Miserable? I think not.
There’s something special about the Shenango Valley. After reading news that the Youngstown area was cited by national thinkers as one of the more miserable places to live on my colleague Joe Gorman’s blog, I got to thinking about this place I call home, and have to say I disagree.
Sure, we’re far from a booming area.
The Mahoning and Shenango Valleys (heck, actually the triangle from Cleveland to Buffalo to Pittsburgh) has seen better times. We’re quick to remember our glory days as the land of steel and plenty, but since those days have gone we’ve become a land of broken dreams, a place of taxed hope, where buildings are decaying and times were tough well before the rest of the country and world started feeling the pain of this most recent downturn.
But out of adversity comes triumph and it takes periods of sadness to enjoy the happy times. So I disagree that this is a miserable place to live.
I for one am glad I don’t have to navigate the Washington Beltway each day or cram into a graffitied subway to get to work. I might complain about road construction and get annoyed at some of the other drivers on the road, but I can get to work in under 10 minutes most days.
I enjoy the view from the crest of the West Hill coming into Sharon and like the Shenango River and even the smokestacks that remain along Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard.
I like the brick streets in Farrell and the rows of factory houses where so many of the Shenango Valley’s families got their start.
I like that when I golf I can choose from about 20 courses within a 30-minute drive and don’t mind not having a Starbucks on every corner.
I talk to strangers a lot, but am mostly treated like a kindred spirit even when I talk to folks during the worst of times: at a fire, crash or murder scene.
I’m glad that when something bad happens, it’s big news because it’s rare: there are places that are far more dangerous where crime is a daily part of life, not an occasional outrage like it is here.
And when something bad happens, folks band together here and try to do something about it. They cry on each other’s shoulders and support one another instead of keeping to themselves and staring at the ground as they pass by like they do in New York.
I like that despite all the bad times we’ve been through that folks still hold onto hope that it will get better, that one day this valley will rise again.
I felt that hope Thursday at a Black History Month celebration in Farrell. I ate with kids who weren’t miserable. They weren’t complaining about another snowstorm and they weren’t lamenting the lack of jobs or the lack of things to do.
They were enjoying a program about history – it’s time we erase the racial overtones from our heritage, isn’t it? To accept our differences and celebrate the accomplishments of the Shenango Valley, where no matter the ethnicity there are certain values instilled and a certain outlook on life that’s unique to here.
It’s that sense of place that I enjoy. That community pride that’s been battered a bit but remains in spite of blows over the last three decades.
I for one haven’t given up on here.
So ignore that national ranking, that dubious distinction that’s undeserved. We’ve always been off the national radar and I kind of like it that way.
I don’t want to live too close to a toll road superhighway and the one thing nice about the mills being closed is our air isn’t that bad and can only get better.
I’m tired of complaining about what we lack and would like to see us celebrate what we have and build on it because like it or not, it’s our home.
Thinking on it, that’s the best part of the Shenango Valley: It’s home.
