A quick weekend trip to a family reunion in Lancaster had me flying into Trenton, where I got my first newspaper job, and then renting a car and heading west. Friday evening I drove the back roads of Amish country, watching men in fields riding horse-drawn plows and women in bonnets hoeing in gardens. Saturday evening, strolling the streets of Princeton, I saw packs of people dressed in orange and black for alumni weekend. (One man sat on a bench on Nassau Street holding a ceramic tiger.) Last evening, arriving home, I drove from the airport to A1A and gazed at the women in bikinis and the men in tattoos. And I was struck not just by the variety of the world, but the variety of three worlds I know quite well.
