06/11/2026
From My Little Corner of the World
Yesterday, I pulled into the gas station on Route 206 in Peapack-Gladstone. Or maybe it was Far Hills. It could even have been Bedminster.
I live in an area of New Jersey that, if I had only one sentence to describe it, would be this: country living with a healthy dose of sophistication and a collection of intertwined community zip codes.
The towns blur together. Sometimes it seems the only difference is whether you have a post office box or daily visits from the mail carrier. One street can belong to one town, while the house across the road belongs to another. Around here, geography is often less about borders and more about where the mail happens to land.
For years, I had a Far Hills address. Then one day my mail simply stopped arriving. A trip to the post office revealed that I apparently now lived in Gladstone. Same street. Same house. Different town. Different zip code.
My first thought was that I must have missed that memo.
My second thought was who was going to volunteer to update my recently renewed passport and Real ID driver's license. The Real ID process had been challenging enough. At one point I had to produce my husband's death certificate from more than thirty years ago because of a name change.
But back to the gas station in whichever town it happened to be.
As I sat in my car, I noticed a man standing beside his vehicle looking genuinely confused. His New York license plate suggested he had not received New Jersey's memo about not pumping your own gas.
He appeared to be a member of the Hasidic Jewish community, evident from his long black coat, broad-brimmed hat, full beard, and distinctive sidelocks.
Just then, the gas station attendant stepped out from the service bay. He wore a neatly wrapped white turban and a long black beard. At nearly the same moment, a FedEx driver, a young Black man with a warm smile, climbed down from his truck.
Within seconds, three men from entirely different backgrounds found themselves standing together, chatting as if they had known one another for years.
I was struck by how naturally it unfolded.
Different cultures, different faiths, and different life experiences, all sharing the same corner of Far Hills. Or Gladstone. Or Bedminster.
I wanted to join them. To throw a Catholic white woman into the mix.
All I managed was a quick hello and an "Isn't it a beautiful day?" But for some reason, it felt important.
What I really wanted to say was this:
Why can't it all be like this?
The kindness of showing someone unfamiliar with the neighborhood how the gas pump works.
The friendly FedEx driver who shared that he had the same experience when he first moved to New Jersey.
The gas station attendant who could have chosen to embarrass or belittle, but instead chose to teach.
We are so fortunate to live where we live.
We all have opportunities every day to choose grace over division, understanding over judgment, and kindness over indifference.
This July 4th, America celebrates its 250th birthday.
Let's make it the best one yet.
From my little corner of the world, I will remember yesterday.
And I will carry it with me.
