Our Hometown

As I walk my dog down the street on this crisp, bright morning, I am struck by the colors reflecting off the fiery autumn leaves. I feel a sense of contentment and serenity and am happy that this little town is the place I call home. Laurel Springs has always been a part of my life, you see, I grew up here, and when I was expecting my first child, I returned here, to the quintessential small town, with my husband, to raise our family.

I look up at the turning leaves of the maples, oaks and giant sycamores as I walk down the streets named after the majestic trees on my way to one of my favorite walks through the woods along Laurel Lake. I have to pause to hold Luna, my dog, back for a few moments to let the small flock of wild turkeys cross the street before starting down the path at the end of the dead end street into the woods. Most of the streets on this side of town end with a path to the lake. Some connect, some just have benches that you can sit and enjoy the tranquility of your surroundings.

The sun reflects brightly off the water as I crunch through the leaf-strewn path towards one of our town’s gems, Crystal Springs. Luna, always alert, brings my attention to a doe and her fawn not far off the path before they dart off. On most days, I would pass some kids fishing or perhaps a kayaker out on the lake, but the kids are at school and I suppose it is a little early for the kayakers, so the geese and ducks are taking care of the fishing a floating for them.

When we arrive at Crystal Springs, I feel like I am home. I walk to the grotto, with its spring gurgling out, just one of the many springs that helped name our small community Laurel Springs. This is one of our little town’s claims to fame, Crystal Springs, thanks to the poet Walt Whitman. As the students proudly learn in the little schoolhouse that educates less than 200 students each year, Walt Whitman used to summer here, and creating much scandal, bathe naked in the lake and springs for the therapeutic qualities they purported to poses. In his book Specimen Days, he referred to the area as “the prettiest lake in either America or Europe”. Both this book, and Whitman’s Leaves of Grass are esteemed throughout the community.

As I continue my walk through Crystal Springs, there is a new addition that was not present in my childhood, the Whitman Walk. It is a lovely little boardwalk that runs along the lake. On the boards there are stanzas of Whitman’s poetry staggered throughout its length, along with benches, again to be able to sit and soak in the beauty of the nature that surrounds you. But because I am with Luna, there will be no sitting and reflecting this morning.

We head back up the hill back onto the picket fence lined streets, past the big old Victorian houses interspersed with smaller, mid-century homes. I hear a train whistle as the freight train makes its way west along the railroad tracks through the center of town. Luna and I walk up the street towards the tracks and make our way towards the center of town.

The center of Laurel Springs is the heart of our community. It is home to our mini-main street, with our few little shops, like Bella Vita, our pizza place, the Hair Saloon, our salon, the Maker’s Workshop, our arts & crafts workshop, and Solus, our pharmacy, as well as our Police Department, Borough, Fire Department and our tiny train station and our elementary school. It is also where many of our community events take place. Soon, there will be pumpkins proudly lined up in front of the train station to be judged for the annual pumpkin carving contest. Then the annual Halloween parade where the kids will parade from the school to the fire hall, where the proud winners will be announced and everyone celebrates with hot chocolate in the firehouse.

Our fire department, Station 60, is another point of pride of the community. In such a small knit town, the volunteer firefighters are a community in themselves and the department is a part of so many of the town’s traditions. Station 60 is located next to the Cord Mansion, the 130 year old stone mansion originally belonging to Sam Cord, a developer who built many of the homes in our little town. The stately mansion now houses the Police Department and Borough Hall, another quaint feature that makes our small town unique.

As Luna and I continue past these municipal buildings, I see the large evergreen tree on the front lawn, around which the community will gather when the wind changes in another month or so for the annual Christmas Tree Lighting. The school choir will sing carols, Santa will show up on the fire truck to sit in the gazebo and listen to all of the children’s Christmas lists and families will gather in and outside of the fire station for more hot chocolate and baked goods supplied by the volunteers from the school’s Home & School Council, for all to share.

Soon the small school children will bundle up to make their annual trek from the school to the train station to mail their wish list to the North Pole. On Christmas Eve, Santa will make his way around town on the fire truck to stop and visit at each house to tell the children to be good, to go to bed early and to leave them with a small box of treats.

I remember winter being a magical time in Laurel Springs. I remember ice skating on Laurel Lake, sledding at Cheeseman’s Hill and the sounds you would hear when walking though the woods after a snow storm, with the ice in the trees sounding like an enchanted wind chime in the biting winter wind. I remember the snows melting into the spring that we were anxiously awaiting so that we could be free of our indoor confines to flee to these same woods or ride our bikes all around town the same way my kids will when they get out of school today.

The Cord Mansion Greene hosts a myriad of the town’s other festivals throughout the year. In May, spring is celebrated at Laurel Springs Day, a delightful community event with live music, vendors, activities for the kids and sometimes even an auto show. The annual 4thof July parade through town with the decorated bikes, floats and fire trucks ends here with awards and refreshments, and Whit’send, the town’s annual music festival, where local bands play and food and craft vendors sell their wares.

I cross the train tracks, once the Philadelphia and Reading’s Atlantic City Line, which carried vacationers to the shore and helped Mr. Cord sell many of his houses in our once upon a time summer resort town, where many would stop and stay at the Lakeview Inn, which is now the house across the street from my own. As we continue our walk up Stone Road, named so as it was the stone driveway to the Cord Mansion, I pass the War Memorial Park, where every Memorial Day a ceremony is held to remember the members of our community who served our country. Behind it lies the stately red brick Laurel Springs Elementary School, where children are inside, eagerly learning in the same classrooms I studied in as a child.

A bit further up the road we approach the tree lined front yard of the Whitman Stafford Farm House, the historic house in which the famous poet summered, another of our town’s gems that helps us usher in the summer and many of its activities. We start the summer here in June with Walt Fest, an art and poetry festival that people far and wide flock to with artist sharing their crafts, poetry and trolleys that run throughout town to share our history.

As we walk past the house I can clearly see the pagoda out back and sweet memories flood back of the peach and blueberry festivals and fun summer concerts held here by string bands and folk singers. Families bringing blankets to spread on the lawn to listen as the children run around playing together in the yard. This year is a busy year for the old house, as there are ongoing activities celebrating the good, grey poet’s 200th birthday.

Making our way home, I reflect on each of these places and traditions that make this little town my hometown, and my heart is full.