Tuckerton Seaport was alive in the spirit of Halloween. Skeletal hands breached the dirt surface, a slender neck hung loosely from the noose of a rope, held fast to the edge of a tiled roof, and dolls decked in bloodstained dresses leered at passerby from their seats.

The seaport is the historic reservoir of the Tuckerton community, retaining local relics dating back earlier than 1920s. In 2012, the Seaport had a nasty encounter with Sandy, and is still recovering in many ways from the storm and its destruction. The little community port was setting up for their upcoming annual Halloween party, complete with haunted walks and a corn maze, and supplemented by information of the port’s rich history and folklore. There were only a few people working diligently in preparation, so crew needed help setting up. Our team was there for Make a Difference Day, a day designated to set trivial matters or work aside and volunteer time or materials to people who need them.

The light breeze carried over the port, bathing our skin and clothes in the salty air. We had to squint every time we faced east. Even though some would argue we lucked out with the weather, the sun was bright and made it difficult to see, creating a paradox of warmth as we shivered in the cool air. Regardless, we all ended up with our jackets off as we got into our work. We transported chairs from the second floor of the museum to the house down the path, setting them up in orderly rows for a presentation later that evening. We then took on the task of restoring the front entrance in a new coat of white paint. There was only so much we cold do in the few hours we had, but by the time we had finished, the place looked incredible. The front entrance looked brand new, the decorations were in place, and the seaport was just about ready for its haunted walk later that night. The director thanked us earnestly, and invited us back later that night for the event. We thanked in in return as we boarded the vans back to school. I’d love to return, even if just to walk the boards and take in the rich calming atmosphere as I look out over the water.

Waking up at eight thirty was not my first choice on a Saturday morning. With syllabus week behind me (as well as the final denial of summer’s conclusion), I was ready to soak in the extra hours of sleep…that is, until the melodic blaring of the alarm sounded, and I was harshly reminded that those few extra hours would not be coming today.

Whatever I had been expecting was nothing compared to this.

It was Saturday, September 6^th, our first Day of Service, so my friend and I decided to stick together. We combed through the list of organizations, and at the mention of horses, it was game over. My friend all but dashed through the doors like a runner from her gate, with me in tow behind her. The process was confusing, but we quickly found the group that would take us to the South Jersey Horse Rescue. We hopped on the bus, and by the time our small group had reached the farm, the sun had climbed higher and the temperature had soared to a sweltering level. The head of the facility showed us around the field, introducing us to the horses and informing us of their overall mission at the rescue. It was truly inspiring; the horses each had its own story. Most were strong and healthy, rescued from a one-way trip to Mexico where they were to be sold for horsemeat. Several came in dangerously underweight, malnourished or abused. A dwarfed mother that was raised for breeding nearly starved before being brought to the rescue. She lost her foal, but she found refuge in the safety of the reserve. Another lost an eye to a cataract. Each of their stories were unique, and knowing the stories of these creatures gave me renewed resolve.

The work was not easy. We started off with tugging branches across the fields and into the woods. Then we progressed to shoveling manure, trimming the grass, even constructing the frame for a new shelter. By the time we were finished, we were drenched in sweat, exhausted, and ready to go. However, despite the work we put into it, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. Field hands were few, and there was much work that had to be done. The head also lived on the property, and she wouldn’t have been able to replicate all we had done all on her own. As tired as I was after working five hours in the heat, I saw the effect we had on the farm and was satisfied with our accomplishment. It was truly rewarding to see the results of our labor fade into the distance as we pulled out, knowing we had made a difference.