Yup, I’m from New Jersey

There, I said it. For a long time, actually the entire time I’ve lived in Vermont, which is about 7 years now, I’ve subconsciously tried to hide the fact that I’m from New Jersey. You see, it’s quite a controversial topic to be from New Jersey and then move to Vermont. I spent 6 years living in New York City before moving here, so that might be even more controversial. But what about the childhood memories I have from spending time in Vermont with my family in the 90’s? Before smart phones. Before social media. When I was oblivious to all of the hate in the world. We would go to the West River Farmers Market. We would go to the waterfalls. We would swim in ice cold water and look for tadpoles. We would walk up and down the river in our watershoes, carrying pails and shovels to dig stuff up. We would slip on wet rocks, and bruise our knees and get hundreds of mosquito bites walking through the woods, down to the falls. We would see farmers selling their organic vegetables, artisans creating work as they stood in their market booth chatting with customers. We would sit in the grass and listen to the people playing music and watch the lady spin wool from her sheep into yarn that she would then knit with. These core memories of mine, put me right back here as an adult, where I’ve been following in the footsteps of the very people I saw here twenty five years ago. So yes, I’m from New Jersey. Is that so bad?