Going Home

There is an odd thing that happens to me every year: I go completely nutty over Fall.

I do. I honestly do. The leaves change, the air cools off, the sweaters come out\ and the hikes are not as sweaty as they once were. I love it. The brilliantly sunny afternoon and the cool, clear evenings... seeing your breath but not needing gloves.

Nothing can epitomize this feeling for me quite like Fort Ligonier Days. And, for me, this is going Home.

As one drives through the Loyalhanna Gorge from Latrobe he is surrounded by bright and full foliage, a sweeping, winding stream, (the remnants of the hollow... sad face) and the smell of wood and leaves finally burning again.

This place is a dream-town. It is like Maybury... very little crime, a picturesque downtown area, steepled churches, a Gazebo in a roundabout, a red-brick Town Hall with large white columns in front... just everything small-town America once was, and should forever be. I have a feeling in another 50 or 60 years people will purposely stop through here on road-trips to show their children "the way Grandpa and Great Grandpa grew up." Priceless.

Every Fall, there is a festival in town, that totally incapacitates any attempt by the average resident to have a normal weekend. You cannot get to the grocery store by car (unless you want to sit in traffic for half an hour... only going one mile in total)... it is impossible to be anywhere in town on Saturday between the hours of 830AM and 1200 noon without hearing marching drums... 100,000 people show up to a 1 square mile of land usually occupied by 1600... The fire station is blocked by the Oscar Meyer Weiner-mobile (you think i'm kidding)... a north-south highway has to be rerouted from the middle of town to side-streets because the middle of town is full of food stands and people selling crocheted Kleenex Box Holders with Steelers logos beadazzled on the sides. All of this, shuts down our town for the weekend, and somehow it is best economic boom each year. Somehow that seems odd to me... the "shut down" our town... THEN we make more money.

There is something more, though, about coming home to this. Something intangible. I live in Pittsburgh now, and I spent the last four years of my life mostly in Meadville. When I leave a friend's house in Pittsburgh and head back to my apartment i say "i'm going home"... and when I would leave the bar at school it was to "walk home"... but this is different. This is "Home".

There is a sense of magic about this place. Maybe that is how it is for many people with the place they grew up... but i have to wonder. This is a town with that "Cheers!" syndrome where "Everybody knows you're name" (i'm dating myself)... it is a place where kids are raised by thier parents... and thier aunts, uncles, cousing, friend's parents, neighbors, teachers and siblings, and i mean that in a good way... not as if "well... my sister basically had to raise me".

Coming home feels good because people here care. They know who you are. These people watched you grow up. They watched you fall (literally and figuratively), and they watched you succeed. That is why i don't get annoyed when a thousand people ask me "what are you doing now?" and "how is work" or "what are you planning on doing next"... they genuinely want to know.

So, I'm Home. Maybe someday when i come here i'll be home too... but for now its just Home.