Garden State of Mind

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Some of us like where we live, but there are people from New Jersey who prove that maybe you don’t like it as much as you think.

New Jersey isn’t just somewhere we live, it’s a state of mind.

New Jersey vs Everyone Else

Don’t let the in-state fighting about Pork Roll vs Taylor Ham (it’s Pork Roll) distract from the real enemy: everyone else.

Our lovely neighbors in New York and Pennsylvania seem to believe that we have Little Brother Syndrome, that we want to be NYC or Philly. The reality is, we have no interest in being either of those places. We very much hold our own.

I find conversations with people from Elsewhere to be especially comical when they tell me they “grew up at the Shore” or try to relate with their tales of sparkling NJ nostalgia, and still have the gall to end the conversation by saying they still don’t “really like NJ, just The Shore.”

It’s all fun and games about hating New Jersey until they want to go to a football game to cheer on two different NY teams, head to the beach, purchase weed, get married at a vineyard, be part of a filming location, visit lavender farms, gamble in Atlantic City, hike the Appalachian Trail, or a hundred other activities.

It’s most especially prominent when out-of-staters choose to leave their residences for greener subdivisions and settle in commuting towns in NJ. We thought it was Never New Jersey?

Mental gymnastics don’t count as a sport, by the way.

When You’re Here You’re Fambly

New Jersey is a unique character, and it has been portrayed as such many times over in popular media.

Let’s play a game.

Put a finger down if your favorite show is The Sopranos, or your favorite artist is Bruce Springsteen or Whitney Houston. Put a finger down if your favorite author is Harlan Coben or Judy Blume. Put a finger down if your favorite actor is Danny Devito, Jack Nicholson, Kiersten Dunst, Meryl Streep, or several dozen others all hailing from Jersey.

Do you have any fingers still up? If it’s the middle one, we don’t mind. It’s the other state bird.

The Land of Abundance

While I playfully touch upon the ill-will toward my homeland of Jersey, it leads me to the joy of our great state.

They hate us cause they ain’t us.

When you share what you love about where you are, your words take on new meaning, have a different impact, and offer a refreshed perspective. It reminds you that home is where you’re from and where your heart is—sometimes they’re the same place.

Just a few short weeks ago, I had a conversation with a close friend in New England over some lobster rolls about the magic of the East Coast, which quickly devolved into me joyously sharing the unfathomable abundance that is New Jersey.

I couldn’t help but descend into a soliloquy about the innumerable enchantments we possess.

A Treasure Trove of Ecology

The Garden State was appropriately named; we pack a punch for such a small state.

NJ is an agricultural powerhouse, contributing 1.2 percent of the state’s total GDP. In 2022 alone, NJ generated $1.5 billion in agricultural revenue. That’s no joke. Furthermore, a significant portion of that money is repurposed and spent in-state, supporting the local economy in various ways.

I’ve waxed poetic about the Pinelands a few times online, but I’m always game to talk about how truly incredible they are. The Pinelands Reserve spans 1.1 million acres, characterized by silica sand and unique flora and fauna, including 59 distinct species of reptiles and amphibians, 399 different species of birds, and 91 unique types of fish. Not to mention a haunted, dense forest filled with ghost towns, Weird NJ inspiration, the New Jersey Devil, and picturesque landscapes.

We boast 130 miles of coastline speckled by natural barrier islands visited by millions of visitors each season, and potentially once by Blackbeard himself.

Each beach town possesses its own incredible history, from fishing histories and merchants to religious outposts and musical havens—there’s a town to satisfy all of our personalities.

I was thrilled to share that NJ has its own dinosaur, discovered in Haddonfield, and lovingly referred to as Haddy.

I excitedly described the migration patterns of birds and monarch butterflies alike, both of which make stops in Jersey during their long journeys.

Once I came up for air, I was pleasantly surprised by the energy matched by my friend, who was unaware of these gems.

She was dazzled by Jersey’s richness. I was buzzing to share more.

