In February I introduced you to Salem, NJ and hinted at an “acorn” in its midst, a sign of life worth celebrating.
It’s more than a seed now. It’s becoming a seed-bearing oasis.
Last July I was house-sitting for my mother-in-law on the Delaware Bay in nearby Elsinboro. My buddy Tom “Raw” Diehl came down for a couple of nights of dude time.1
On a bike outing we ventured into town in hopes of catching a glimpse of a community garden I’d heard so much about from my mother-in-law Wendy.
The morning was bright and warm, and being typically spontaneous and ignorant, the two Toms weren’t aware that summer programming was in full motion.
I spied one of the directors, Beth Davenport, already in the garden weeding. I had gotten to know her and her husband Chris over the years through Wendy’s church.
She was getting a jump on a busy day of cultivation with kids from the neighborhood.
Soon Olive Street Community Garden was buzzing with life on a former vacant lot still flanked by homes in disrepair.
Chanda Williams, Beth’s main collaborator, was in the Ann C. Campbell Garden House setting up for a cooking class with a couple of high school kids.
Raw and I were set back on our heels by the craftsmanship, functionality, and sheer beauty of their project.
In light of all the fits, starts, and fudged promises in Salem’s recent history, I had to ask myself:
How is this effort by the Lighthouse Ministry any different?
Will its fruits bear more fruit into the future?
A bit of context first.
Salem County is a quiet, rural place, rich in watersheds and farmlands. As a region it’s relatively spacious and prosperous.
The city, its county seat, has been on an economic slip ‘n slide, though, for decades. The steep kind pointed downhill that ends on a hot stretch of pavement.
What you see on Market Street are stately federal-style buildings. Some are law offices, some apartments, and some are vacant.
The historical care is on full display, giving off a scent of hopeful refinement.
First Presbyterian Church, where my mother-in-law worships, is well maintained, a white sentinel in what is otherwise a blockade of brick structures.
Broadway’s a different story.
Despite its designation in 1992 to the National Register of Historic Places, this long boulevard is a ragged reminder of the town’s glory days: wrung out by industrial retreat, de-investment, and population decline.
The present state of the once bustling J.C. Penney is a case in point. Its exterior tile work speaks of gleaming Saturday nights thronged with residents shopping, strutting, and kibitzing on the sidewalks.
The last I heard, an effort was underway to create a farmer’s market in the building, seemingly stalled since the pandemic.
Each Memorial Day for many years Becky and I would schlepp our five kids to Nana and Grandpop’s adopted town to witness a somber and colloquial remembrance service on Broadway, complete with anxiety-inducing gunfire!
Our kids felt the desperation of the town, and we talked about it often: the whys, the whats, and the hows of healthy place-making.
Since the early 2000s, despite a gallant effort by the Stand Up For Salem organization, economic development in the most visible downtown district has been incremental or unnoticeable.
And that’s just the business district.
A casual cruise down any side street shows that, except for a few pockets here and there, most of the historic homes are pathetically run-down. Years of neglect, generations of renters, and cycles of landlords have taken their toll.
15 or so years ago, my father-in-law Frank pointed out a couple of blocks of homes that were to be bought up by an out-of-county real estate company.
His pride in the potential improvements was tempered by his own experience of watching such promises of new breath turn into empty bellows.
As did this big housing project.
The owners brought the homes up to code, did basic renovations, and leased them to under-privileged people.
Which would’ve been fine, but rather than taking this opportunity to enlist new homeowners and build some pride and equity, an even larger slum lording situation was born.
It felt like some kind of underhanded deal between the state, city, and a few fat cats in North Jersey.
Those same streets look and feel the same way they did before the massive project. Who’s surprised?
What makes Salem’s community garden different from any other (may I say it?), paternalistic endeavor?
I can think of six factors:
Access: Olive Street Community Garden is smack-dab in the middle of town, not on the outskirts where a car is required for involvement. This is perfect for kids, the elderly, or anyone, for that matter.
Permeability: Residents can enjoy its beauty, programming, and fruits easily. For instance, a stand at the sidewalk is regularly stocked with fresh, free produce.
Beauty. Not only is this plot bright with color2 and cultivation, it will only be a matter of time before, one-by-one, the surrounding properties will improve. A coat of paint here, a flower pot there. Maybe a lot more than that will grow, and who knows how far into town it will spread?
Recovery. Beautification will then lead to renewed interest in the neighborhood by current and new homeowners. It will happen bit by bit through those who want to bring back the inherent vitality of town living.
Generation. In an active sense Olive Street Garden is generative. Relationships with (and among) hundreds of young people are being formed in the context of activities designed for human flourishing: gardening (hard work!), cooking, sharing, and I’m sure a ton of laughing!
Humility. Chanda and Beth do not parachute in, do their good deeds, then bounce out of town. They live in the city, as do many of the volunteers and students.
What could shift the cultural momentum in places like Salem?
A big part of the answer is humble and incremental improvements over time from the bottom up,3 much as you’d find on Olive Street.
The garden showcases a move away from a top-down answer to Salem’s woes. I see it as a valiant attempt at fraternalism.
I have a feeling I’ll be returning there many times in the coming years for a breath of fresh air, and not just metaphorically.
News from Town
Welcome to these new readers: Kerilyn, Steph, TM, Don and Rachel!
Becky and her Mom Wendy were enjoying an Alaskan cruise, but don’t feel sorry for me. What I lacked in luxuriant oceanic frippery was made up for in kayaking, biking, and belching around the waterways of Salem County.
Salem, NJ’s majority population is Black with a history of struggle much like a southern city. The students we saw on our visit were non-white. As the garden grows, so will its leadership, hopefully, to reflect the town’s makeup.
See Charles Marohn’s Strong Towns: A Bottom-Up Revolution to Rebuild American Prosperity (Wiley, 2019).