Lewistown, PA Drop-in

I wish I had a Susan B. Anthony dollar for every time I’ve had to say

I think you mean Lewistown.

It comes up whenever I mention my second hometown called Lewisburg, PA.

I’ve written or spoke about the ‘burg often. The place of

• Dear old Mom’s place of residence

• The happy ’85-’95 years Becky and I spent there raising babies (the first 3)

• My ongoing involvement at Bucknell University

Lewisburg is a wonderfully active, charming college town of 5,100 people nestled along the Susquehanna River.

Lewistown is not, though it shares a similar Natives VS Settlers history as well as a former boomtown economy based on river navigation, logging, rail transit, and manufacturing.

My theory on the mix-up is that many travelers pass signs that say “Lewistown” due to its proximity to Harrisburg. The town boasts 8,500 souls, and its cultural gravity, it might be argued, is State College, home of that tiny rural college in Happy Valley known for moderate drinking and Nittany Lions in shoulder pads. And there’s ‘thon too,1 thanks be to God.

In case you also have been confused by these two settlements, let me school you on the ‘town version. Don’t even get my started on Lewisberry!2

Whereas many travelers go through (more like around) Lewisburg on their way to northern destinations or perhaps a Bucknell event, I wager very few people make Lewistown a destination. My recent Amtrak trek reminded me of just how far out-of-the way it is.

Why in heavens, then, did I ride out there? Besides my penchant for dipping into bypassed places just stir up some dust, I had a commercial reason. No, nothing nefarious.

My wife Becky was there for several overnight visits as a postpartum doula for some former Lancaster friends.

Though Lewistown is rural and small as places go, they truly love it. It’s Austin’s hometown, after all. He and Saundra and their two kiddos are happily digging in for the long haul.

I’ve seen a trend where upwardly mobile, educated young people adopt their hometowns, not just as a place to make a mark (though that’s an exciting prospect and much needed outside of our metro areas), but to remain marked by the the affections they were nurtured in.3

Rooted in extended family, church, and sense of vocational calling, our friends aren’t looking for greener pastures. They’re definitely not would-be gentrifying Spendsters leaving Philly to work remotely in a “nice place” to raise their Stones and Amelias.4

Jumping on the chance to jump a train, I left on a Friday afternoon with snow on the ground. As the train snaked beside Harrisburg I caught a decent view of the blotchy frozen Susquehanna River through filthy coach windows.

Reminiscent of my former column on Duncannon, PA, I caught a glimpse of our local Statue of Liberty in the fog, this time from the west side of the river after having crossed the Rockville Bridge. I still hear my Mom saying, as she always did on our trips to Harrisburg

Tom, that’s the longest stone arch bridge in the world.

I’ve repeated it to our own kids to the point of irritation.

The next thing I know the train is heading west along the smaller, sleepier, and shallower Juniata River passing more unsung towns deserving a visit: Newport, Millerstown, Thompsontown, Port Royal, and Mifflintown, the latter being the site of a refreshing one night get-away with Becky in 2021.

Back to frozen February and the train, having briefed myself on the basic layout of the town using Apple Maps I disembarked and walked to the right toward a bridge taking me into the heart of downtown. I barely referenced my phone after that, no need.

I spied a monument which I assumed was from a world war only to discover it honored the fallen of 9-11-2001. The pocket park around it was sorely neglected, and as most roadside memorials go. They’re under-appreciated thanks to car dependence. I saw very few people walking or biking due to the presence of ice (Not that ICE).

I walked past typical small town landmarks (Post Office, County Prison, tattoo parlor, etc.) on Market Street hoping to find a talkative local to kibitz with.

In the lobby of Miller Cinemas Rob was vacuuming the carpet. It was about 4:00 PM, but we met eyes, and he was happy to unlock the glass door.

Hey, I’m visiting from Lancaster and just wanted to see the lobby. It reminds me of the theater I grew up going….

He was eager to join in on the banter on everything from the history of the town movie house to Lancaster attractions. I expected him to ask me about our biggest cultural contribution: Shady Maple Smorgasbord. Instead he quipped

You ever been to that Sweetish Candy Store in Lancaster?

Turns out, yes, often. And I’m not embarrassed about it as I am about the aforementioned airplane hanger brimming with PA Dutch fare and feasters.

Rob said he likes visiting Lancaster, but he seems very content with his simpler life in Lewistown. I find this kind of settled conviction in small towns wherever I go, even the ones that aren’t tourist destinations or swanky retirement hubs.

Family histories and diverse personalities converge in such places resulting in a sense of pride, even for things that an outsider might consider ho-hum, precious, or even pathetic.

A vivid metaphor for town health lies in the myriad mountain streams that feed The Kishacoquillas Creek (A.K.A. The Kish) which flows into the Juniata River on the town’s edge.

Natural beauty abounds in the Kish Valley, but I sensed a sad pallor in the town itself, likely from the fact 27% of its population lives below the poverty line. It felt neglected but also beloved, if that makes sense.

Most Americans move out of their towns to the country lanes or new, poorly-constructed subdivisions when they get the chance, thinking they’re movin’ on up, while hindering the life force at a town’s core: People. I see this EVERYWHERE I’ve gone in my beloved Pennsyltucky.

Overall, Lewistown felt down-but-not-out, and friendly Rob reminded me of the buoyancy of some residents who stay, care, and contribute to their settlement’s sparkle.

In the span of one hour I made a few other observations. My mental wonderings are in italics:

• A New Age store selling crystals, gems, incense, and a variety of anime paraphernalia where two middle-aged women on the heavy side sit behind a counter and a skinny teen-aged fellow wearing a vest talks loudly with a purple-haired and multi-pierced female about all sorts of nerdery.

  • Might this be a lifeline to for these folks who might otherwise feel marginalized?

• A couple in their thirties with a bored 5 year old boy manning a thrift store that shares a building with a town relief agency. I tried hard to find one thing I could buy to support them. Nada.

  • Most of the items would’ve been cast off by Goodwill. How are they turning any kind of profit? Is this not a Friday night?

• The Square bakery smelling of ham soup and cleaning solution. Not really a coffee shop as I had expected but more of a Mennonite food takeout spot. East Side Coffee shop had been recommended to me but was closed already.

  • Smells like tasty food, but do they aspire to any sort of inviting aesthetic for dining in?

• A graveyard of settlers next to the Kish Creek speaking to a history of conflict with natives and a determination to exploit abundant natural resources. According to Austin, Dorcas Buchanan is buried there, a sort of historical celebrity.

  • Hmmm, kind of cool to commemorate a woman hero in Central PA, but what did the Indians make of her? And who cares?

• The Crooked Shelf Book Shop on North Main Street sitting on the hill above Monument Square in a former mansion feels fresh, bright, and cozy. Well-curated, it holds book events and clubs.

  • I see why Austin and Saundra love this place.

• The Embassy Theater crying out for historic preservation is home to a community drama group.

  • That’s a hulking big project for such a small town, but please don’t tear it down!

• Monument Square, an elliptical, raised lawn, featuring a statue of a service man way at the top holding a large umbrella. I couldn’t find much on the park except that it was dedicated in 1906 and appears to memorialize the four branches of US military.

  • Could this square be any less accessible to foot traffic? And an umbrella?

Switching metaphors from rail to air travel, it’s time to flutter my wings and bring this bird to a landing.

Did you know that the annual Goose Day celebration has been going on in Mifflin County for over two hundred years? Now you do.

I won’t try to do it justice. You’ll have to dive in and see for yourself:

Goose This