeping. Philadelphia was deemed too dangerous for the cargo because patriots were both boycotting British tea and destroying what they could find of it. The captain of the tea ship Greyhound was told that Dan Bowen, a friendly loyalist in Greenwich, would hide the controversial shipment in his basement until it could safely be brought to market.

It didn't take long for news of the newly-arrived tea to get around Greenwich, and a small committee formed to determine what was to become of the tea. A more spirited group had a different idea. Before the committee came to consensus, a group of 23 patriots costumed themselves as Indians and broke into Bowen's cellar to steal the tea. They brought it to the market square and ignited it in a huge and rather fragrant bonfire.

Spurred by frustrated local Tories, the loyalist government twice attempted to prosecute the tea burners but failed to gain a conviction. According to some accounts, the tea burner who suffered the most was a man named Stacks, whose love of a good brew apparently compelled him to stuff his pockets with purloined tea before joining his compatriots in setting the rest ablaze. It's not clear whether he took it to sell or for his own consumption, but he was known as "Tea" Stacks until his dying day.

Our tea fix gotten, our next stop was for lunch. A number of options awaited us in Bridgeton, not far away as long as we could find our way back to Route 49.  No GPS, no compass, and a map that Ivan described as "a bunch of lines, laminated." This was going to be fun. Any wonder why I stocked up on snack bars and water before we left home?

The massacre: not in Boston, but at Hancock's house

Several years ago, my work took me to Lower Alloways Creek from time to time, bringing me past the Colonial-era Hancock House. What I was doing in a remote part of Salem County is a story for another day. The important thing to note is that every time I went past, the house was closed, leaving me with unsatisfied curiosity.

Hancock House is more than a nearly-300-year-old house whose bricks are laid in interesting patterns. It was the site of a March 1778 massacre. When Ivan brought up the possibility of spending a day at the Delaware bayshore last weekend, I suggested that we make a visit to the Hancock. Maybe it would even be open this time.

Before we get into our trip, let's talk about the massacre. Just a few days earlier, the Americans had taken the surrounding area after the battle of Quinton Bridge, about 90 Continentals were quartered at the Hancock House. The home's owner, William Hancock, was a judge and a Tory, and he'd left the area once the American forces achieved dominance. However, he returned on March 20 and was quickly taken captive.

All were asleep when a raiding party of 200 British soldiers attacked the house early the next morning. Many of the Americans were bayonetted in their sleep; others pled in vain to be taken prisoner. A precious few were able to escape, but ironically, Hancock himself was murdered by the loyalists with whom he agreed.

The house is now owned by the State of New Jersey and run by local volunteers. I'd actually stumbled upon the house being open on a March day many years ago, and found the guides to be very friendly and knowledgeable. In fact, before I left that day, they implored me to come back few weeks later for a reenactment. "You'll really like the massacre," they told me. "It's a lot of fun!"

We weren't as lucky with the latest visit, though I'd checked the website in advance for operating hours. A sign outside the house said the volunteer staff was at a street fair in Salem City, so no one was around to show us the interior. Even if you have the same luck we did, however, there's lots to see around the property. The site's interpreters probably realized that a fair number of visitors would happen by when no-one was there to tell the story, so they developed really good signage.

The house exterior is the logical first thing to check out, but it's not exactly obvious since it's on the side not facing a street. The patterned end brickwork contains both a zigzag pattern and the initials of the house's owners, William and Sarah Hancock, along with 1734, the year it was built. Overall, the architecture reflects the English/Quaker influence of the European settlers in that part of New Jersey. Salem County is second to only Burlington County in the country when it comes to the number of surviving brick houses with pattern designs.

Next, there's a Swedish plank cabin on the property. This building itself was built in 1931 by the Civil Works Administration with 400 year old cedar mined from property in Salem. All of the craftsmanship is authentic to the 1700s, meaning it would look very familiar to the Swedes who settled in the area during Colonial times. An informative wayside offers all the information you'd probably want to know about the cabin.

We also took a few minutes to check out the creek that meanders in front of the house. While there was no real wildlife to be seen, I don't doubt that the occasional muskrat makes its way through, along with various waterfowl. Yet another marker explains that PSE&G has been doing mitigation work to encourage the growth of water life in consideration for the operation of its nuclear plant a few miles away.

Satisfied we'd learned as much about Hancock House as we could expect that day, we set course for our next destination. We'd learned about a massacre that didn't occur in Boston... how about a tea party that didn't happen in Boston, either? Off we went, traversing the back roads to Greenwich.