From above, historic relevance is more apparent
Nothing like an aerial view to put things into context.
From 1,000 feet above the former Duke estate - and "former" is the right word because the mansion is being torn down and the official name is now Duke Farms - it is easy to see how the area transitioned from farmland to suburbia in the 130 years since tobacco magnate James B. Duke carved out his piece of heaven.
From Princeton Airport, a Cessna on its way to flying over Duke Farms first soars above the most northern part of Sourland Mountain, which rises out of Central Jersey farmland through parts of Somerset, Hunterdon and Mercer counties.
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Here's a piece of New Jersey history: Sourland Mountain was the place Charles Lindbergh once flew over and was drawn to its rugged isolation. At the height of his fame, he built his estate there to escape the suffocation of media scrutiny and the public's adoration. We know how that worked out. On March 1, 1932, his baby was kidnapped from the family's barely completed Hopewell hideaway, bringing him more - but less wanted - attention than ever before.
It is strangely ironic that just 15 miles away, Doris Duke, then 20 years old, was embarking on her adult life as an international socialite and celebrity - and proud owner of the Hillsborough estate. Nineteen thirty-two was the year she added the "Hollywood wing," with bowling alleys, archery and shooting ranges, a casino and other really rich girl stuff to the home she shared with her father until his death in 1923.
The open ruggedness and privacy that brought the Dukes and Lindberghs to the region is long gone.
From up high, you can see remnants of it. There is still plenty of farmland and the Sourland Mountain remains somewhat sparsely populated.
The terms "suburban sprawl" is a worn cliche - but there is no better way to describe the view from the sky over Hillsborough. Everything looks new: the housing developments, the condo complexes, the shopping centers, and the sports fields laid out on thousands of acres that once grew crops.
In that respect, the Duke property is more special now than it was when James B. Duke began buying up neighboring farms and piecing together his magnificent country estate. It is now a wooded oasis.
He built hills, and created lakes and waterfalls with water diverted from the Raritan River. He built rock walls and entrances, and rustic gazebos and bridges. He took that flat farmland and changed the topography. Some, he left alone to experiment with more productive farming techniques. He helped feed the troops during World War I from his land. He also stopped building the opulent manor house he had started because the steel was needed to fight the Kaiser.
From the window of a Cessna, you can see the foundation for that never-completed mansion home. It is surrounded by something that looks like the quarter-mile running tracks at the school athletic fields near the estate, and a terraced hill that would have led to it. Had that house been built, it would have been in view of the giant, glass-enclosed arboretum where Doris Duke housed her collection of plants from around the globe.
She opened it to the public in the 1960s. The Doris Duke Foundation shut it down in 2007, the first step in its agenda to create a sustainable, environmentally friendly education center out of the estate.
Another step in this return-to-nature program was to stop the free-flowing water into the ponds. The pump house that the Dukes built no longer hums and, from the air, you can see the water is dank and mossy.
And now the mansion is coming down. The group of concerned citizens that tried to halt the demolition say the mansion was the anchor of the estate. From the air, you can see that is true. From the back of the mansion spills out James B. Dukes sculpted landscape and lakes.
The Duke Farms people disagreed. They said it was nothing special. Michael Catania, the executive director, didn't even refer to it as a mansion. He preferred to call it "the residence." Nothing special.
And now it is coming down, wing by wing, reduced to plaster dust and splinters. It was too expensive to maintain and no longer fits the Duke Farms' evolved mission - a mission paid for by Miss Duke's money.
The restored barns, funded with a $58 million state economic development loan, are beautiful. There are bike paths and organic farming, and greater public access than ever.
The Duke Farms people have been good stewards of the land, but the Duke estate was about more than land. It was about vision and legacy, and history and the people who created it. And, well, like money, you can't grow that on trees. Or regrow it, once it's gone.
Mark Di Ionno may be reached at mdiionno@starledger.com. Follow The Star-Ledger on Twitter @StarLedger and find us on Facebook.