Turkey Hollow doesn't present our young people with a whole lot of options for the weekend. The nearest movie is about a forty minute drive and the nearest town, Livingston Manor, closes up at eight sharp each night. You can drive through downtown on a Saturday night and think you have come upon a scene from the nuclear holocaust movie On the Beach. All that's missing are tumbleweeds blowing through the center of town.

For me, it is just fine -- although I do miss the theaters. So, I snuggle up with a good book, have friends in from the city for a weekend or watch the latest on DVD. But being young in such a rural and isolated environment in today's world must be tough. You often can find the local students 'hanging' out somewhere. With access to the entire world via television and the Internet, it must be hard to have it so close yet so far away.

For my family, growing up country offered a lot of options -- most of which would no doubt be greeted with hoots and hollers today! The early years of my life we had no television and even when we got our first one, an amazing Philco console, it often didn't work and money to fix it didn't come easy. But it didn't matter. Because there was always something to do on weekend nights. In our tiny old elementary school in Daretown, I remember square dances being held in our small wood-floor auditorium. Young and old alike would line up to do the "Virginia Reel". Oh, how I loved to dance those evenings away as a youngster --even when I felt relentlessly silly twirling a big, overly-perfumed adult woman! Indeed, for a while, being a square dance 'caller' seem like the best job in the world.

Other evenings would be covered-dish suppers at the church or grange hall - tables piled high with food from all the best cooks in the county. During the meals, laughter and lively conversation would fill the hall, followed by some form of local entertainment. Once in awhile when I was really young (back when the earth's crust was cooling...) there would be a local 'minstrel show' benefiting some neighborhood group. The men would appear in actual black face and full drag singing songs and attempting Vaudeville-like skits. All of us would laugh until our sides ached, obvilious as to how racist these shows were. In retrospect, of course, one can look back and see how steeped in racism a community could be - behavior that seemed so innocuous and ordinary to this naive but well-meaning populace.

When Elmer Grange Number 29 built its big new hall - a long white concrete block building - it became the center of community fun. Often we would have Polka challenges as the ethnic city bands would tour the rural areas. My sister, Patsy, and I became great Polka dancers and often would clear the floor. To this day, it's still not clear if the floor was swept clean because we were so good or because we knocked all the other dancers off the floor! "Dancing With The Stars" had nothing on us, believe me! The Hall would also be the place of annual benefit Turkey dinners. The women would cook all week and everyone would go door to door selling tickets for a reserved place setting at the communal dine. People, by the hundreds, would come from all over to get their all-you-can-eat Turkey-with-all-the fixings-spread. The kids served as bus boys and waiters and everyone, at least in my happily selective memory, had a grand time.

My moment of personal glory at the Elmer Grange came when I was asked to escort and lead the dancing with Miss New Jersey Grange. It was a high local honor in to be chosen to escort her majesty. My mother was so proud that I was picked to escort the beautiful visiting debutante as she made her appearance at the local hall. Mom spent the entire week explaining to me the proper etiquette toward royalty -- the manners, the deference, the gallantry. Confident and beaming from ear to ear, I flawlessly guided her from the main entrance to the stage and then into the first dance. My shoes never were shined so bright; my trousers were never pleated so crisply.

My favorite nights were FFA (Future Farmers of America) "Fun Night". On these occasions, the entire town would crowd into the small gymnasium for an evening of bucolic challenges. The greased pig contest would have us howling. As the poor, squealing pig ran around the gym, guys would attempt to catch and hold it for thirty seconds - a triumph that would accord them a bonafide win. Nowadays, I would feel horribly sorry for the pig and probably be tempted to call PETA! The greased pole contest was equally as funny and even somewhat erotic for a gay man. Guys would in teams tempt to climb a grease telephone pole to get the prize at the top. Shirts off, covered in grease and sweat, the guys would pile on top of each other to tempt to get to the top. The cheering and laughter from the crowd raised the roof. And it was sexy to boot!

Finally, there was the Cumberland County Fair - the big event of the summer. It dwarfed all the rest of the local festivities, bar none. Tent after tent was filled with all the best baked goods, prized livestock and home made quilts. Various games of chance and skill offered up plush, stuffed animals. But the culmination - and most envied accolade - was the Miss Cumberland County Fair contest. One especially memorable year, my sister Patsy was a contestant as Miss Seabrook Farms. My entire family, collectively holding our individual breaths, sat in the decorated grandstand, craning our necks, assessing the competition. After all, whoever won would be crowned by New Jersey's own Governor Robert Meyner! The thought of the Governor crowning our sister sent my brother Melvin and I into spasms of giggles. Unfortunately, my sister only made it to the Court and just missed being Miss Cumberland County Fair. The injustice of it all! Solace could only be provided by more cotton-candy and salted pretzels.

Admittedly, these recollections may have gotten a little burnished over time -- smoothing over the rough patches enough to leave behind only fond memories of growing up country. Still, even in this age of I-Pods and I-Phones, I my hope is that the local youth here in Turkey Hollow are able to slow down enough to have similar experiences. My formative years as a country boy taught me a real sense of community and neighbors. It's what makes me who I was, who I wanted to be, and who I am. And gave me moments to cherish for the rest of my life.