About when I was following my roots, I returned to a space old in both legend and personal memory

Only miles from where the fabled Jersey Devil spawned, a centuries old paper mill stood over a canal connecting the Oswego to the Wading river system. About the time it was in full production, the Jersey Devil himself terrorized the local towns of Batsto and New Gretna.

Its said to have been the 13th child of the witch Mother Leeds. Witnesses profess the demon was spawned with hoofed and hairy legs, wings, a pointed tail and a goat's head, all of which emerged from a child's torso.

The demon burned down the house and escaped into the night. Intermittently through the next century, the Jersey devil was spotted attacking pets, suspected of killing livestock in gruesome ways and its screams were heard echoing through the swamps. A church was burned prior to a mob of angry locals armed with pitchforks and torches chasing the demon into the night. No one knows why it never returned to terrorize, but its still spotted by the lone and weary once in a harvest moon as they trudge though sugar sand among cedar swamps, turned around with a wish for home.

With the legend in mind, I cleared barrier fences near the swamp to get a closer look at seldom frequented ruins. As I brave the fence's end at the edge of the swamp, I'm grateful the water level isn't too high. South Jersey has emulated the subtropics lately. Mid spring into late summer can include monsoon-like freak thunderstorms that dump water like a rainforest. My venture took place post-monsoon but there was just enough room to squeeze by.

Canopied overgrowth obscure ancient foundations from sunlight for all but those trip upon them. You must tread lightly over moss and be careful not to stumble over old stone hidden by lichen.

Overtop a wall, the tallest structure of these ruins tower over the tree line in a sharp contrast to remaining ruins.

This structure's base is visible first through skinny arching cedars over what was once a doorway of an old building.

Finally, the structure's base is exposed. As a kid, i remember climbing in this window area. I was too young to fully appreciate the majesty and fragility of these primitive dwellings to respect it's space, although I really only flipped a rock or two in my marauding phase.

*My earliest memories here are as a teenager, toking on my pal's parents' home grown grass from his makeshift brass pipe he called "old rusty". *

Time slowed down for me that day. Minutes felt like hours as I fought an irresistible grin with a spicy dank that filled my nose. I think on that day more than 10 years ago, it looked just as green and glorious as it did on this day.

A view from the other side

Theres really no good way to capture the entire breadth of it.

Stagnant water here sits a blood red from accumulated iron in the water, seemingly in ode to blood spilled by the Jersey Devil.

It's a strange place in time when you're in there alone. After emerging I continued on my original route to find a familiar face. At least theres always a local yokel to greet you as you he breaks to burn one up!

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As well as graphite illustrations, I enjoy photography and photojournalism. I know I talked about being a tattoo apprenticeship in my last post and showed you illustrations rather than actual tattoos , but next time, I'll tell ya why I got into tattooing and show you a few pictures. Who knows, I might even show you some old tattoos.. Anythings possible. Maybe one day poetry? Or rants on esotericism?