While snarled in bumper-to-bumper-to-bumper traffic the other day, I snorted derisively at the name of the road, based on a state nickname, that would hold us captive for the next three hours: the Garden State Parkway.

“Should be called The Hellhole Highway,” I grumbled to my wife, who stared disconsolately at a field of brake lights that stretched endlessly ahead. We were driving to a family gathering that could have been accessed via mass transit only through a complex, inconvenient network of trains and buses that would have made the 176-mile trip from southeastern Connecticut almost as time-consuming as if we had ridden tricycles.

In fairness to New Jersey — though any state that would elect Chris Christie to two terms as governor deserves all the scorn it gets — I’ve been stuck in equally agonizing jams in our own Nutmeg State, as well as on any number of highways from sea to shining sea.

Not all of Jersey is a parking lot — not too much farther south of our traffic nightmare, the 1.1 million-acre Pine Barrens supports a rich biological diversity that earned it the designation as a U.N. Biosphere Reserve through which flows an aquifer containing some of this country’s purest water. And there is a good reason for calling it the Garden State — New Jersey’s 9,000 farms cover 720,000 acres, growing more than $1 billion annually in crops ranging from blueberries to sweet corn.

But, as for the northern part of the state, to borrow an expression from its neighbor across the Hudson River: Fuhgeddaboudit.

What made our gridlock even more tortuous was that it didn’t end once we exited the GSP. Traffic continued to crawl on secondary roads as drivers attempted to navigate through a sprawling quagmire of shopping malls, fast-food restaurants, big-box stores, motels, gas stations, car dealerships, office complexes and various other brightly lit, unappealing enterprises that clog so much of our national landscape.

My sense of claustrophobia didn’t lift until close to the end of another brutal, nearly six-hour drive home the next day when we finally crossed the Gold Star Memorial Bridge. Traffic thinned along with much of the commercial clutter, and I finally exhaled.

“We are so lucky,” I said.

To be sure, parts of southeastern Connecticut can get crowded, but nothing like on the scale of northern New Jersey. And those of us who cherish open space know that, even in busy times, we can escape in a few short minutes to favorite havens: Bluff Point Coastal Reserve and Haley Farm in Groton; Barn Island in Stonington; Pachaug State Forest in North Stonington and Voluntown; Rocky Neck State Park in East Lyme; the Connecticut College Arboretum in New London; and Harkness State Park in Waterford, to name a few.

Actually, luck has had little to do with the preservation of these treasured sanctuaries. Foresight, determination and generosity by dedicated open-space advocates, along with support from environmentally aware government institutions, have kept large swaths of our region forested and pastoral.

What’s so depressing, though, is how some local politicians and business interests relentlessly try to pave over rather than preserve. Flanders Four Corners in East Lyme had for decades been a relatively quiet crossroads, but in recent years it has turned into the type of spreading commercial and residential sprawl that some call progress but I regard as poor planning.

Similarly, leaders in largely rural North Stonington are advocating increased development in order to expand its tax base and grow the population.

At best, even a major, multi-million-dollar project would lower the typical homeowner’s annual property tax bill by a hundred bucks or so. Are people willing to permanently forsake some of the charm of their community for the price of a family dinner and movie tickets?

Do we really need more stores? Most people in the region have to drive only about 15 minutes to buy everything they need, from a loaf of bread to a can of paint — and if they can’t find it in a local store, they can order online for delivery in a day or two.

Look, I understand that we all need places to live, to shop, to work — but there should be more incentives for renovating existing development rather than bulldozing an orchard, farm or forest.

I also realize that some people prefer to live in busy, congested areas. Fine. Let ’em move to New Jersey.