Devil Tree, Fake Nudist Colonies, Blairsden (Again)

"I was in a funk the other day," my friend Kristina said, making a face. I was at the dry cleaners I work at, and Sharon and Kristina were visiting me before embarking on a blog adventure.

"Yeah, I feel like I've been in a funk lately, too," I told her. And Sharon nodded in agreement. I suggested the weather being the culprit.

"I want to do summer things, but I can't because it's always raining," Sharon said leaning on the counter in the store.

I can't really describe my funk. I guess it's just the, I've-been-cooped-up-inside restlessness. Plus, I wanted to get a job doing something new and exciting, but instead I went back to the dry cleaners and am babysitting- two things I did when I was in high school.

I want to meet new and wonderful people and see new and wonderful things with old friends. I need adventure. I need excitement. And, if we're being honest here, I need romance.

But, today the rain let up, and Sharon, Kristina and I decided it was time to take off for the suburban streets of Jersey.

We went to the Devil Tree. If you're from central Jersey and know Weird New Jersey, you've probably heard of the Devil Tree. If I had to guess, I would say the legend of the Devil Tree is only second in popularity to the tale of the Jersey Devil.

The Devil Tree is located in a basically empty field in Bernardsville on Long Road. It's been made into a state park because so many kids have wandered around it, inching closer and closer to the pits of Hell... or something like that.

Anyway, legend has it that the now rich development across the street from it used to be a big plot of land with a KKK headquarters. And the KKK used to hang people on the Devil Tree. Supposedly, because of all the evil done there, that the tree is now cursed/haunted/possessed and if you try to chop it down, you will undoubtedly reach your untimely demise.

There's also a part of the story that says if you're snooping around in the field at night, a crazed man in a pick up truck will come and get you. The stories on Weird New Jersey's website go like this:

My friend took a branch from the tree once and broke a bone/got into a car accident/had some unfortunate thing happen to them.

Whether or not they're true, I can't really verify. However, this is what I can say about the Devil Tree:

1) I know people who have peed on it, and they've lived to tell the tale without broken bones or concussions or anything of the like.

2) An ex-boss of mine (who I really trust and isn't a liar or someone who makes up tall tales) said that she got chased by the guy in the pick up truck.

3) And in spite of being an agnostic, I won't get into a car with anyone who takes a branch. I'm pretty sure I'll believe in God before I believe in the Devil, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Pascal's Wager. Except on a darker level.

When we got to the Devil's Tree, there were some high school kids hanging around. One girl was trying to scare the other three and was doing a pretty bad job at it.

We ignored them and looked at the area of the tree where the hanging branch used to be. It was recently cut off. I couldn't find any reports on whether or not the landscapers have died doing so. For their sake, I hope not. But whoever took the job must be really brave, or have a low tolerance for superstition.

Sharon touched the tree, and I thought there might've been a rumor that the tree felt hot to the touch. But she said that it didn't. Some rumors are just rumors.

We walked back to our car, and I couldn't help but feel like I would never want to live across from the tree or anywhere near it. Even if it isn't full of evil forces from the underworld, it's still a grave reminder of the people were killed in the name of racism. Even without the Devil, I would say there's a bunch of evil floating around.

After we left the Devil Tree, we got back into the car. Bohemian Rhapsody was playing on the Q (104.3) and I moved into the middle seat in the back.

"I'm moving so we can pretend we're in Wayne's World," I said, re-buckling my seat belt and sticking my head in between the passenger and driver's seats in front of me.

Kristina drove us passed an area in the woods that she thought was either a cult site or a nudist colony. The verdict is still out.

I wanted to take them up to Blairsden, since it was dark and a beautiful night. We got hopelessly lost trying to find the center of Bernardsville. We started taking guesses, "Well, I think this road runs parallel to so-and-so road so that means the center of Bernardsville will be to our left."

We were wrong a whole bunch of times, but then, looming up in front of us like Mecca or another holy city, was the center of Bernardsville. We were lost and wandering no more. From there, we hit 202 and went up a whole bunch of streets trying to find Lake Road. Then, we finally hit that too.

Blairsden Lake was a thousand times creepier at night. We went all the way past the lake once and then decided to turn around and take pictures in the dark. None of them came out well, but it was totally beautiful and creepy. You'd see the occasional fire fly or bat zoom over the water, and the moonlight hit the lake just right that you could see the water rippling in the light summer wind.

Sharon wanted to get a picture of the three of us together, and propped her camera up on Kristina's car and set it on a timer. As soon as the picture was taken, we saw a car coming down the road.

Now, Lake Road is big enough for one car. Not two--it's extremely narrow. And here we were, parked in the middle of the road. And although I hate to admit it, I'm not good in high pressure situations.

"GET IN THE CAR!" I yelled. Kristina and Sharon started to move, and collided. Kristina's teeth dug into Sharon's forehead. We jumped into the car and I was still yelling, "KRISTINA, PUT YOUR HEADLIGHTS ON!"

"I CAN'T FIND MY KEY; I CAN'T FIND MY KEY!"

"THEY'RE GOING TO HIT US!"

I found myself covering my head in the back seat. Sharon turned around from the front and held up her hand, signaling to the other drivers to stop.

Somehow, we all forgot that even though our lights weren't on, the other car's lights were. And that they would see us. Which they did. Kristina finally got her car on, and very carefully the other car squeezed passed us, along with a second car that was behind them. But then, both of the cars stopped right in front of us. And from down the road, we could see another car was coming from behind.

Now, I don't know what the logical response to this situation was, but in my head, I was sure they were going to kill us. We were going to be blocked in on this tiny little road and we were going to be killed. Obviously, Kristina was thinking the same way, because I frantically started to say, "Kristina, close the windows and lock the doors!" only to realize that she was in the process of doing just that.

However, instead of killing us, the driver in front of us stuck his hand out the window and motioned for us to move pass him.

We looked at the car as we passed, and the driver was a kid around our age.

"Oh, he was cute," Sharon said wistfully, and I couldn't help but stare at him as we drove by, thinking exactly the same thing.

And finally, with a big exhale of relief, we started laughing. We had managed to get out of the situation alive and fully intact, except for the fact that Kristina had bitten Sharon in the frantic process of trying to get into the car.

We headed home. On the way back, I started to sink into my own thoughts. I couldn't help but feel that no matter what kind of funk I'm in, as long as I have nights like the one I had tonight, I'll get by just fine.