Lighting out east from the station, I look down and out the window right and see the expansive backyards -- uniformly large lots -- of the homes on the west side of Park Avenue. One of them possibly Costanza Iadanza's. One of them certainly Leonard Melni, that one I could point to. There are few, if any, gardens, not yet anyway. It's still only mid-April, just.But no raised beds. I think of all the mowing and trimming and edging, and their wonderful size. Enough to play catch or hurl a fastball. On Caldwell and Clark and Huntley, lots are irregularly sized. I see them with adult eyes yet marvel at how they stretched, yawning, when I was a boy. Unknown, mysterious, worth exploring.
Lighting out from the station east, I stare up and out the left window. The houses on Argyle Court implanted into the hillside like Rushmore, closer to the tracks. Some with balconies or porches to scan the skyline view. Newer than the next developer's lots, on Prospect Hill, set farther back and unseen from the train. But they're there, on more land, bigger lots.Secluded and private, the very essence of the suburb, atop the second Watchung Ridge.
Next comes Friar Tuck, none seen except the outsized new construction foundation that will dominate the scene even more when finished. Was that the Johnson's old house, Mary McVicker's, that came down to make room?
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