Road Dreams

I grew up in Haddonfield, New Jersey — an idyllic colonial town not far from Philadelphia. It had been founded in 1613, and George Washington had lodged at the Indian King Tavern and marched his armies under the same buttonwood trees that still lined The King's Highway. In Summer the giant maple trees formed a roof of green over most of the town, and in the Autumn that roof exploded in electric yellow, orange and red.

Haddonfield was a wonderful place to grow up. It was small, quaint, and relatively insulated from the world around it. The town had history, wealth, and streets lined with restored colonial homes and manicured lawns. I used to love just walking or riding my bike through those streets and feeling all the living that had gone on in that place and enjoying being part of it.

At the same time I also felt a yearning that was accentuated by the quiet stability of the town; the same shell that insulated the town from the outside also isolated it. While I loved the beauty and tranquility of Haddonfield another part of my felt stifled by it, and I longed to break free. I'm very glad that I had a place such as this to grow up, but I had to move on.

Next: Growing Up by the Highway