I wrote the following for our local newspaper. One of the most historic and beautiful buildings in the town I live in burned to the ground this week. It contained a number of establishments, but one was a difficult loss in particular, for me. I may just be getting too sappy...but hey, we've all had our own "Cheers'" at one time or another, so maybe you'll understand. ;) I just wanted to record these thoughts here as well.
“Let’s move to Bellefonte.”
Two years ago, when I agreed to that idea and moved, on a whim, from “bustling” State College to “quieter” Bellefonte, I was most fearful that I’d lose touch with the friends who had lived nearby. Who would want to drive twenty minutes to Bellefonte when there was much more to do in State College? So I resigned myself to the idea of more nights at home, fewer walks to see live music, and paying for a parking pass instead of biking to campus. Having spent the past six years learning to recognize the faces of townies, I was worried that I’d be a foreigner in a place that seemed much more removed than it’s short trip up the bypass would indicate.
I was very wrong.
Soon after moving in, we went to Daniel’s in the Bush House. I had eaten at Schnitzel’s with my parents, who had spent time in Germany and loved that the hearty food brought back memories, but I had never entered Daniel’s. I went there quite a few times that first week – it was easier to eat out than to cook while unpacking. Walking into Daniel’s, we were always, immediately greeted as friends by none other than Matt, everyone’s friendly Daniel’s bartender. Of course at the time, I had no idea I’d grow to have such a fondness for that building and that pub. To have moved into Bellefonte and immediately find a place that made me feel so welcome…it was definitely a much-needed sign that being here would probably be okay.
Everyone has his or her own memories of the Bush House, and it is very hard to convey a feeling of loss for a place. When you lose a person in your life, you have memories of that person that are shared with others, but you also have things that remind you of them. When you lose a place, making sense of it is very different. What do I want to do to make the loss feel better? I want to go to Daniel’s and have a beer and a bratwurst. I want to hear someone play the out-of-tune piano, I want to hear the laughing and chatting of all the people who know – because, as the sign by the bar said, “People Who Know Come To Daniel’s”. I want to sit in the same seat I always sat in, I want to throw some darts. That’s impossible now.
I write as if I’d been there forever, when I really didn’t know any of these people as well as they knew each other. I don’t even know how to get in touch with most of them now, since I always just saw them at Daniel’s. The strong sense of friendship there was undeniable, if unspoken. I’m happy I spent time there. In the largest sense, the community has suffered a loss of its most significant landmark. In a smaller sense, there was a little community in the Bush House that was all it’s own. At least we know that this community is stronger than it’s buildings, and the friendships, much stronger than a fire.
