Every year for the past thousand or so years, my home town has hosted the Indian Festival (feather not a dot) in celebration of the original inhabitants of the area. Anyone who has ever driven through NW PA has seen the names of rivers and creeks and, no doubt, pondered how on Earth to pronounce them. I know this isn’t exclusive to PA, but it is definitely a part of the area’s Native American history.
In the past few years, sadly, it has become less about Native Americans and more about…ummm…something else. Still, it is the town event from my childhood that brings me home every year. This year, we watched the parade and the fire trucks and cars and twirling teams. I ate the awesome hot sausage that they sell at the Methodist church and I had a great chance to visit with some folks with whom I went to high school (I’ll probably say more about that another day).
It’s weird I guess how things stick with me, but I love to go back and see the town. There are so many faces that I am sure I knew 20 years ago. People who were my age then are now retiring and life is generally moving on..but I see glimmers of my growing up there and it makes me smile a bit on the inside.
So, Indian Festival isn’t what it once was, but then, I am not sure anything ever is. Still, with a little work and imagination, there are some awesome memories of times long gone…and even better, there are lots of new adventures for my kids!