Ghost Towns

The silence that pervades South Jersey is musical to one upon whose sympathetic imagination the past plays keenly. It seems to echo the humming of the mill wheels, the ringing anvils and the rattling sails of the boats that plied the Mullica.

The Mullica, known to the Indians by the poetic name of Minne-lo-la, or Little Water, has its ancestral tree. It descends directly to the Ocean through the medium of Great Bay. Four generations are repre­sented by the Ocean, the Bay, Little Egg Harbor River and the three parent rivers, the Mullica, Wading and Batsto. These waters might be likened to the veins that carry the blood through the human system from the capillaries to the pulsating heart. Into the Mullica four hundred and seventy-six square miles of territory drain, and emptying into it at a point known as the Forks are smaller streams, the Batsto and Atsion Rivers, Nesco or Jackson Stream and West Mill Creek. But not only do they drain the land. In the old days they replenished it. Their service was threefold, for aside from irrigating it naturally they were the means of bringing necessary supplies into the country and carrying out its products. They were the chief means of transportation, and sailing ships, built by the in­habitants of native iron and timber, sailed briskly up and down. Iron, glass, wood, timber and charcoal were sent to the markets, and the needed commodities received in exchange were brought back by these same ships.

I set out yesterday to explore the Southern part of the canal through the pines, running from Mount Misery Brook to Bisphams Mill Creek. The day was heavy and ominous, the beginnings of the first Nor'easter of the Winter of 07-08 could be felt. Wisely, I stopped off and picked up a new pair of gloves and scarf.

The best way to explore the Southern part of the canal is to park near the bridge at Lower Mill. Garbage is strewn through the area - it's remoteness lends itself well to being a dumping ground. A pile of computer monitors, old appliances, and vinyl siding litter the area. Recent rains have turned the road to muck, although fortunately the puddles are not deep.

I crossed the bridge and headed towards the spot where I wanted to park. The little clearing off to the side of the road had already been claimed by two vehicles - hunters, no doubt - so I decided to turn around and try exploring the Northern part of the canal.

Readers of the my last article will remember that the canal rises up from the remains of the trestle over Mount Misery Brook and continues on until it reaches a farm field. There the canal seems to angle along the side of the property, and presumably crosses Junction Road. I backtracked out to Four Mile Road, and drove on into New Lisbon.