New Jersey is Haunted

I couldn’t help but add to our conversation about Jersey treasure, that is, the gem of our rich folklore and ghost stories. New Jersey is filled with ghost towns, lore that runs through generations, and sightings of spirits abound.

Would I be me if I didn’t share at least one of my experiences?

I think not.

One of my favorite aspects of my great state is the Spirits that keep me company. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting several Revolutionary War ghosts over the last few years, which has tempted me to visit more locations as my spiritual gifts mature.

Since we were sharing a meal in spooky and historic Salem, Massachusetts, it felt fitting to reference NJ’s ghostly Revolutionary War past that seeps into the present.

Washington Slept Here

Morristown, NJ, is famously one of the (many) Washington Slept Here locations in the state. Washington spent a particularly challenging winter there with the Continental Army, leaving a plethora of locations to learn about what they were up to and why their ghosts hung around.

The center of town, affectionately known as The Green, has been the heart of the small city for over two centuries and features the historic Presbyterian Church prominently overlooking the beautiful park.

Tucked away in the back of the church, a hidden yet peaceful graveyard houses the resting souls of key players in the Revolution, including a member of the Provincial Congress, several colonels, and prominent tavern proprieter and colonel, Jacob Arnold, owner of Arnold’s Tavern.

It wasn’t shocking when I was met by Continental Soldiers standing to attention on a hot July night in that very cemetery.

A couple of summers ago, I got a bit sauced with some friends, drunkenly suggesting we visit the Presbyterian graveyard well into the wee hours of the morning.

At 1 a.m. or a bit after, we crossed the Green and entered the church’s hallowed grounds.

The noise of the lively town disappeared in the trees, and my heart gave way to excitement. I knew what this place was, having seen it many times during the day, but I had never seen it in the privacy of nighttime.

When we got there, the girls I was with convened elsewhere in the graveyard behind me, but the front of the cemetery entranced me. The shadows I saw commanded my attention.

My intuition was aflame, and I was unafraid, assisted by the lack of inhibition only alcohol can conjure. Excited by the specters in our presence (though I couldn’t see them at the time), I snapped a few photos.

One in the morning transitioned to two in the morning, and it was time to go. Nothing good ever happens after 2 a.m., and I could hear the calls of my comfortable bed beckoning for my return.

Unable to shake the buzz of spirits and Spirit, I stayed up to review my photos, revealing what I knew in my heart I saw: ghosts!

Photo taken by Shannon Gausepohl in Morristown, NJ.

These weren’t just any ghosts. In the photos, there were not one, but two Revolutionary-era soldiers: one, stick straight in a salute, the other, I can only assume, was giving orders.

As a kid, I was obsessed with NJ history, especially Revolution-era history, and here it was, on my camera roll. My inner child did somersaults, as she could only dream of this.

There was no one with us when we arrived, and no one was there when we left.

I think of this experience often. It proved to me that my inner child's dreams are alive and well, supported by those who are not, and consorting with Spirit will only continue to change and shape my life.

Sharing my love of Jersey and my reverence for our spirits delighted my friend, prompting her to ask when she could visit; our calendar apps opened with the thrill of possibility.

Diamond Shores

New Jersey is a magical place. The ocean surrounds us on the east, and the impossible magic of the Appalachians hugs us to the west.

Our beaches are glittered with Cape May Diamonds, naturally tumbled clear quartz, which the Lenni Lenape believed held supernatural powers of good fortune, success, and well-being.

We have literal and figurative gems to collect, a richness for life rivaling just about anywhere else.

As New Jerseyans, we can be anyone we want to be here. We have big dreams, big attitudes, and can start over as many times as we need to be exactly who we’re meant.

Home isn’t just where you’re from; it’s a gem that can be shaped only by us, the light refracting and reflecting who we really are. We don’t need others to see its worth, because we already know.

We’ll always be encouraged and welcome to explore the gems of the world, but there’s no treasure, and no place like home.

Shannon is a writer, intuitive, tarot reader, consort for the departed, diviner of magic, and friend of the spirits. She runs SirenBooks.org, selling books and offering intuitive readings. Book a reading for yourself today!