MY VIEW
Cynthia J. Wittcop: Glorious day reminds us why we live here
“Why do I even live here?” I bitterly grumbled one day last April when it was more winter than spring, and I found myself scraping crusted ice and snow off my windshield. It’s something I must ask myself a zillion times between November and May, and yet here I am, still calling Western New York home — the only home I’ve ever known.
I suppose most people who have spent more than a vacation here have asked themselves the same question. Why do we continue to stay here, where the summers — though beautiful — last about five minutes and winters seem to stretch into eternity; where the economy tanked years ago, long before the rest of the country slumped into recession; and where the rates of some illnesses are among the highest in the country?
Described like that, Western New York sounds like a dismal place to reside, doesn’t it? But those of us who are lucky enough to live here know that despite all its warts, this area is really something very special. All it takes is a day spent exploring some of the region’s pleasures and treasures to renew our fierce belief that there is no better place to bloom than where we’re planted.
My boyfriend and I recently took the 90-minute drive to Ellicottville for the village’s annual fall festival, and we weren’t disappointed. The ride through the rolling, tree-studded hills under a cerulean sky was a treat in itself.
At the turbine wind farm along Routes 77 and 20A in Wyoming County, we were awed by the magnificence of the nearly 400-foot-tall denizens of duty. Their massive size and proliferation along the ridge line seemed incongruous with the curiously gentle nature of the turbines’ tapered blades as they softly sliced the sky.
Continuing through hills and valleys boasting the brilliant reds, yellows and oranges of autumn’s palette, we encountered countless little hamlets and villages. Each had a quaint flavor all its own, yet shared that “hometown, USA” feel with the others along our path. In each little corner of our route, we saw everyday people doing everyday things that somehow seemed oddly other-worldly to us as we passed through.
Nearing Ellicottville, we were enmeshed in a mile-long traffic jam that forced us to inch our way into the village. But even the slowdown was welcomed, as it gave us time to “people watch.” People watching can be such fun, and we were treated to hundreds of “study subjects” as they double-timed their way to the show or lugged their newly purchased prizes back to their cars.
The fall festival is estimated to draw 10,000 people over its two-day span, and I believe all 10,000 were there at the same time as us. Every craft under the sun was represented, including some funky, cool things like stretched-out pop bottles and old album covers made into clocks. A bin of brightly colored wool mittens and hats was surrounded by throngs of shoppers, and at one booth I fell in love with some exquisite copper bracelets embellished with delicate gold-plated Colorado aspen leaves.
The aroma of roast pork, freshly popped kettle corn and sauteed onions and green peppers wafted through the air. We opted for grilled- to-perfection Sahlen’s, and our modest repast felt like a feast. We left sated, both physically and spiritually.
For the price of a quarter tank of gas, a few handcrafted gifts and a couple of Buffalo’s own dogs, we enjoyed the simple bounty of the best place on earth in which to live — Western New York.
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