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Why Lancaster: Kelly Watson
09.01.09 // Posted in Lancaster, Why Lancaster
We are posting answers to the question WHY LANCASTER?
Kelly Watson is a freelance copywriter and marketing consultant who specializes in marketing to women. She lives with her boyfriend and dog in West Hempfield, Lancaster.
A love letter to Lancaster.
As a teenager, I hated Lancaster. I found it backward and boring. I spent my free time pouring through travel guides and youth hostel reviews, eager for any excuse to skip town. I found my chance when my parents, thinking my moodiness was a sign of seasonal depression, offered to send me some place sunny for a week.
My boyfriend at the time had fond memories of travelling to Arizona as a kid, so I took my parents’ offer and we flew to Flagstaff. Driving our rental car down a stretch of Route 66, we could see ourselves living there among the old-fashioned diners and wind-stripped evergreens.
When I arrived back home, I could think of nothing else. I applied as a transfer student to Northern Arizona University, and shortly after my acceptance letter arrived, I packed my red Mazda and drove across country with boyfriend in tow. We lived in Flagstaff for two years, travelling back to Lancaster only for Christmas.
At first, it was bliss. Living in a place where no one knew me, I could be anyone I wanted. As graduation neared, however, I started longing for home. Flagstaff was a town of transients. Rich Phoenix residents flooded the town in an effort to beat the heat. Tourists wandered through on their way to the Grand Canyon, snapping pictures as they went.
The only people who seemed rooted in Flagstaff were the college kids, many of whom couldn’t afford to attend larger colleges in the city. When a college professor told his class that I had come from Pennsylvania, one girl scoffed: “Why would you travel all that way just to come here?”
I didn’t fall out of love with Flagstaff; I just fell back in love with Lancaster. I missed the miles of rolling farmland, the sound of Amish buggies in midday traffic, the Germanic inflections of residents who lived there all their lives. I missed the crowded farmers’ markets and their rich Dutch foods: whoopee pies and chicken corn soup and apple snitz.
More than that, though, I missed the identity that Lancaster gives me. Genealogy records show that my roots go back at least four generations, and I can feel it in my blood whenever I see the patchwork landscape of farms and fields. The same land that nourished my ancestors is now nourishing me, whether I plant tomatoes in the back yard or just savor the view of a dazzling sunset.
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Making the cross-country drive back to Lancaster after graduation, I thought my love for the area would last a few months, tops. But it hasn’t gone away. As I’ve settled here, I’ve discovered a burgeoning art scene, a bustling downtown and a welcoming group of creative types with fierce local pride. I’ve made new friends and rediscovered old ones. Together we are creating a new history, a new collection of stories to tell about our time together.
Perhaps when I have teenagers of my own, they too will want to go anywhere but here. I’ll encourage them. After all, it took me two years of living in an unfamiliar place to discover that for me, Lancaster is, and always has been, home.
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