Train Turtle: A Tale of Two Bags (and Their Commuter Host)
“Do you happen to have a tissue?”
Small front pouch.
“Ugh… you don’t have hand sanitizer on you, do you?”
Front middle pocket.
“Oh no! I think I need a band-aid…”
Velcro pouch in front pocket.
“I forgot my pen; does anyone…?”
Top zipper pouch.
Need a Post-It note? Got ‘em. A stapler? Or just staples? Right here. Binder clips? Check. Dry eraser marker? Of course. Granola bar? Of questionable age and consistency, but here and feasibly edible. Paper? Highlighters? Earplugs? Umbrella? iPod charger? Trail mix? Fork, knife, or spoon? Train schedules? Coffee mug? Corkscrew?
All. Included. And more.
Just don’t ask me for whiteout.
********
My journey as a commuter started on my very first day of college. I didn’t drive myself; my then-boyfriend, Dave, did. My 1995 Toyota Camry had decided that its starter was done for, and left me a pedestrian the day before I made the step from a recent GED recipient who hadn’t stepped foot in a classroom for almost a decade to full-time college student. Any true commuter will know that this is par for the course; the moments when you rely on a mode of transportation the most – whatever that mode may be – there is a 99% chance that it will fail you. So was I inducted into commuterdom: dropped off at the community college at 8am, picked up 8:30pm, and hoping that my car would be out of the shop within the week.
My only company that first day, as I navigated strange hallways and tried to avoid awkward encounters in student lounges with couples attending to lively teenage hormones, was my backpack. Steel blue and black with extra padding in the straps, the Nike bag had been with me since the end of sixth grade. Packed with brand new three ring binders, the book I was reading, new pens, a pencil, my journal, and a sweater, I quickly became aware of how valuable that backpack would be. After a day without eating, the backpack accompanied me with food in the future. From there, the contents expanded to meet the needs of days spent away from home for longer and longer periods of time.
********
If Warren County, New Jersey is anything, it is a hub. It is located in the Skylands/Highlands area of the state, but also can be considered the eastern-most location of the Lehigh Valley, a distinct area of Pennsylvania. Meanwhile, it can also be called the western-most part of the New York Metropolitan area, and the gateway to the Poconos.(Some have tried to connect the county to Philadelphia, with the argument that it is equidistant from New York City and Pennsylvania’s City of Brotherly Love, but those upstarts are usually shouted down.)
As a hub, it has a rich history of transportation. Originally an area belonging to the Lenni Lenape, Dutch settlers built roads to move copper between Pahaquarry and Kingston, NY in the 1650s. In the eighteenth century, a ferry was established in Phillipsburg to cross the Delaware into Pennsylvania, and in the 1830s, the Morris Canal, an integral part of trade and goods transportation in New Jersey, began running through the county. Five different railroads ran through the county by the early twentieth century. According to the 2010 census, the population is 108,692, making it the third least populated county in New Jersey. Of its 233,312 acres, only 38,376 ares considered urban or barren. 110, 023 acres are classified as woodlands, 21, 823 are wetlands, and 56, 372 are agriculturally developed. In a state known for its densely-populated towns and packed roads, Warren County is home to only 110 miles of state highway. There are 253 miles of county highways, however, and 655 miles of municipal roads, meaning that drivers are more likely to curse their freeholders than the governor when hitting a pothole. Of the people working in the county, 23,118 work in their home county, while 24,666 work elsewhere in New Jersey. Despite sharing the border of the Delaware River with Pennsylvania, only 3,963 residents work outside the state, belying the history of transportation and the county’s status as hub.[2] I can’t find a statistic for how many residents commute to New York, specifically, on a daily basis. When you live at a crossroads, how do you decide which way to turn? ******** Graduate school brought a new perspective on commuting, both due to the added distance of traveling to the city and due to the materials I found necessary to have with me throughout the day. I began commuting to Fordham with only a large purse and a cloth satchel for my books and notebooks. That lasted a month, which is amazing when you consider that I was reading and researching for three literature-based classes and commuting over four hours one way between Buttzville and the Bronx. My backpack made a swift comeback, this time a little worse for the wear as it had begun to leak through the zippers when it rained. It held the weight of my outdated laptop and too many notebooks, though. So I kept it around, an old, forgivable friend who now fit my shoulders and back like a glove. I ignored the leak, and simply waited until the librarians weren’t at the circulation desk to return my water-stained texts. At this stage in life, the backpack began to attract attention from friends. Most of my Fordham friends had nicely-worn leather messenger bags or totes from the Strand. My over-stuffed Nike bag, perched on both shoulders and ripe with the possibility of sending me tipping backwards at any moment, stood out like a sore thumb. “Can’t you just… get one with wheels? I’m afraid you’re going to break in two,” my friend, Carl, asked often. But I absolutely refused. “Wheely bags make me feel like an old lady. I won’t give in!” And besides: I also stood out at that point. Still acquiring my “city legs” – something I wonder if I’ll ever truly do – I could not easily blend in with a crowd on the street, often assuming a tourist-like manner without even realizing it. My backpack fit me well. We were both awkward, out-of-place, and seemingly endlessly unprepared. ******** *section asking How do we choose the objects most necessary to carry with us? What is the criteria for usefulness? What determines what stays 80 miles outside of our reach every day and what absolutely must ride around on our shoulders like our child?* – discuss how the backpack fell apart, and what I have now – it’s gotten heavier as I’ve gone along in life – laptop is heavier despite technology making things lighter, more food because of longer days, no cloths now because I know where I’m sleeping at night, etc. – coffee stains; always coffee stains – thinking of replacing it with rolly-thing *section about embodiment; I carry my commute around on my back; like a turtle, I need it with me or I feel like I’m missing some part of myself, my home, my safety; am I too attached to too many material objects – not all this is “necessary”?* – the rolly bag I recently ordered only came with great deliberation, and while I’m looking forward to easier commuting, I’m strangely sad about leaving behind my shoulders-only bag – the backpack isn’t just an embodiment of my commute; it’s a badge of honor for me as a commuter survivalist
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