Grafted into Green Valley

When the idea of gathering the Green Valley gang to write a collective memoir about growing up together first burst upon me, my husband liked the idea so much that he wrote an "outsider’s foreword":

I remember the first time I set foot on Green Valley Drive – December of 1976. I pulled off the Pennsylvania Turnpike onto Route 8, a conglomerate of fast-food, motels, and assorted stores that could be anywhere in the United States. A left on Harts Run Road and, just like that, I was on a winding country road. Green Valley is easy to miss. A sharp, downhill left turn into 1960’s suburbia. I half expected to see Rob and Laura or the Cleavers. Instead I met a young man waiting in the cold for one of those Green Valley girls. It turns out that we were waiting for the same girl. That began my relationship with Green Valley. I ended up marrying that girl (while the other guy had to find another girl on a street without as much substance).

My name had hit Green Valley a month before I did. A story I told to Nancy was passed on to Linda, who then passed it on to her family – ruining their Thanksgiving dinner. When I arrived, everyone already knew me. That’s the kind of street it was.

Before I had warmed up from the cold, Linda burst into the Thompson home to meet Nancy’s "new friend." Linda said she was "working with the mentally disabled." I was impressed until I found out that Linda was working in a workshop, not helping those with disabilities, but holding the same job for the same pay as they were. I have often wondered if Linda carried her own weight at that job, or if they had her there in some type of token role.

Later, I took my first walk around the bend to meet the Fishers and Seidels. Mrs. Fisher welcomed me as she did everyone, engulfing me in a motherly hug. But she didn’t look like the mothers I knew. It was pretty heady stuff for a college guy.

Before leaving Green Valley, I got to sit under the Shady Tree. It is memorable less for the tree than for the company. As Nancy and I approached the tree, who should come around the bend but Linda with Nancy’s old boyfriend. Two Green Valley girls with two male outsiders. I remember that Linda hardly said a word, seeming to revel in the awkwardness of the moment. A short time later, I pulled out of Nancy’s driveway – Nancy and her old boyfriend in my rearview mirror and “It’s cold out, but hold out…” playing on the radio.

Despite the auspicious beginning, I learned to love Green Valley Drive. It became a home away from home. Nancy’s friends became my friends, and continue to be so today. Twenty-two years later, we sent our oldest son to college in Linda’s backyard. Again, we got to spend more time with her and the other Green Valley transplants. And I was reminded once again of what a unique place Green Valley Drive was.

I am heading off to my 30th high school reunion this summer. I have never been to one. I have no contacts with anyone prior to college. No one on any of the streets where I lived. No one from the wrestling team. No one. But I often see Linda, Bill, and Ellen, and keep in touch with Doug, John, and Shelley. They have maintained relationships all of their lives. They married, moved to places like Boston and York and San Francisco. That old saying remains true, even if modified a bit, “You can take the girl out of Green Valley, but you can’t take Green Valley out of the girl.”

You don’t want to miss this trip down memory lane – around the bend. So, kick off your shoes, pour of glass of tea (in a clear glass mug like Jackie always served), find a cozy spot and lose yourself in a place that is more interesting than fiction.